There is a quiet sense of expectation as I watch those around me enter the church, each one receiving a palm before taking their seat. There is warmth in the greetings, a shared rhythm. I sit waiting my turn for confession, observing the movement of people as they pass by.
And I think of another crowd — long ago — gathered along the streets of Jerusalem.
They, too, were waiting.
Waiting for the one they had heard about — the one some called prophet, others teacher, and still others dared to call King — Jesus Christ.
Some had seen His miracles. Perhaps they were among the five thousand He fed (Matthew 14:13–21). They had listened to Him, followed Him, and witnessed something they could not fully explain.
Others were simply curious. They saw palm branches lifted, cloaks laid down (Matthew 21:8–9), and they joined in.
Because that is often what we do.
We follow.
Who is this man?
They ask.
They repeat what they have heard.
They join without fully understanding.
And as I watch those around me today, I realize how easy it is to do the same — to be present, but not fully seeing.
Because if I am honest, my thoughts often move ahead.
I think of what comes next.
The crowd that turns.
The disciples who scatter.
The cry: “Crucify Him!” (Matthew 27:22–23).
But today, I choose to see differently.
To see through a lens of faith.
And through this lens, something shifts.
I see His humility more clearly.
He enters Jerusalem not on a war horse, but on a donkey —
“See, your king comes to you, gentle and riding on a donkey” (Zechariah 9:9; Matthew 21:5).
He stands before His accusers without resistance:
“You say so” (Matthew 27:11).
Not weakness — but surrender.
Not defeat — but obedience.
The Passion, as told in the Gospel of Matthew, draws us into His suffering — the agony, the abandonment, the Cross.
But today, I see something deeper.
Love.
A love that entered into our humanity (Philippians 2:6–8).
A love that did not turn away from suffering, but walked into it.
A love that gave everything:
“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13).
During Mass, as the Passion was proclaimed, I felt a quiet awareness of His presence in the Eucharist.
And I realized something:
We are given a choice.
We can walk through Holy Week seeing only the darkness — the sorrow of Garden of Gethsemane, the injustice, the suffering.
Or we can see through the lens of faith — where even here, love is present.
This Lenten journey has drawn me closer to Jesus. And in that closeness, something in me feels more steady, more rooted.
Not because life is easier.
But because I see differently.
Perhaps this is what spiritual maturity begins to look like:
To see beyond the surface.
Beyond the pain and the betrayal.
To recognize what is underneath —
Love.
And yet, this truth does not remain only within the story of the Passion.
It meets me here — in my own life.
Because I, too, am faced with a choice.
In my struggles, my disappointments, and the quiet sorrows I carry, I can remain there — dwelling in the weight of it, seeing everything through a lens of dread.
Or…
I can choose to trust.
To trust that God sees what I cannot.
That He is present, even when I do not feel it.
That somehow, quietly, He is carrying me through.
“Faith does not remove the suffering, but it changes how I see it.”
And slowly, almost gently,
what once felt heavy begins to shift.
Not gone…
but no longer the same.
And perhaps this is the quiet invitation of Palm Sunday:
Not just to follow the crowd…
but to choose how I see.
As we enter Holy Week, may we learn not only to follow… but to see.
God Bless🙏💕
Be Inspired! 
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