A parish priest friend of mine over in Rome once told me something that really stuck with me. He said that even in places where church attendance has seen better days, there’s one annual celebration that still pulls in the crowds like nobody’s business. We’re talking about Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord—or just Palm Sunday, as most of us know it—the day that liturgically kicks off Holy Week.
So, what’s the big draw? It’s the simple fact that people walk away from Mass with something tangible in their hands. It’s not so much the priest’s (ideally) seven-minute homily, or even, sad to say, the profound act of receiving the Body of Christ. Nope, it’s those blessed palm branches. It seems nobody likes to leave Mass empty-handed, whether that’s spiritually speaking or, in this instance, quite literally.
Over the last few years, I’ve had the chance to help out at the Parish of Saints Peter and Paul during Holy Week and at Christmas. This parish is nestled within the Archdiocese of Milan, which celebrates Mass using the Ambrosian Rite. This rite has its own unique liturgical flavor, right down to its own lectionary (that’s the lineup of Scripture readings for Mass). Getting this firsthand look at other rites within the Church has really opened my eyes to the sheer richness of our liturgical traditions. It’s also helped me pinpoint some of the particular quirks and charms of our familiar Roman Rite.
Now, in the Ambrosian Rite, the way Holy Week readings are ordered is pretty straightforward—it’s all very chronological and linear. For the Palm Sunday Mass without a procession, they read John 11:55–12:11, which really paints a picture of the tense run-up to Passover, with the Jewish leaders actively looking to arrest Jesus. Then, for the Mass that does include the procession of palm branches, John 12:12–16 is proclaimed. This passage, of course, describes Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, where a massive crowd, hailing him as the King of Israel, greets him with palm branches and shouts of “Hosanna!”
As Holy Week unfolds in this rite, the Gospel readings keep walking you through the events leading up to the Last Supper:
- On Monday, we hear Jesus urging his disciples to stay alert and keep praying (Luke 21:34–36).
- Tuesday’s reading has Jesus telling his disciples that Passover is just two days away, and he’ll be handed over to be crucified (Matthew 26:1–5).
- Wednesday is when we recall Judas actively seeking his chance to betray Jesus (Matthew 26:14–16).
- Come Thursday, the faithful listen to a lengthy passage, Matthew 26:17–75. This covers the gamut: Jesus’s Passover preparations, the Last Supper itself (where the Eucharist was instituted), his agony in Gethsemane, Judas’s betrayal, Jesus’s arrest, and his trial before Caiaphas, all interwoven with Peter’s denial.
- On Good Friday, the Gospel is from Matthew 27:1–56, recounting Jesus’s condemnation, Judas’s tragic suicide, Pilate’s reluctant decision to hand Jesus over for crucifixion, and finally, Jesus’s suffering and death on the Cross.
Like I touched on earlier, the Ambrosian Holy Week readings really stick to the timeline of how things happened.
But things are a bit different in the Roman Rite. Here, the Palm Sunday celebration, when “the Church recalls the entrance of Christ the Lord into Jerusalem to accomplish his Paschal Mystery” (as the Roman Missal puts it), stands out because it features two Gospel readings.
First up, at the very start of Mass, is the Gospel account of Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem. Depending on the liturgical year, it’ll be Matthew 21:1–11 (Year A), Mark 11:1–10 or John 12:12–16 (Year B), or Luke 19:28–40 (Year C).
Then, at the usual spot for the Gospel during any regular Mass, a second, much longer Gospel is proclaimed: the Passion narrative. This will be Matthew 26:14–27:66 in Year A, Mark 14:1–15:47 in Year B, or Luke 22:14–23:56 in Year C. The Homiletic Directory sheds some light on this, noting that “two ancient traditions shape this unique liturgical celebration: the custom of a procession in Jerusalem, and the reading of the Passion in Rome” (§77).
So, you might be wondering: why the chronological leap? Why read a Passion narrative on Palm Sunday when, logically, Good Friday seems like the more fitting time for it? Well, the official liturgical books don’t exactly spell it out. That leaves us some room to speculate, drawing on liturgical theology, Church law, and a bit of practical observation. With that in mind, I can see three likely reasons why the Passion narrative gets an airing on Palm Sunday (as well as on Good Friday, of course).
- First, let’s look at the loftiest reason: reading the Passion narrative on Palm Sunday, right alongside the Good Friday proclamation, sets the entire tone from the get-go. It’s a way to plunge the faithful straight into the whole Paschal Mystery from the very start of Holy Week. This approach really shines a spotlight on the unbreakable link between Christ’s kingly triumph and his suffering and death for humanity’s salvation. As Paschale Solemnitatis puts it, “The connection between both aspects of the paschal mystery should be shown and explained in the celebration and catechesis of this day” (II, A, 28).
- The second reason is more down-to-earth, keeping the spiritual good of churchgoers in mind. Including the Passion narrative on Palm Sunday ensures that the accounts from the Synoptic Gospels—Matthew, Mark, and Luke, not just John—get their moment in the Church’s liturgy. Don’t forget, on Good Friday, the Gospel reading is always from John. So, by making it to Palm Sunday Mass, the faithful get to hear the Passion story through the unique lenses of Matthew, Mark, or Luke, depending on the year’s cycle. While each Gospel tells the same core truth about Jesus, each has its own particular flavor and details that enrich our understanding of Christ’s mystery.
- The final reason is purely pragmatic. By scheduling a Passion narrative for Palm Sunday, the Church makes sure that the faithful hear it at least once a year. You see, the Friday of the Passion of the Lord—Good Friday, as we all call it—isn’t actually on the list of holy days of obligation in the Code of Canon Law (canon 1246 §1). This means Catholics aren’t required to attend the Good Friday service. If the Passion wasn’t read on Palm Sunday, folks who regularly miss Good Friday might go the entire liturgical year without hearing this central story. To sidestep this potential gap, the Church, in its wisdom, has the Passion narrative read on Palm Sunday. Since Palm Sunday is a Sunday, it’s a holy day of obligation, which pretty much guarantees every Catholic hears the Passion at least once.
Whatever the exact thinking was behind these reading choices, Palm Sunday truly is, as Pope Benedict XVI called it, “the great doorway leading into Holy Week.” As we commemorate “the Lord’s entry into the city for our salvation,” the Roman Missal’s brief address for the day urges us to resolve to follow “in his footsteps, so that, being made by his grace partakers of the Cross, we may have a share also in his Resurrection and in his life.” Those blessed palm branches we take home aren’t just souvenirs from Mass; they are blessed—to echo the words of the Collect—so that “we, who follow Christ the King in exultation, may reach the eternal Jerusalem through him.”