By the Saturday after the Fifth Sunday of Lent, the Church finds itself standing in a curious place.
The tension has been building all week.
Tombs have opened.
Perfume has filled the house.
Councils have gathered in uneasy whispers.
Silence has settled over difficult conversations.
And now, quite suddenly, the story pauses.
Tomorrow — as most parish bulletins will remind us in large enthusiastic fonts — involves palms, crowds, and a donkey with a very important scheduling appointment.
But today is quieter.
This Saturday sits in the Gospel like the deep breath before the choir begins the first hymn on Palm Sunday.
Something is coming.
Everyone senses it.
Jesus certainly does.
The authorities are nervous. The crowds are curious. The disciples, as usual, are somewhere between hopeful and slightly confused about the itinerary.
It is the calm before the donkey.
Now, calm is an interesting spiritual condition. We are not always comfortable with it. When things grow quiet, we assume something must be wrong. We begin checking emotional dashboards and spiritual gauges.
“Surely,” we think, “something dramatic should be happening.”
But the Gospel often moves through these quiet thresholds.
Saturday invites us to notice that God’s work is not always loud. Sometimes the most important movements of grace happen just before the visible action begins.
Jesus knows where he is going.
He knows the road to Jerusalem will involve cheers that turn to accusations, palms that give way to thorns, and a crowd whose enthusiasm will prove… flexible.
Yet he walks toward it calmly.
That calm is not denial. It is resolve.
The Christian life has many Palm Sunday moments — times when everything seems full of momentum and visible excitement. But there are also these Saturdays. Days when we stand at the edge of something important without quite stepping into it yet.
Perhaps you know that feeling.
You sense that change is coming. A decision. A shift. A challenge. A new calling. Something is gathering on the horizon.
And yet today remains still.
This Saturday reminds us that stillness is not wasted time. It is preparation. It is space where courage gathers quietly.
Even donkeys need time to be saddled.
So if your life feels slightly suspended today — not quite where you were, not yet where you are going — take heart.
You are in good company.
The Gospel often pauses before it moves.
And tomorrow, the road into Jerusalem begins.
Companion Prayer
Lord of the quiet threshold,
You lead us through stillness
as well as through action.
When the road ahead feels near
but not yet begun,
give us patience.
In the calm before change,
steady our hearts.
In the silence before the crowd,
anchor us in trust.
Prepare us
for whatever road lies ahead.
And help us walk it
with the same calm courage
we see in Christ.
Amen.