Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord

To The Epiphany Family 

Dominica in Palmis 
Rex humilis, Rex crucifixus: The Humble King, the Crucified King 
(Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord, Mathew 26:14-27:66, 29 March 2026) 

Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem manifests the coming of the kingdom that the Messiah King, welcomed into his city by children and the humble heart, is going to accomplish by the Passover of his Death and Resurrection. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 569-570) 

Dear Brothers and Sisters of Epiphany: At the Threshold of the Mystery –Today we stand at the threshold of a mystery that is both luminous and heavy with sorrow. We carry palms, yet we walk toward the Cross; we cry “Hosanna,” yet we will soon hear “Crucify Him.” Palm Sunday holds together this paradox of praise and rejection, joy and suffering, hope and apparent defeat. It invites us not into a simple celebration, but into a journey—a passage from surface enthusiasm into the depth of divine love revealed in the Passion. 

Anecdote: The Empty Chair -In a small parish much like ours, there was an elderly man who used to sit in the third pew every Sunday. Over the years, his family moved away, his friends passed on, and slowly his presence became quieter. One Palm Sunday, a child asked him, “Why do you still come, even when you are alone?” The old man smiled gently and replied, “I am not alone. He comes too—and He knows what it is to be left alone.” That morning, as the Passion was read, the parish realized something profound. The man was not simply attending Mass—he was living the Gospel. Like Christ, he remained. 

A Short Theological Line –“The Cross is God’s answer to loneliness: not an explanation, but a presence.” 

The Paradox of the King-The King who enters Jerusalem is unlike any king the world has known. He comes not with power, but with poverty; not with armies, but with wounds waiting to be opened; not to take life, but to give His own. Rex humilis—the humble King; Rex crucifixus—the crucified King. His kingship is not imposed but offered, not enforced but embraced in love. He reigns not from a throne of gold, but from the wood of the Cross. 

Christ Enters Our Neighborhood-This King does not remain in the pages of the Gospel—He enters our neighborhood, our streets, our homes, our hidden wounds. He walks into houses where silence has replaced laughter. He sits beside hospital beds where sickness has become a daily cross. He stands at windows where the elderly wait, hoping someone will visit. He sees the emptiness of pews and the absence of familiar faces, those who have moved away—physically or spiritually. Palm Sunday reveals a God who draws near, who refuses to remain distant from the concrete realities of our lives. 

The Passion as Our Story-The Passion we proclaim today is not only His story—it is also ours. For who among us has not felt abandoned? Who has not known betrayal like Judas, denial like Peter, or indifference like the crowd? Yet Christ does not enter this drama to accuse, but to accompany. He steps into the brokenness of the human condition, not to condemn it from above, but to redeem it from within. 

Divine Solidarity in Loneliness and Suffering-He becomes the God who is left alone, so that no one who is alone remains without God. He becomes the God who suffers, so that suffering is no longer empty, but filled with presence. He becomes the God who is silenced, so that even our unspoken pain can become prayer. In a world where many feel forgotten, Christ becomes remembrance. In a neighborhood where pews are emptier, Christ remains present—even if only a few gather in His name. In hearts where faith has grown faint, He does not withdraw—He waits. 

The Kingdom Revealed in the Cross-Palm Sunday is not a celebration of worldly triumph, but a revelation of divine closeness. As the Catechism teaches, the King welcomed by the humble accomplishes His kingdom through His Passover—through a death that becomes life. The Cross is not the collapse of His mission, but its fulfillment. It is there that love is revealed as stronger than sin, and mercy as deeper than human failure. 

Recognizing Christ Today-And so the question is not: “Where is God in our suffering?” but rather: “Can we recognize Him there?” Can we see Him in the elderly who long for companionship, in the sick who carry invisible crosses, in the empty spaces that once were full, in the quiet tears no one else notices? For this is the mystery: Christ is not only on the Cross—He is present in all who are crucified by life. 

The Mission of the Church: Becoming His Presence-We, His Church, are called not merely to wave palms, but to become His presence. To visit, to listen, to accompany, to remain. The kingdom He brings is not built by strength, but by love that stays. It grows quietly wherever someone chooses fidelity over indifference, presence over absence, compassion over convenience. 

From Spectators to Disciples-Palm Sunday invites us into a deeper conversion: from spectators to participants, from crowd to disciples, from distance to communion. It calls us to walk not only behind Christ in a procession, but with Him in His Passion—allowing His way of love to shape our lives and relationships. 

Cumulative Summary-Palm Sunday places us at the threshold of a mystery where praise and suffering meet, revealing a King who enters not in power but in humility. Christ, the Rex humilis et crucifixus, comes into the broken realities of our lives—into loneliness, sickness, and silent abandonment. His Passion is not distant history but a living participation in the wounds of our world. In Him, God does not remain far off but draws near to those who feel forgotten and left behind. The loneliness of the human heart becomes the very place of divine encounter. 

As Mother Teresa reminds us, the deepest poverty is to feel unloved, and Christ enters precisely that poverty. In every empty pew, every hospital bed, and every quiet home, He remains present. The Cross reveals not an answer to suffering, but a God who shares it. Thus, we are called not merely to observe but to become His presence—through compassion, accompaniment, and faithful love. Palm Sunday ultimately invites us to walk with Him, and to let His nearness transform our world of isolation into a communion of hope. 

Walking with the Humble King-Let us walk with Him this week—not only in liturgy, but in life. Let us walk with Him into the homes of the lonely, into the rooms of the sick, into the silence of those who feel forgotten. For the humble King still enters Jerusalem—and today, He desires to enter through us. Rex humilis, Rex crucifixus—the King who reigns from the Cross is the God who refuses to leave us alone. 

Today we welcome Jesus with palms in our hands, yet we know that He walks toward the Cross. He comes not as a king of worldly power, but as a king of quiet love, humility, and surrender. Rex humilis—the humble King—enters gently into our lives, into our homes, our struggles, and our hidden sorrows. He sees the empty pews and the missing faces. He knows those who have moved away, those who have drifted away, and those who remain but feel deeply alone. He stands beside the sick, the elderly, and all who carry silent burdens each day. He does not turn away from our loneliness; rather, He enters into it. 

Rex crucifixus—the crucified King—embraces the Cross so that no suffering is ever without meaning. On the Cross, He becomes close to every heart that feels forgotten, abandoned, or weary. In Him, no tear is unseen, no life is unnoticed, and no pain is wasted. This is our hope: we are never alone, because He has chosen to remain with us. 

As we begin this Holy Week, we are called not only to follow Him, but also to become His presence for others—to visit, to listen, to care, and to stay. For the humble and crucified King still walks among us, and through us He continues to bring His quiet kingdom of love: 

A humble King on borrowed road draws near, 
No crown of gold, but love that conquers fear. 
He walks where silent homes and sorrows stay, 
And meets the lonely in their hidden day. 
Upon the Cross, His quiet throne is made, 
Where no one weeps unseen, no heart betrayed. 
In wounded love, His kingdom still abides— 
A God who stays, and never leaves our sides. 

Fraternally, 
Fr. John Peter Lazaar SAC, Pastor