Palm Sunday & A Place For ‘Todos’
Pope Francis has written and spoken many memorable words. He likely will be remembered most for one particular line. Todos, todos, todos. Everyone, everyone, everyone. The church should be for everyone. He said it to the young people at World Youth Day in 2023, asking them to repeat the words after him. He said it at a press conference, and he said it in an interview on American TV.
The church certainly has a way to go in this regard. A church for everyone means a hierarchy that includes women. It means we accept and love those who don’t think or even live the way we do. Todos, todo, todos is the goal we aim for.
The Pope’s words resound for me on this Palm Sunday as I recall Jesus’ death on the cross and look at the fragmentation occurring in our society — the attempts to separate groups into those who are in, and those who are out, those who are for us, those who are against.
The gospel readings leading up to Palm Sunday are challenging. Repeatedly you see Jesus come up against the religious authorities of his time. He is upsetting the social order and they want him gone.
Last week began with the story of a woman accused of adultery by the men in authority. Jesus refuses to condemn her. Instead, he turns the accusation against the religious leaders, forcing them to look at their own moral failings. And more: he heals the people polite society would rather not think about: the deaf, the blind, the lame.
We see a parallel in what is happening in our own country, where people are being fired — purged — simply because they say or do something people in power don’t like. We see it in the way programs to help the most vulnerable are under attack. Some among us are so sure of our own rightness that anyone who dares disagree must be eliminated. It is what Jesus also confronted.
There was an interesting segment this past week on the PBS-TV program “Firing Line with Margaret Hoover” that included a clip from a 1980 interview with journalist Malcolm Muggeridge. Muggeridge considered himself an atheist until he witnessed World War II. He was one of the early journalists to chronicle the work of Mother Teresa and was deeply affected by her life and ministry. In the interview, Muggeridge said doubt is not only healthy, it is necessary for a strong faith life.
He called doubt “the unfolding of enlightenment.” He added, “I rather believe in doubting. It’s sometimes thought that it’s the antithesis of faith, but I think it’s connected with faith–something that actually St. Augustine said–like, you know, reinforced concrete. You have those strips of metal in the concrete which make it stronger.”
In other words, doubt forces a healthy, continuous re-examination of our faith.
It’s all too easy in these turbulent times to judge one another, to think we alone have the truth, and others are wrong. Every day, I see the folly in pre-judging. I know a man, for example, who voted for Donald Trump, supporting Trump’s policy of massive deportations. That man is now helping a young immigrant woman from Mexico to enroll in one of our local universities.
I guided a retreat last weekend in Kentucky, a ruby red state. Yet, I met only people who are as concerned as I am about the slashing of aid to the poor, the indiscriminate firing of federal workers, the revenge-taking on one’s perceived enemies. I met only people who want to serve others with compassion, who want to reach out to the marginalized, as Jesus did.
In another interesting experience, I attended a “Reconciliation” service at the parish where I attend daily Mass. Reconciliation used to be known as “Confession,” a sacramental time when we confess our failings in the presence of a priest and ask for absolution. What was so interesting was that after I finished chronicling my litany of shortcomings, the priest thanked me for coming. He didn’t comment on anything I had confessed. He simply asked me to reflect on God’s love for me and God’s mercy.
In that moment, I felt I was part of a church for todos, todos, todos.
Palm Sunday recalls the self-emptying of a person for the well-being of others. It’s the antithesis of a “me-first” attitude. It also asks us to reflect on our judging others.
On what side of the road would I have been on that day when Jesus rode into Jerusalem? Would I have chimed in with the crowd praising him and throwing palms in front of him? Or would I be part of the group that quickly turned against him, influenced by mob mentality, afraid of being in the crosshairs of the powers that be?
Would I have been Peter, too scared to acknowledge a friend in his time of trial, or Veronica, who bravely stepped out of the crowd to wipe the brow of an outcast?
As Holy Week begins, can we reflect on our propensity for judging others? Can we reach out to those who might be feeling left out? How can we show that the church is for todos, todos, todos?
