First Reading: (Isaiah 50:4–7)
Psalm: (Psalm 22)
“My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”
The psalm expresses deep suffering, mockery, and pain.
Second Reading: (Philippians 2:6–11)
Gospel: (Matthew 26–27)
Reflection:
Today’s Mass was at St. Mary's Church at Yale University. Homily started with all the vales coering everything the eyes sees in Church up to this Holy Week. The readings were long but so real. It is that once a week reading that goes on for so long. But the question is, what if it were really real? After all is reads like a good drama to many.
This happened after an encouhter with a priest and a student after mass. So the priest asked him, “What did you think of the Mass?”
In a very sincere way, he said it was so beautiful. It was amazing. The music, the incense, the palms, the singing, all the people, and that story about Jesus. Then he said, “Wouldn’t that be amazing if it were really real?”
He said it sincerely. So I responded sincerely:
“You know what? That story, those readings you just heard proclaimed, it’s really real. It really happened.”
You could see his mind working. Then he said, “If it is really real, then that changes everything.”
And indeed, my friends, it changes everything.
Jesus really lived. He really suffered. He entered into His passion. He died on a cross. And as we enter Holy Week, we remember that after His death and burial, on the third day, He rose again and shares eternal life with all who believe in Him. He won the victory.
This is what we celebrate, and it changes everything.
Today, as we celebrate Palm Sunday, I invite you to go deeper into these mysteries. Don’t let this Holy Week be just another routine. Go deeper into what Christ has done for you.
In prayer and worship, enter into these mysteries. Celebrate them well. And always remember:
It is really real.
So this Palm Sunday stands at the threshold of the most sacred mystery of the Christian life, the Passion of Christ. It confronts us not with a distant story, but with a living reality in our midst evern when there are vales all over the church: the collision between human sin and divine mercy. And within that tension, one figure emerges with unsettling depth, Judas.
We are accustomed to seeing Judas as the villain, the betrayer, the one beyond redemption. Yet the Gospel according to Matthew does something profoundly uncomfortable: it allows us to see his sorrow. Judas does not deny his sin. He does not justify it. He does not hide from it. Instead, he confesses plainly:
“I have sinned in betraying innocent blood.”
This is not indifference. This is not pride. This is raw, unfiltered remorse.
And here lies the unsettling question for us:
Is Judas closer to salvation in that moment of truth than many who never admit their sin at all?
Judas’ story does not end with confession, it ends in despair.
He returns the silver, rejects the fruits of his betrayal, but ultimately cannot accept the possibility of forgiveness.
His tragedy is not only that he sinned.
His tragedy is that he lost hope in mercy.
This is the deeper danger for every soul, not sin itself, but the belief that we are beyond redemption.
The Mystery of Divine Mercy. Yet the Church, in her wisdom, does something remarkable:
She has never definitively declared that Judas is in hell.
Why?
Because God’s mercy is deeper than human judgment.
There is no “reverse canonization” in Christianity, no official declaration that a soul is lost forever. Even in the darkest cases, the Church leaves room for mystery, for grace, for the possibility that God acts in ways unseen and unknown.
The Catechism reminds us:
We should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives.
If that is true, then even Judas’ final moment remains veiled in divine mystery.
There exists a striking image in a basilica in France:
One carving shows Judas hanging in death, broken, distorted, tragic.
But another shows Christ carrying Judas on His shoulders like the lost sheep, alive, restored, smiling.
This is not doctrine.
It is something deeper, a theological hope.
A question, not an answer:
Can the mercy of Christ reach even here?
To understand this possibility, we must look to the Cross.
On the Cross, Christ enters into:
physical suffering
emotional abandonment
spiritual darkness
He cries out:
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
This is not despair, but it is the experience of abandonment.
Why does Christ go there?
Because there are souls who live in that darkness.
And Christ refuses to abandon even them.
He descends into the furthest reaches of human brokenness so that no one can say:
“God has never been where I am.”
Where Sin Abounds…
St. Paul declares:
“Where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more.”
Not equally.
Not proportionally.
But superabundantly.
This means:
No failure is final
No fall is too deep
No distance is too far
God is not passively waiting.
He is actively pursuing.
Like the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine,
He goes after the one,
even if that one is Judas.
This reflection is not ultimately about Judas.
It is about you and me.
Where have we betrayed Christ?
Where have we failed, fallen, or walked away?
Where have we begun to believe that forgiveness is no longer possible?
Palm Sunday confronts us all with this truth:
Sin is real.
Consequences are real.
But mercy is more real still.
Even at the edge of despair, there remains a possibility:
A final turning.
A final glance.
A final surrender.
As one spiritual writer put it:
One tear of repentance is enough to awaken the mercy of God.
Entering Holy Week
As you walk into Holy Week, we should carry this with us:
Do not minimize our sins
But never exaggerate it beyond God’s mercy
Stand before the Cross not in fear, but in honest truth.
And if we have wandered far, very far, remember:
The Shepherd is still searching.
God bless
Have a blessed spirit-filled week.
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