Sunday, April 14, 2019

Domingo de Ramos

“Jesus’ disciples began to praise God aloud with joy for all the mighty deeds they had seen” (Luke 19:37). 

It is Palm Sunday in Bolivia. With all the lovers of Jesus, I wait for the reign of God to break into our world, to confound it, to turn it upside down. I look for and listen for the signs. Still I hear, see, and understand very little of what happens here, but I am trying because Jesus has the words of everlasting life, and I have nowhere else to go. 

Last night I attended the Palm Sunday vigil Mass. In the church, ten-foot palm fronds were tied to the pews, forming a cool green canopy in the nave. Parishioners brought dry yellow fronds, woven into lattice patterns, into the church. I have seen women on the sidewalks weaving, weaving, and offering their crafts to others—for free or for a price, I do not know. I wonder what I would have been doing at the time Jesus entered into Jerusalem for the last time. Would I be cutting or waving palms, or laying them on the ground, or laying down my cloak instead? Would I be walking in his company? Would I be part of the procession at all, or staying behind, staying indoors? What would I think; what would I believe? Something tells me I would be missing out on the excitement. Maybe I would choose to absent myself. Or would I be bolder than that? At this hour, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, I just don’t know. Would I settle for watching, wanting, waiting from afar? 

Of course I would want to be bolder than that. I live the consecrated life of a Franciscan because I need the rituals of Christian practice to do what comes naturally to others who may or may not have faith: to love God and to love neighbor and to give thanks always. If the day ever came when I thought I should leave religious life, it would be because I could love God and neighbor more perfectly, in chastity, poverty, and obedience, beyond the particular customs and practices of Capuchin life. But that will be the day when Jesus Christ comes again, or some other act of God takes place. 

In the meantime, whether we are in the parade or on the sidelines, let us be bold enough to say, Blessed are they who come in the name of God. Amen. 

And so I came to Nuestra Casa in God’s name this morning, to do nothing else but sit with the girls and do what they wanted. So I drew pictures of drums and guitars for them. When the radio was playing the song “La Isla Bonita” and they asked me what Madonna was saying, I translated for them as best as I could. I gave them positive encouragement as they were drawing freehand or tracing other pictures. I visit the girls to hear them into speech, but they are also teaching me to speak, and they are bidding me to speak not only in words, but also in images and deeds.

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