Palm Sunday 2026

 

Forgot to record the first meditation, and then it hardly seemed worth recording the rest!  Sorry!

Meditation 1: On the Road

It’s been a long, hot old journey up from your village to Jerusalem. It is, every year. Almost the whole village goes – from the babies, slung across their mothers’ bodies, or, slightly older ones on their fathers’ shoulders; the older kids, travelling together, being warned not to get too far ahead, not to lag behind, stay where you can see us, please…. Adults, trudging along at the steady pace you can keep up for hours. The elderly on donkeys, or perhaps in carts – some, even, in carts pulled by their sons and daughters, rather than an animal. Almost the whole village.

Each night you have made camp in the old, familiar campgrounds. You’ve sung the songs that have been sung from time immemorial, you know the ones: “I will lift up mine eyes to the hills, from whence doth my help come!” and so on.

And, at last, you are coming into Jerusalem. Only a few more miles – you’ll make it by supper-time, just in time for the Seder. You’ll be glad to sit down!

But, hang on a minute, what’s happening? There’s some some sort of disturbance over there. Bloke on a donkey, it looks like, and a crowd gathering round. Wonder what’s so special about him?

“They say it’s the Messiah”, says a random bystander. “Can’t be, of course – Messiah wouldn’t come on a donkey. He’d come at the head of a huge army - “ he drops his voice “- get rid of those wretched Romans for us!”

You go closer to have a better look. People are shouting “Hosanna, hosanna!” And tearing branches off the trees to spread on the road ahead of him. And throwing their cloaks on the ground for the donkey to walk on.

He turns and looks at you. And from that one glance – well, maybe he is the Messiah, after all!

Meditation 2: In the Courtyard

It’s no good – you can’t sleep. That extra Passover glass of wine was a bad mistake. So you get up and wander around the city. It’s not the safest place to be, but you’ve got a knife and can defend yourself if you have to.

In the courtyard outside the high priest’s house, a crowd has gathered. There’s a fire, and as it’s a chilly night, you wander in to warm yourself. You listen to the various conversations going on around you and learn, to your horror, that the man who had been riding the donkey has been arrested, and is being questioned by the high priests, who suspect him of blasphemy. People are telling stories of some of the wonders they saw him do – how ill people had been miraculously made well again; even one story of someone who had been dead, and this Jesus of Nazareth had brought him back to life again. As if! These things don’t really happen, do they? According to the people chatting round the fire, they do.

And then another disturbance. Someone is shouting, “I tell you, I do not know this man! You’ve got the wrong chap. Now just do one and leave me alone!”
Odd that – he’s got a Galilean accent, and if this Jesus is from Nazareth, then they probably do know each other. You call out to the man, and suggest that they must have at least known who each other was, since they were both from Galilee, and not that many Galileans can afford to come to Jerusalem each year.

To your horror, he turns on you and starts cursing and swearing – dreadful language. And then the cock crows, and he stops dead, his face paling. And he bursts into tears and dashes out of the courtyard.

Wonder who he was, and why the cock crowing affected him so.

Meditation 3: The Governor’s Palace

Time passes. The prisoner is brought out from the High Priest’s house and taken to the Governor’s palace. The crowd, including you, drifts after him.

The crowd grows, and there is a sense of expectancy.

"Pilate's going to release a prisoner",
explains the knowledgeable one.
"Like every year.
This year it's going to be a chap called Barabbas,
you know, the terrorist."

"No it isn't," interrupts another person.
"There was a new prisoner bought in last night.
That teacher, the Galilean one.
You know.
They arrested him,
but I gather Pilate wants to release him."

"No way," says a third voice.
"The chief priests won't wear that.
They want him dead."

And then a hush.
Pilate appears on the balcony. A few quiet "boos",
but the crowd is fairly patient.
"Who shall I release to you?" he asks.
"Barabbas!" yell the crowd.
"We want Barabbas.
At first it is only a few voices,
but gradually more and more people start to shout for Barabbas.
"We want Barabbas, we want Barabbas!"
"Well," goes Pilate,
"Are you sure you don't want Jesus who is called the Christ?"
One or two voices shout “Yes”, but there are heavies in the crowd, and they are soon subdued.
And the voices start, slowly at first,
but more and more people join in:
"Crucify him, Crucify him!"
And you find yourself shouting, too.
"Crucify him, crucify him!"

But why?
Normally you hate the thought of crucifixion.
The Romans consider it too barbarous for their own citizens.
Only people who aren't Roman citizens,
local people, slaves.
Only they get crucified.
So why are you shouting for this man to be crucified?

Meditation 4: At the Cross
So they did crucify him.
Well, the crowd asked for it. Even you asked for it, when push came to shove.
They didn’t hang about – they must have wanted to get it done before the Sabbath.
And there he is, being put to death.
Maybe he was no better than those thieves beside him.
Who knows?
You certainly don't.
Yes, he's suffering.
God, that must hurt.
Hope it never happens to me.
Shouldn't happen to a dog, crucifixion.

All the same, what does this mean?
Didn't he say he was going to destroy the Temple, rebuild it in three days?
Now he's dying; now he's up there, can't do anything about it...
Maybe he was all a big fake, not the great Teacher.
Such a pity. He could have been the Messiah, but......
that death?
Would the Messiah really die?

Oh yes, he's dying.
Forsaken!
Forsaken by God.
Left alone, alone on the Cross to die.
And yet, and yet.
He feels alone, abandoned, forsaken.
And yet, and yet.
He suffers, suffers dreadfully.
And yet, and yet.
That cry, that cry when he died:
“It is finished! I've done it!”
A cry of triumph, of triumph over death.
Forsaken, yet triumphant.
“Surely this man was a Son of God”.