Palm Sunday

 

33 years ago, on my second day studying in Israel, my former novice director took me to the West Bank village of Aboud for the First Mass of a newly ordained local priest. We all gathered at the village boundary around an arch of palm branches and balloons, and waited there for the new priest’s entry into his hometown. As the procession began and all the villagers started shouting and waving palms in the air, my former novice director said: now you see what Palm Sunday looked like!

 

The Gospel [Matthew 21:1-11] which we read before our own Palm Sunday Procession tells us about Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem for the Passover holiday and his truly triumphal entry – minus the balloons but full of messianic symbolism – into the Holy City.  The rest of the story, which we have just heard [Matthew 26:14 – 27:66], reveals the next phase of that journey – to the cross and to the tomb, the eventually empty tomb of the Risen Christ.

 

All the Gospels agree that Jesus went to Jerusalem to observe the Passover, that ancient sacrificial feast that could only be celebrated in Jerusalem. Jerusalem is 2500 feet about sea level. So, Jesus literally went up to Jerusalem, which is always how that journey is described. Of course, in literally going up to Jerusalem, he was also symbolically going up to ascend his cross.

 

Normally I suppose Jesus probably travelled less obtrusively, but, on this occasion, he deliberately entered Jerusalem as a king coming into his capital, and he made sure his actions could be recognized as such in terms of Old Testament messianic prophecies. Certainly, the pilgrims, who accompanied Jesus and entered the city at the same time he did, sensed this. Hence, their acclamation: Hosanna to the Son of David; blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord; hosanna in the highest.

Revealingly, the Church has since adopted their words of expectation and acclamation. At every Mass, we likewise say, Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest.

 

That should remind us that Palm Sunday is not just some long ago historical occurrence. Just as Jesus entered Jerusalem, so he comes to us again in the eucharistic sacrifice, which recalls his cross and eventual resurrection -  and invites us to hope for ours as well. Then as now, the message of Palm Sunday, the message of Christ the King's royal entry into our world was not well received by the political powers of the time. Now as then, the message of Christ the King's royal entry into our world again poses a challenge to our world's commitments to power, domination, and control.

 

Jesus’ cross constitutes God’s great act of solidarity with us in our human world of day-to-day suffering and our final mortality.

 

On the cross, Jesus confronted the power of evil in the world. Having done so, he invites us this week to accompany him to his eventually empty tomb – because, thanks to the cross of Christ, death no longer has the final word in our world.

 

Homily for Palm Sunday, Saint Paul the Apostle Church, March 29, 2026.

 

78

 

Old men ought to be explorers                                                                                                  

Here and there does not matter                                                                                                    

We must be still and still moving                                                                                                

Into another intensity                                                                                                                

For a further union, a deeper communion                                                                                  

(T.S. Elliot, Four Quartets, "East Coker," V).                                                                            

Birthdays come predictably, on schedule, year after year - until, of course, they simply stop coming.  With each increasing year, the number of birthdays to be celebrated in the future inevitably becomes fewer, which to my mind makes each presently occurring birthday so much more precious, to be cherished that much more.

Today, I celebrate the completion of 78 years on this planet, 78 years of life lived more or less well, more or less interestingly, more or less faithfully and devoutly, a "Boomer" both technically and truly. 

At my age, I suppose, one ought to be profoundly grateful just for having made it thus far - grateful for antibiotics and vaccines and the multitude of modern marvels that have made longer, healthier, and easier lives possible and even probable. Of course, the history of progress has been mixed. I am inclined to agree with Stefan Zweig, who famously wrote in The World of Yesterday, "Never until our time has mankind acted so diabolically, or made such almost divine progress."

That said, I am admittedly of an age when the personal takes precedence over the political. Like so many of my contemporaries, I increasingly feel I cannot do all of the things that I used to do, and I can no longer confidently aspire to have the opportunity to do so many of the other things that I might still wish to do - or that maybe that I would wish I had done but that I never quite got the chance to do. (I often think of that lovely line in the Anglican General Confession: We have left undone those things which we ought to have done.) Health is relative, of course, and lifestyle limitations vary from the extreme to relatively modest, but anyone can safely predict that, at this age, opportunities diminish and choices increasingly narrow, as does whatever confidence one still has in one's future possibilities.

There is a plus side to all that, which is a certain simplicity and the freedom that comes with that. Life is surely simpler when one has less to do. (Unfortunately, it may also be more boring!) It is always better by far to have purpose and remain active. There is, however, certainly some comfort in not having to care anymore about  everything - and certainly not about some things. In a public-facing vocation, one's appearance obviously matters a lot. Things like clothes and style matter much less, however, when one's age automatically makes one both less interesting and less noticed. Simplicity brings with it a certain freedom. How much freedom may inevitably vary from person to person. There is, for example, freedom from the imperious demands of contemporary technology. I have a smartphone, and I use the internet (both probably more than I need to). But age frees me from needing too much more. It frees me in regard to how much technology I am actually required to be mastered by. So I don't do Tic Toc. I don't create videos. I don't keep up with the latest AI innovations. I just don't need to do any of that, which, maybe if I were younger, I might feel much more compulsion to do. In that simpler life, there is some real freedom.

Aging also encourages empathy. In years past, perhaps I might have felt impatience when, for example, a bus was delayed by a handicapped person getting on or off. Of course, I was too well brought up to show any external sign of such selfish feelings, but inwardly I could and did feel impatient at being delayed. Now I not only feel no inner resentment at being delayed, I increasingly don't worry at all about the time it takes to get from place to place!

Unavoidably, of course, aging goes in only one direction. Diminishment goes in only one direction. Everyone inevitably must face the increasing closeness of the end. What one sees and observes on a birthday is the passing of another year. What one feels - and fears - is the inevitable passing of oneself. Who wants to end?  What did the Prophet Isaiah say? We have all withered like leaves, and our guilt carries us away like the wind [Isaiah 64:6].

Of course, faith gives life's inevitable end a meaning it wouldn't otherwise have. But it also uniquely injects its own anxieties. What did Isaac Hecker say? There was once a priest who had been very active for God, until at last God gave him a knowledge of the Divine Majesty. After seeing the majesty of God that priest felt very strange and was much humbled, and knew how little a thing he was in comparison with God [Quoted in Walter Elliott, Life of father Hecker (1891)].

When confronted with such sobering considerations, I just fall back on trust in that old medieval axiom, Facienti quod in se est, Deus non denegat gratiam (To one who does what is in his power, God does not deny grace.)

As for the inevitable regrets about opportunities missed and friendships lost over the years, I find myself also increasingly attracted by the notion of an eternity of mutual forgiveness. There is a famous homily by Saint Fulgentius of Ruspe that we read very year in the Office on the feast of Saint Stephen about the eternal reconciliation between the martyr Stephen and his persecutor Paul,  in which he imagines how  "love fills them both with joy." When one recalls one's many mistakes in life, an eternity of mutual forgiveness seems increasingly appealing!

Equally appealing is the idea that it has all already begun.

As the Jesuit John Lafarge famously observed some six decades ago: "When it's all over and we look back at our old age as we now look back at our earlier life, we may apply these same words [Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! (Luke 24:25).] to ourselves and wonder why it was that we did not see the risen life already operating with us during the hours of darkness or suffering. The moments when that life was most evident were those when we imparted a bit of it, through love, to our neighbor. In those moments, we are joined, as it were, with the countless people in God's Kingdom who are lighting the torch of the resurrection." [The Precious Gift of Old Age (Doubleday, 1963; Sophia Institute Press, 2022] .

Risky Business

War is always a risky business. This is so not just in the obvious, literal sense that war risks the lives of its participants - soldiers and civilians alike. War is risky also in the broader sense that it inevitably disrupts the way things have been so far and are right now - and so renders the future that much more unpredictable. Governments and their militaries routinely make war plans, but war overwhelms routine, releases uncontrollable forces, and results in unpredictable events. 

In 1914 Europeans famously embraced war with an unexpected enthusiasm that in retrospect highlights how ignorant they were of what unexpected and uncontrollable calamities the war would bring. "A quick excursion into the realms of romance, a bold and virile adventure - that was how the ordinary man imagined war in 1914," recalled Stefan Zweig in his famous memoir, The World of Yesterday. After decades of illusory peace, perhaps our early 20th-century predecessors might be forgiven for not knowing what lay ahead, for not recognizing how unpredictably out of control their world had suddenly become. Perhaps. But, if so, what is our excuse? Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq - the most notable and prolonged wars of my lifetime - all unleashed consequences utterly unexpected and uncontrollable.

A lot of serious planning and preparation went into those "forever wars." Public support was sought domestically, and allies and coalitions were pursued internationally. Even so, those wars ended badly for us, in ways no one would have predicted at their outset.

Some wars do end well, of course, and the risks war entails may be necessary and justified. But that is an outcome that can never be taken completely for granted.  Yet, for some inexplicable reason - actually not quite so inexplicable - we tend to act as if we did not know this basic historical fact, and we instead expect to conduct our wars according to plan and to win on schedule. Again, Stefan Zweig's take on the European situation in 1914 appears perennially instructive: "How we all loved our time, a time that carried us forward on its wings; how we all loved Europe. But that overconfident faith in the future, we were sure, would avert madness at the last minute, was also our own fault. We had certainly failed to look at the writing on the wall with enough distrust."

All of which brings us to our present predicament. The constitutional imperative to consult with Congress, the political imperative to persuade public opinion in the nation and earn popular support, the diplomatic imperative to work with allies and create coalitions - none of these guarantee success, as evidenced by the unfortunate outcomes of the "forever wars" of the post-World War II world; but they do impose important restraints, without which the situation becomes even more unpredictable and uncontrollable, which is where we seem to be right now.

Revolutions almost invariably result in something way worse than what was overthrown. The great modern examples are obviously the French Revolution, the Russian Revolution, and the 1979 Iranian Revolution. That last revolution produced a spectacularly oppressive society which (like those other revolutions) has destabilized and threatened the region around it. There is nothing good to be said about the Iranian regime, and its diminishment would likely be a great benefit to both the Middle East and the wider world. But not every evil has a ready solution. It has never been clear how to solve the many problems posed by Iran's malice and belligerence without inducing all sorts of unintended problematic consequences for Iran itself, for the region, and for the world. Presumably this is why, for 47 years, the United States has resisted the temptation to attack Iran militarily.

Speaking on foreign policy to the House of Representatives on July 4, 1821, John Quincy Adams famously said that the U.S. "goes not abroad, in search of monsters to destroy." That appears to have been a wise policy in regard to Iran these past 47 years, which it might well have been wise to continue. 

Instead - without the constitutionally required congressional consultation (let alone any congressional authorization), and without convincing the country or our allies to support the effort, and ignoring all the lessons of recent experience - the U.S. has once again gone "abroad, in search of monsters to destroy." Iran may - or, more likely, may not - be destroyed. Its power will probably be significantly diminished, which is all to the good. But what else will be destroyed or damaged in the process?

The ripple effect of this conflict on the global oil market is but one tangible example of the damage that has been done. The damage is not just higher energy prices, which. for example, in turn enriches Russia, which further advantages Russia in its aggression against Ukraine, which further threatens the rest of Europe. (One positive lesson we might take from this sobering experience would be to reduce our dependence on fossil fuels. Experience, however suggests we will not in fact learn that lesson, no matter how obvious it may be.)

Domestically, the war against Iran is also so wildly inconsistent not only with the wishes of most Americans but even those of at least some of the President's core "America First" supporters. Many of them can undoubtedly be counted on to revise their views so as to continue to support the President, but at least some of them seem to recognize how diametrically opposed this policy is to their expectations from the last election and are willing to express their disappointment. Meanwhile, this war further threatens our foreign alliances - already destabilized by whimsical tariffs, gratuitous insults, and the unprecedented threat to attack and annex the territory of a faithful European ally.

Moreover, because wars are such risky activities that easily unleash unexpected and uncontrollable consequences, even were the President to declare victory and turn his attention back to redecorating the White House, the world would remain seriously unsettled. The war itself could continue, for (as has been said) once one goes to war the enemy also gets a vote on its outcome. In any case, our country, our economy, our politics would all also remain unsettled, as they already have been by this risky presidential adventure.

In 1855, Britain's Queen Victoria supposedly warned King Victor Emmanuel II, the founding King of modern Italy, that kings must be sure that their wars are just, for they will have to answer for them.

Spring

 

The spring equinox occurs today at 10:46 a.m. Of course, the nights have been getting shorter and the days growing longer in the northern hemisphere for months now (since right after Christmas actually).Theoretically, they are equal in length today all over the world.

But longer days are just one aspect of spring - and by no means the most striking. After one of the coldest winters in recent years, the first change one notices is the warmer temperatures. Over a week ago already the temperatures suddenly climbed into the 70s and even hit 80 - summer-seeming days in late winter. But then it got colder again (even as the West Coast is enduring excessively high, summer-like temperatures); and, of course, the temperatures here will likely see-saw up and down between now and summer. Yet the trajectory of the mercury is unmistakable.

With warmer weather suddenly comes the rebirth of the natural world, the greening of the city that so recently was all white with a covering of snow. The truest, most telling signs of spring are, of course, the green shoots rising up out of the earth and the colorful buds suddenly appearing on the trees. Sadly, spring flowers activate allergies, but they are beautiful nonetheless. Sadly too they last only a while, as spring inevitably will give way to the enervating and oppressive heat of summer.

Seasonal changes of clothes were more important and more ritualized when I was growing up. People wore "spring coats" in the spring. But then spring seemed to last longer as a real season - not the short interval it increasingly appears to have become between the extreme cold of winter and the extreme heat of summer. That said, the green shoots rising up out of the earth and the colorful buds suddenly appearing on the trees invite us to appreciate their uniqueness, however brief.

An Italian Way of Being Human

 

Because my Sicilian-speaking maternal grandmother lived with us in our Bronx apartment until her death (when I was 19) and because my mother's brother and sisters had all been Italian-born, I was well acquainted growing up with my Italian heritage on my mother's side. In contrast, my father and his sisters, while all also children of immigrants, had all been born in New York, and my father's parents were both dead before I was born. So I knew next to nothing about that side of the family's Italian experience, only that they had all grown up in Italian Harlem. I can clearly remember, when I was very young, taking the Jerome Avenue train to 125th Street to visit the one aunt who still lived on Second Avenue and 124th Street, near the Triborough Bridge, but she too soon joined her sisters in the East Bronx, and that was the end of my acquaintance with Italian Harlem. (Before moving to the West Bronx during World War II, my mother had grown up in lower Manhattan's "Little Italy." When she met my father, that was her first awareness of Italian Harlem.)

So it was with special interest - and a desire to connect with a family past that I never fully experienced - that I finally read Robert Anthony Orsi's The Madonna of 115th Stree: Faith and Community in Italian Harlem, 1880-1950 (Yale University Press, 1985). Orsi studies East Harlem's Italian immigrant community and its "popular religion," through the annual festa of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. (Although Italian Harlem was unknown to me, I was personally quite familiar with the Bronx version of that festa. La Madonna del Monte Carmelo was my mother's patronal feast, and every July 16 we went to the Italian Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church on Arthur Avenue, where we attended Pontifical Mass in the morning and returned for the outdoor procession - and Italian ices - in the evening. But we attended as spectators who lived a mile or more away, not as members of the local community.)

Indeed, reading Orsi's book has highlighted for me how Americanized, how assimilated, we were in our largely Irish-Catholic corner of the West Bronx, despite speaking Sicilian dialect at home with my grandmother and listening to the Italian radio station with her. Yes, we had a strong sense of family and prioritized time with my aunts, uncles, and cousins, most of whom lived nearby and whom we saw regularly - not just on holidays but on most weekends and throughout the summer vacation season, when we frequented Orchard Beach and various picnic sites. We also visited our deceased relatives in the cemetery, another important feature of the Italian-American way of maintaining traditional connections in a decreasingly traditional world. But, while we shared the extended-family centered lifestyle which Orsi describes in such detail (using the Latin word "domus") with its many life-enhancing satisfactions (and also some of its more negative repressive features), we did so as Americans, very much at home in the U.S., and feeling much less bound by old-world expectations, even while preserving and cherishing some of them.

Orsi describes a much more total society, an almost enclosed community, through various stages of its history and the challenges Italian immigrants experienced not only to maintain their distinctive traditions but to achieve respect in a sometimes very hostile American and American Catholic world. Orsi's "informants in Italian-Harlem continually made a distinction between religion and church." The immigrants' ambivalent relationship with the Church  had its origins in la miseria of the Italian mezzogiorno. But it was exacerbated by the attitudes they encountered in America, in particular "resentment by New York City's Irish Catholics, lay and clerical, of their Italian neighbors so fierce as to constitute a Catholic nativism." 

Obviously, the travails of Italian immigrants at the hands of the local Church establishment did not go unnoticed in Rome. "The American Catholic hierarchy had offended [Pope} Leo [XIII] in the early 1880s by suggesting that Italian immigrants came as pagans to the United States." Orsi suggests that the subsequent Americanism crisis was in part connected with Rome's sensitivity to the American Church's ethnic conflicts (Irish vs. German-Americans, as well as Irish vs. Italian-Americans). The American situation also served the Papacy's interests in its ongoing battle with upstart kingdom of Italy. The Pope's "concern for the immigrants provided him both with an opportunity to demonstrate that the Vatican cared about the Italian people and with a chance to embarrass the government in Rome by showing that it cared for them more than the government did."

The chapters on family life in the Italian ghetto are richly descriptive and, from today's perspective, may seem both nostalgic and challenging - for subsequent generations must inevitably miss much about the richly textured familial way of life described, but also likely experience some relief at having been liberated from its intensity by assimilation. At the same time, the Italian immigrants' sharp critique of the very different values of the surrounding society may still speak today as we struggle with a kind and degree of familial and social breakdown that it would have been very hard for our immigrants predecessors to have fully anticipated.

There is so much richness in this book, which tackles so many disparate aspects of the immigrant generation's experience and that of the subsequent generations. We read about everything from why the Italians distrusted diocesan priests, but felt more positive about religious order priests and even more so about religious Sisters. We read about their ambivalence about crime. And we get insights into the political successes and significance of famous Italian-American politicians like Fiorello LaGuardia and Vito Marcantonio.

 

In his conclusion, Orsi recognizes how "The Italians brought an ancient religious heritage to the community along the East River; and the American Catholics of the downtown Church, dazzled by the prospects of success at last in the United States and embarrassed by this Mediterranean spirituality spilling onto the streets and into the awareness of Americans, might have learned from listening to the voices of the streets."