Why Do We Celebrate a Triumphal Entry When We Know It Ends in Rejection?
First Reading: Isaiah 50:4-7
Responsorial Psalm: Ps 21(22):8-9,17-20,23-24
Second Reading: Philippians 2:6-11
Gospel: Luke 22:14–23:56
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There are moments in life when the beginning of something is filled with hope, energy, and admiration, but the ending leaves behind disappointment, abandonment, and pain. Many can relate to that sharp reversal. A politician hailed during campaign season may later be criticized or insulted for failing to meet expectations. A priest loved during his first years in a parish may become the object of gossip once he speaks truth that challenges comfort. A student may be praised for excellence but shunned when others grow envious. A couple stands before the altar full of joy, only to find their marriage torn apart by violence, suspicion or unfaithfulness. This is part of the emotional tension that Palm Sunday evokes: At the start of today’s liturgy, we wave palms, sing hosanna, and rejoice in the King who enters Jerusalem. Yet within the same celebration, our voices read out the Passion, we fall silent as He is betrayed, humiliated, and crucified. Why then do we celebrate His entry into Jerusalem with such pageantry – procession, joyful singing and dancing, knowing that it leads into the shadow of the Passion? Is it not contradictory to lift palms in triumph while the Liturgy already shifts into sorrow? This dissonance is not an oversight; it is the very heart of Palm Sunday of the Passion of our Lord. It places us in the tension between acclaim and rejection, reminding us that following Christ demands the courage to embrace glory that comes not through applause, but through suffering and fidelity.
The first reading from Isaiah chapter 50 situates us in the lived experience of the Suffering Servant, a figure drawn from the exilic or post-exilic period of Israel’s history, when the people had returned from Babylonian captivity but still faced discouragement and inner conflict. The Servant speaks not as a victim of random misfortune but as one who has willingly offered his back to those who struck him. The Servant says, “The Lord has given me a well-trained tongue, that I might know how to speak to the weary a word that will rouse them.” He listens to God morning by morning, yet despite this intimacy, he is beaten, spat upon, and disgraced. The Hebrew root word for “rejection” which connects deeply with this passage is ma’as (מָאַס), meaning to despise, to discard, or to treat as unworthy. The Servant has been ma’as by his own people, and yet he sets his face like flint, confident that the Lord will vindicate him. This theme of being publicly praised and yet deeply rejected is not foreign to the lives of prophets and holy men in the Hebrew Scriptures. Isaiah thus anticipates the paradox of Palm Sunday: the Servant speaks God’s truth, uplifts the weary, and is welcomed by some, but is ultimately rejected by the powerful.
As a result, the Responsorial Psalm (Psalm 22) illustrates the inward cry of the rejected servant with disturbing precision. “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” This psalm is not simply about personal despair but reflects the communal experience of someone publicly humiliated, mocked, and condemned. It resounds the experience of the righteous one whose suffering is not a result of guilt but of fidelity. The psalmist says, “All who see me mock me; they curl their lips and jeer.” The earlier praise and palm branches seem almost ironic in the light of this cry. Psalm 22 continues the theme of ma’as, suggesting that the rejection of the just is not accidental but structural, embedded in a society that cannot tolerate holiness without hypocrisy. Yet, this psalm moves toward trust. “You who fear the Lord, praise him!” The juxtaposition of agony and hope becomes the bridge between Palm Sunday and the Passion. Even in rejection, the faithful heart clings to God.
Likewise, the Second Reading, from Philippians 2, offers a theological framing of what we have seen in Isaiah and the Psalms. Written from prison, Paul addresses a community struggling with internal divisions and calls them to the mindset of Christ. The life setting here involves both the humility of Paul’s situation and the call for ecclesial unity in a time of tension. Paul says, “Though he was in the form of God, Jesus did not regard equality with God something to be grasped.” Instead, He emptied Himself, taking the form of a slave and becoming obedient unto death. The paradox of Palm Sunday and Passion finds clarity here: Jesus accepts humiliation because love must descend to serve. The triumphal entry was not staged for human approval but was part of divine humility. This was not a king seeking earthly applause but a Messiah revealing the cost of obedience. His exaltation comes only after the descent into death.
And arriving at the gospel reading (Luke 22:14 to 23:56), we are drawn into the Passion not as distant observers but as implicated participants. The narrative is complex and deeply textured. It begins with the Last Supper and carries through betrayal, trial, mockery, crucifixion, and death – recounting in full detail the Passion narrative. The Sitz im Leben of this passage is Luke’s pastoral context among Gentile converts who needed assurance that the death of Christ was not a defeat but the plan of God unfolding through faithfulness. Luke’s Gospel is unique in highlighting Jesus’ calm dignity, His words of forgiveness from the Cross, His interaction with the repentant thief, and His final entrusting of His spirit to the Father. The Greek root for “rejection” in this context is apodokimazō (ἀποδοκιμάζω), meaning to reject after testing, to disapprove after judgment. Jesus was examined by Pilate, by Herod, and by the crowds. All found Him not guilty, and yet He was rejected. His Kingship was not the one they desired. It was a kingship without swords, without crowds, without walls. The triumphal entry had not ended, it had only begun, but in a manner that defied expectations. His cross was His throne, His silence His verdict, His last breath His coronation. This rejection is not simply about historical actors; it reflects a deeper human tendency to embrace a Messiah of power and reject the one who suffers. This is why we celebrate the triumphal entry while knowing the end. We are meant to confront this contradiction within ourselves. We praise Him with palms but often choose silence when faith becomes uncomfortable. We welcome Him in liturgy but hesitate to follow Him to the Cross.
Practically, this Sunday challenges us to recognize that the path of faith is not a constant applause. Christians must be wary of shallow forms of triumph. Not every praise is rooted in truth, and not every crowd is reliable. Our lives must not be built on applause but on obedience. The same hands that wave palms today may be absent when the cross is heavy.
The acclaim of Palm Sunday is easy; the silence of Gethsemane is where real disciples are revealed. When the Church is popular, many gather. But when She stands with the persecuted, speaks uncomfortable truths, or resists political convenience, the crowd thins. This reflection calls on every Christian to examine whether we are palm-wavers or cross-bearers. Do we only follow when it suits us, or are we prepared to follow when He is unpopular, when obedience means discomfort, when silence would be easier than witness? The Christian life is not a popularity contest but a cruciform path. That is why we hold palm branches not just as signs of victory, but as invitations to walk into the mystery of redemptive suffering.
This Sunday also invites the Church to re-evaluate the kind of Messiah we proclaim. Are we guilty of proclaiming a Jesus who saves without cost, who triumphs without wounds, who promises comfort without challenge? The liturgy refuses this distortion. It places the Passion in front of us, unfiltered, to remind us that Christ did not win through spectacle but through surrender. The Eucharist, instituted in this very Gospel, is not a banquet of the triumphant but the nourishment of the self-giving. Judas received it and left. The disciples received it and fell asleep. What will we do? Palm Sunday is not a performance but a pledge: to follow Jesus with open eyes, through praise and rejection alike.
We must also bear in mind that ministry, parenthood, public service, or even faithful Catholic living will involve seasons of being praised and seasons of being ignored or opposed. The measure of fidelity is not how many sing our name but whether we remain constant in suffering.
Also, rejection should not be feared if we are rejected for truth. The Servant, the Psalmist, Paul, and Jesus all show that to suffer for righteousness is to walk the narrow road of salvation. In an age addicted to popularity and acceptance, the Passion reminds us that integrity will always cost something.
Penultimately, Palm Sunday invites us not to rush to Easter joy without passing through the road of betrayal, silence, and abandonment. The King we follow does not promise approval or comfort, but invites us to carry a cross, to be faithful in silence, and to find glory in surrender. We wave our palms not as fans of a political hero but as disciples of the Crucified One, who shows us that love without condition is stronger than death. In the tension between triumph and rejection lies the true drama of faith.
Above all, let us never forget that even when Christ is rejected, He remains King. Not in the way the world understands kingship, but in the way God reveals glory: through humility, through listening like the Servant in Isaiah, through crying out like the Psalmist, through emptying like the hymn in Philippians, through enduring like the Christ of Luke. The triumphal entry is real, not because the crowd sustains it, but because the love of Christ will carry it through the grave. We wave our palms knowing the ending, not to deny the Passion but to proclaim that even in rejection, the love of God is victorious. That is the mystery of Palm Sunday, and it demands from us not sentiment but conversion.
O that today you would listen to his VOICE, harden not your hearts! (Ps. 95:7)
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Shalom!
© Fr. Chinaka Justin Mbaeri, OSJ
Seminário Padre Pedro Magnone, São Paulo, Brazil
nozickcjoe@gmail.com / fadacjay@gmail.com
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Have you prayed your rosary today?
Amen.