On the way to Jerusalem
A Palm Sunday reflection
“There are as many ways to pray as there are moments in life. Sometimes we seek out a quiet spot and want to be alone, sometimes we look for a friend and want to be together… Sometimes we want to say it with words, sometimes with a deep silence.
In all these moments, we gradually make our lives more of a prayer and we open our hands to be led by God even to places we would rather not go.” Henri Nouwen
I started this Lenten season with this quote from Henry Nouwen. I reflected on it as a way to begin the 40 days leading up to Easter. It felt like a call to be patient with myself as I journeyed through these days. It felt like an encouragement to find creative ways to pray, which became more creative than I could have ever imagined!
From crayons, different forms of meditation, and great conversations with other people who are disabled, I realized that I have learned a variety of ways to pray over the years. This Lent was a season to experience that variety alone and in community.
In preparation for today, Palm Sunday, I revisited my own reflections during this Lent and found myself sitting with Nouwen's quote once again. It has become the bookend to my Lent 2026.
“In all these moments, we gradually make our lives more of a prayer, and we open our hands to be led by God even to places we would rather not go.”
While reading the passage about Jesus’ preparation and entrance into Jerusalem through the East or Golden Gate, I kept returning to the description of what happened after he crested the hill outside of Jerusalem. He approached the city from the towns of Bethany and Bethphage in the east. Surrounded by his disciples and celebrated by crowds raising palms and singing hosannas, Jesus stops and looks ahead at the city.
As if I had never read it before, the following verses described his emotion as he looked at the city.
He wept.
With a heart filled with compassion and sadness, Jesus anticipated the suffering that was ahead not only for himself but for Jerusalem. (Luke 19:41-44). I felt a tender ache as I read these words.
He had just been crying in front of Lazarus's tomb, again feeling the deep emotion and loss from all who had come to share in the loss. And certainly feeling his own emotion.
I can imagine him sitting on the hillside with Bethany behind him, looking out over the land toward the East Gate into Jerusalem. If the hill was high enough, he could probably get a view of the city itself. His compassion was overwhelming. His next move was daunting.
We hear of anticipated grief. We experience anticipated grief. I remember once when a loved one died, I told a friend, “I just don't want to go down the path I see before me. I can only anticipate the place grief's journey will take me.” There is nothing easy about that journey.
Grateful to have slowed down enough to take in this reading, I have sat on such a hillside today. I have looked out over my own world and taken in its fragile state. I have looked into the eyes of dear friends, making decisions the best they can as they begin their own anticipated grief due to illness and aging. Today's prayer has been a time of focus on what appears to be ahead, with a slight sense of hope and the promise of new life.
This day comes to a close. As we move into Holy Week, I will leave this hillside grateful to have found it. I will take Nouwen’s words to heart as the story unfolds this week, as I look for the places I can pray with or without words.
“In all these moments, we gradually make our lives more of a prayer, and we open our hands to be led by God even to places we would rather not go.”