Lent 2025 Palm Sunday – Blessed, Betrayed, and Broken

Flannel Diaries
Apr 13
4 min read

"The next day the large crowd that had come to the festival heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord—the King of Israel!'" — John 12:12–13 (NRSV)

In the Christian tradition, the Sunday before Easter is Palm Sunday. But with my current schedule, every day feels like a Tuesday. Time has lost meaning—except maybe when it comes to deadlines and coffee refills.

Palm Sunday is a beautiful, bittersweet story. It marks the moment Jesus enters Jerusalem riding on the back of a donkey, greeted like a rock star. The crowds are waving palms and shouting "Hosanna!"—which literally means "save us." It’s a moment of hope, celebration, and public affirmation.

And yet… we all know what happens a few days later.

The same crowd that welcomed him with open arms was calling for his crucifixion by Friday. The same people who called him blessed were now shouting, “Give us Barabbas!” and demanding Jesus be executed. It’s the ultimate fall from grace.

That kind of reversal feels painfully familiar. We see it all the time—putting people on pedestals, only to watch them crash down when we find out they're flawed, human, or just disappointing. In today’s terms, we might call it "cancel culture." But really, it’s not new. It’s ancient. And it speaks more about us than the people we cancel.

In the crucifixion story, ask yourself—who would you be?

Would you be Peter, who loved Jesus but denied knowing him when things got hard?

Would you be Pilate, who knew better but still washed his hands of it all?

Would you be Judas, the one who betrayed his friend with a kiss?

Would you be the crowd? Easily swayed by power, by pressure, by propaganda?

Would you be Mary, who stayed with him to the very end?

The truth is, we’ve all been all of them—at different times in our lives. We’ve betrayed, denied, abandoned, judged, or stayed silent when it mattered. We’ve also grieved, resisted, and held space for truth in the face of injustice.

So much of the crucifixion story is about what people expected of Jesus. They wanted a soldier, a political revolutionary, a king with a sword. And instead, they got a teacher, a healer, a poor brown man riding into town on a donkey, saying: "Love your enemies. Feed the poor. Welcome the outcast."

Of course they were disappointed. Of course they turned on him.

Isn’t that what we do? When leaders, activists, or even our partners don’t save us the way we imagined—they disappoint us. And disappointment can breed resentment, which can lead to betrayal.

That’s the tragedy of misplaced expectations.

We want the world to change, but we don’t want to change ourselves. We want someone to fight the systems for us, but we don't want to put down our comfort or complicity to fight alongside them. It’s easier to crucify the messenger than to take up the message.

And while we’re here, let’s talk about what’s happening right now in this country.

It’s as if we’re watching a slow-motion dismantling of the federal government—and half the country is fine with it. A sitting president ignoring the checks and balances of the Constitution, acting like he’s above the law, and undermining the authority of the Supreme Court. As someone who studied political science and believes in democratic institutions, I’m stunned. We’re not just in a political crisis—we’re witnessing a moral one.

There’s a coup happening. And we’re watching it unfold on TikTok.

And while people point fingers at immigrants, queer folks, drag queens, or trans kids as the "problem," billionaires are laughing all the way to the bank. Social safety nets are slashed while tax breaks for the ultra-wealthy expand. We’re told to fear the marginalized when it’s the powerful who are rewriting the rules for their own benefit.

It’s no different than ancient Rome. Oppress the people. Distract them with scapegoats. Then crucify whoever dares to speak truth to power.

So yeah… I think a lot about Jesus these days. And I think maybe he wouldn’t be welcomed by a lot of churches in America. I think he’d be out in the streets, flipping tables in front of ICE detention centers, feeding houseless folks, and asking us why we traded our humanity for convenience.

I’m just trying to be a good human.

Did I get it all wrong? Maybe. But I’m still trying.