Holy Week is a real bitch. And Palm Sunday is when we remember how we are most human. How it is not that we are hypocritical, but rather inconsistent and duplicitous. We are human, all too human. Palm Sunday is when we are at our weakest and most unsuspecting about ourselves. Palm Sunday is our day of good intentions, which in less than a week is worth fuck all. Palm Sunday is the cruelest Sunday of all. It is the Sunday in which our humanity is laid most bare. It is our Sunday where were are at our worst, because we think we are at our best.
Palm Sunday is our most human Sunday in the liturgical year, contrasted with the most divine of the next Sunday. And Good Friday is the miscenation of the two days. Human and the god dead and silent for once, with so much chatter on either side. Palm Sunday is the set up for Gospel Fail. Palm Sunday is our expectations, whatever they may be, on display: A peaceful planet, a loving word, a kind act, a new start, a welcome end, a restful night, the safest hope, the brightest future.
Fuck it. We want Barabbas. Now.