Palm Sunday

I was asked to be part of the team who was reading the Gospel this morning. I usually get the crowd or one of the smaller parts and I wasn't expecting today to be any different.

We gathered a little early before Mass and the usual crew were assembled, and we welcomed the lone newcomer amongst us. Our young Jesuit Rector then started to hand out the "scripts", and we were all astonished to find that our usual assignments had been quite shuffled around. I looked at mine in disbelief for I was reading the part of Jesus.

I protested in shock that I couldn't do this. Why not? Asked Father Rector.

I didn't really have a good answer except that a woman Jesus seemed a bit odd. Crisply I was told that I was exactly what he wanted for the job so would I please just get on with it.

So I did.

But I can tell you that for me it is one thing to hear those sacred words and entirely another to proclaim them from the centre of the altar. I heard in a new way Jesus's dignity under trial, his compassion for the women of Jerusalem and the thief dying next to him, and the great gift of his forgiveness and finally his faith in commending his spirit to the Father.

Hours later the words I spoke aloud, familiar and oft heard still echo within me in a new way, in a depth that I have not before experienced.