Passion Sunday

I know, I know. Most people call it Palm Sunday, but, but . . . in the old days, Passion Sunday was at least as common. And, for my money, more appropriate. The blessing of the palms and the gospel describing the triumphal entry to Jerusalem may be omitted from today's mass; the gospel describing the passion may not be. And ask any kid what he/she remembers about today's mass and 5 will get you 10 that it's the pain of trying to stand still and quiet for the 10 minute reading of the Passion, not the blessing of the palms.

So, how'd you spend your Passion Sunday? Mary Ellen and I went to hear the Washington Choral Arts Society perform Dvorak's Stabat Mater at the Kennedy Center. (Yours truly won a couple tickets by being the fifth caller to WBJC last Thursday morning.) Alumni of St. Bartholomew's may remember the Stabat Mater as the song we sang at Stations every Friday afternoon in Lent.

By the cross her station keeping,
Stood the mournful mother weeping--
Close to Jesus to the last.

Auden, I learned today, described Stabat Mater as "the earliest Christian poem in bad taste." I don't know about "earliest," but "bad taste" rings true with me. Nevertheless, today's performance was very good. (With a 55 piece symphony orchestra and a 200 voice choir, I suppose most anything would sound pretty good.) So I'm still able to say, "If it's Dvorak, I like it."