I have always thought that Palm Sunday was one of those days that captures almost every twist and turn, every high and low of the human experience. In the Catholic tradition of worship we hear in the scriptures of Jesus’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem, when throngs of people hailed Him as King. By the end of the Gospel reading we have crucified Him with the congregation playing the part of those century-old crowds demanding Pontius Pilate release a murderer instead of the innocent carpenter from Galilee.

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