On a quiet afternoon at Montclair State University some years ago, I had a profound conversation with a colleague who’d become a dear friend. Though not Catholic herself, she was a faithful, devout Christian whose love for Jesus radiated through everything she did.  From time to time, she’d join our campus Masses, bringing an infectious enthusiasm that lit up the room. I’ll never forget the Sunday she spontaneously called out “Praise the Lord” during my homily – causing every head in the room to turn. While it wasn’t quite our Catholic style, her raw authenticity was beautiful to witness and experience.

Thank you for taking the time to read this homily for PALM SUNDAY OF THE LORD’S PASSION (April 13, 2025). Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.

And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me.  Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim

But it was another conversation that has stayed with me ever since, one that captures the very heart of what we contemplate today on Palm Sunday. After years of attending our services, she finally revealed something that had been weighing on her soul. Refering to the large crucifix that served as our backdrop, she spoke words I’ll never forget: “I can’t look at the one I love being treated like that.” The pain in her voice was palpable.  Later, almost apologetically trying to explain herself and her perspective, she sent me a song called “Sunday is Coming” – an upbeat reminder that Good Friday’s darkness gives way to Easter’s light.

Yet there’s a sacred purpose behind that crucifix and behind what we’ve just done in proclaiming Luke’s Passion narrative together: Jesus didn’t fast-forward through His suffering, and neither can we through ours.

When Isaiah speaks (in that first reading) of offering his back to those who beat him, of not shielding his face “from buffets and spitting” (Isaiah 50:6), he paints a portrait of Christ’s unwavering acceptance of His path. When Paul writes to the Philippians (in our second reading) about Christ “emptying himself” and becoming “obedient to death, even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:7-8), he unveils the depth of divine love that refuses to take shortcuts.

Think about our own lives:

When betrayal cuts deep – from a spouse, a friend, a family member…
When anxiety grips us over headlines that scream division and hatred…
When doubt whispers that our efforts go unnoticed…
When fears arise over our finances, our relationships, our health…
When grief leaves an empty chair at our table…

We can’t simply skip to the happy ending. We shouldn’t.

Because what the Passion of Christ reveals – what that crucifix my friend struggled to face shows us – is a God who doesn’t watch our suffering through heaven’s window. As Luke’s account powerfully illustrates, He steps through that window and enters fully into human experience, walking every painful step. His prayer wasn’t performative, but piercing when He cried “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, not my will but yours be done” (Luke 22:42).

This is where our hope takes root – not in the shallow soil of wishful thinking, but in the rich earth of an unshakeable truth: we worship a God who transforms suffering through love. The same Christ who rode triumphantly into Jerusalem, palm branches at His feet and crucifixion in His future, shows us how to face our own crosses with dignity and trust.

As we enter this Holy Week, let us remember: Sunday is indeed coming. But its promise isn’t just about waiting for better days – it’s about recognizing that even in our darkest hours, when hope feels as distant as stars at noon, we’re never alone. The One who hung upon the cross walks beside us, His footsteps matching ours, understanding every struggle, every fear, every doubt. And just as He transformed the cross from an instrument of shame into a symbol of salvation, He can transform our suffering into something meaningful, something holy.

For in the end, Palm Sunday teaches us that true victory doesn’t come from avoiding the cross, but from embracing it with the certainty that love – God’s perfect, complete love – will have the final word. And that love, as Paul reminds us, is why “every knee should bend… and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord” (Philippians 2:10-11).