Palm Sunday, Cycle A. Today’s readings: Isaiah 50:4-7; Philippians 2:6-11; Matthew 26:14-27:66

Abdu Murray’s 2022 book More than a White Man’s Religion.

In his 2022 book More than a White Man’s Religion, Abdu Murray compellingly dismantles the oft-repeated claim that Christianity is an imperialist, sexist religion grounded in a sacred text mired in misogyny, racism and genocide. Murray does not shy away from the fact that far too many Christians over the centuries have behaved reprehensibly and abusively; yet he argues that when doing so, they acted in direct contradiction to Christianity’s basic tenets and values, not because of them.

In a similar vein, our last three popes have all apologised for the scandalous ways in which members and leaders of our Church have harmed others, over time and across cultures. Pope Francis has branded such conduct “deplorable” and “a counter witness to the Gospel”, while begging forgiveness on behalf of the Church from God and the victims.

Such apologies and explanations would hardly be necessary were Christians to ponder and emulate the myriad examples of Christ. The gospels, not least when recounting the events we commemorate throughout Holy Week, bear witness to the constant paradox of the king who enters Jerusalem meekly riding on a colt, the master who kneels to wash the feet of his followers, the God who dies a shameful death.

A little episode from my past will hopefully illustrate this point; at age 19, mere months before entering the Seminary, I performed the role of High Priest in the passion play produced annually in the Mosta Oratory. I thoroughly enjoyed the role; in the Golgotha scene, at the foot of the cross, I chewed up the scenery, mocking the crucified Jesus with all the gusto of a pantomime villain. Then, at the moment of his death, I stormed off the stage together with the other baddies, laughing callously as we went.

Yet as we climbed down the steps into the auditorium, intending to leave dramatically through the main door, a little boy seated in the front row hissed at me ferociously: “Hey, fatso (l-oħxon)! Just you wait and see what Jesus will do to you when he rises from the dead!”

The amateur thespian in me rejoiced as though I had won the Oscar: clearly the little chap was convinced of my evil nature and deeds. Yet simultaneously I was dismayed that this boy had so utterly failed to comprehend the nature of Jesus and his mission. Christ’s resurrection would provide no immediate retribution to the scoundrels who had conspired to kill him. Rather – even on the cross – he uttered words of mercy and forgiveness even for them. Thankfully for all of us, we believe in grace, not karma.

That is why Holy Week starts with the evocative image of Jesus riding on a colt; though joyfully acclaimed by the crowds as Son of David, he fulfils the ancient prophecy of the king who comes to his people not triumphant but humble.

Likewise, the rather theatrical way in which the gospel is delivered in our churches today, with multiple readers proclaiming the different roles, reminds us that we too are actors, and that the drama of Christ accepted or betrayed plays out still in every heart and throughout society. Like Christ, it is only through meekness and love that his disciples achieve authentic victory.

In the words of historian and philosopher Will Durant: “There is no greater drama in human record than the sight of a few Christians, scorned or oppressed by a succession of emperors, bearing all trials with a fierce tenacity, multiplying quietly, building order while their enemies generated chaos, fighting the sword with the word, brutality with hope, and at last defeating the strongest state that history has known. Caesar and Christ had met in the arena, and Christ had won.”

bgatt@maltachurchtribunals.org