The associated reading for this reflection can be found in your Every Sacred Sunday Mass journal or online here.
As we know, the Gospels span roughly 33 years. In one liturgical year, we cover the entire earthly life of Christ. Obviously, we see large gaps of time: we are brought into his birth and infancy; when he was around 12 and separated from his parents during their travels; when he was around 30 and beginning his public ministry at the wedding at Cana. Then the pacing slows during Holy Week and we progress through Scripture in real time.
We can see how quickly the crowds turned on Jesus. Just a few days ago, on Palm Sunday, the people were laying down leaves and revering the Son of God riding in on a donkey. Now, suddenly, abruptly, those same people are demanding their savior be crucified. They would rather have a criminal than allow Jesus to go free.
Like the crowd, we have denied Christ. We go to Mass, worship him in our churches to the point of receiving him bodily, and then we deny him. For some of us, this denial is like the crowd, and the pressure to fit in (whether that be with family, friends we want to impress, our bosses) encourages us to act like we aren’t God’s people set apart. For others, we deny Christ in our lifestyle, with that one sin of which we just can’t seem to let go. For others still, it’s complacency in our spiritual life, saying we love Christ to others without ever telling him that. For almost all of us, it is all of the above.
But Christ will never deny us. As long as we are on this earth, we can turn our hearts towards him and we will be embraced like the Prodigal Son. When he was carrying his cross and looking out at the crowds, he wasn’t just thinking of his people as some ambiguous identity. He was looking into the hearts of everyone, knowing them better than they knew themselves, and wanting nothing more than heaven for them. When Christ was dying on the cross, he wasn’t just thinking of “opening the gates of heaven.” He was thinking about you. Through his long suffering and death, your name was on his heart.
Christ would rather die than spend eternity without you.
On this solemn day, I would like to leave this with a beautiful hymn to reflect on: My Song is Love Unknown, text by Samuel Crossman and music by John Ireland. I hadn’t heard this until I was in my 20s and have learned that many don’t know it. I think it so strikingly illuminates the sorrow of this day alongside the awe and wonder that we should have toward our Lord in his finest hour.
My song is love unknown,
My Savior's love to me;
Love to the loveless shown,
That they might lovely be.
O who am I,
That for my sake
My Lord should take
Frail flesh, and die?
Marissa Rankin (Meyer) is an active cantor within the Diocese of Nashville. She loves her husband and rescue pups, Esther and Ewok! Follow her on Instagram for updates on an exciting new product for Catholic brides, launching 2021!