Palm Waving and Passion Reading
There is a moment, early in Holy Week, that can feel almost confusing.
We gather with palms in our hands. We sing. We move. There is a sense—at least at first—of celebration. And then, without much pause, we hear the Passion.
It can feel abrupt. Even jarring.
Why do we move so quickly from joy to sorrow? Why do we read the story of Christ’s suffering on the Sunday before Good Friday—only to read it again a few days later?
The answer lies not in convenience, but in theology—and in a long and careful tradition.
The Sunday of the Passion
Palm Sunday is not simply about palms.
Its full name is The Sunday of the Passion, with the Liturgy of the Palms—and that distinction matters. While the procession with palms is vivid and memorable, it is the Passion narrative that ultimately defines the day.
Historically, the Liturgy of the Palms began in Jerusalem in the late fourth century, when Christians gathered to retrace Christ’s entry into the city. By the seventh century, the wider Church had adopted the practice, reshaping it into a procession into the place of worship.
Even now, when possible, the liturgy begins outside the main worship space—reminding us that we are joining a movement, not just attending a service. We follow Christ, quite literally, into the story.
Why the Passion Comes First
The Passion is not read on this Sunday because some might miss Good Friday. That assumption, though common, misses the deeper purpose.
For centuries, the Passion narrative was read every day during Holy Week.
Hearing it at the very beginning of the week does something essential: it frames everything that follows.
It prevents us from misunderstanding what kind of Messiah Jesus is.
If we stopped at the palms—at the cheering crowds and the triumphant entry—we might be tempted to imagine a Messiah of power, victory, and public acclaim. But the Passion interrupts that illusion. It tells the truth plainly and without delay.
As one pastor writes, the Passion narrative “will not allow any theology that dwells on triumphalism.” It reminds us that Christ’s victory comes not through domination, but through suffering love.
A Mirror Held to the Church
There is another reason the Passion belongs here.
In the space of a single liturgy, we move from shouting “Hosanna!” to crying “Crucify him!”
And in that movement, we recognize ourselves.
We are the ones who praise—and the ones who turn away. We are made holy in Christ—and yet still marked by brokenness. The kingdom is here—and not yet complete.
Holy Week does not allow us to stand at a distance. It draws us into the tension at the heart of the Gospel.
The Shape of the Story
Each year, the Passion on this Sunday is drawn from one of the synoptic Gospels—Matthew, Mark, or Luke. These accounts carry us through the Last Supper, where Jesus gives us the Eucharist: his body and blood, the new covenant, given in remembrance.
We then follow him through betrayal, arrest, suffering, and death.
On Good Friday, the Church turns to John’s Gospel. There, the crucifixion is revealed not only as suffering, but as glorification—a mystery in which defeat and victory are held together.
Why the Church Turns Red
If you look around your church during Holy Week, you will notice a shift in colour.
Red appears—on the altar, in vestments, in the smallest details of liturgical life.
It is a colour that holds multiple meanings at once:
· the heat of love
· the fire of the Holy Spirit
· the lifeblood poured out for the world
It is both the colour of sacrifice and the colour of life.
In this way, even the visual language of the Church refuses to separate suffering from resurrection.
A Week Set Apart
Holy Week stands alone.
There are no other commemorations. No saints’ days interrupt the rhythm. The Church sets aside all else to attend fully to this story—the journey to the cross, and the life that emerges from it.
Here we receive again the gifts at the centre of our faith:
· the cross, as our sign
· the Eucharist, as our shared life
· the call to serve, as Christ served
On the night before he died, Jesus knelt to wash the feet of his disciples. The one we call Lord took the role of a servant.
Holy Week asks us not only to remember that moment—but to follow it.
For Your Devotions
There are no additional observances during this week—only the invitation to enter more deeply into the liturgies that shape it.
If you are able, come.
Walk the path from palms to cross. Stay with the story as it unfolds. Let it do its work.
For a brief overview of the origins of Holy Week and the significance of Easter, see p. 296 of the Book of Alternative Services.
The Rev. Susan Montague Koyle