Entering into the Heart of Jesus

Homily for Palm Sunday.

The Passion calls to mind the words first spoken by John the Baptist: “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” (Jn 1:29) I want to focus on that phrase—the sin of the world. Notice the word ‘sin’ is singular, not plural. Jesus not only came to forgive our individual sins; He came to heal the sin of the world and repair the deeper brokenness woven in the fabric of human life.

The sin of the world is the rupture that began with the Fall of Adam and Eve. It is the fracture in the human heart, the division in relationships, the dysfunction in families, systems that fail the poor and vulnerable, the anxiety and fear that ripple through society. The physical suffering of the crucifixion was immense.  Carrying the weight of our sins was immense.  But Jesus took upon his shoulders not only our sins, but the sin of the world, which includes the weight of all sorrow, pain, woundedness, and senseless suffering of the world.

What would it be like to enter into the heart of Jesus, the One who takes away the sin of the world? I had a small glimpse this week—not even close to the immensity of what Christ bore, but a glimpse.

Last Wednesday, I arrived at Strong Life, a rescue mission for the homeless. Outside, I saw a woman sleeping in a bundle of blankets behind a trash can. In the office, someone told me to pray for Elizabeth and Randy. Randy had been hit by a car and airlifted to Winston-Salem. Later that morning, Elizabeth came in.  I recognized her as the women in the parking lot.  She showered, ate, came in the office and asked me for Randy’s mail. I asked gently, “You’re Elizabeth, right? How’s Randy?” She said she hadn’t been told anything.  Then she told me what happened. They were crossing the interstate late at night when Randy misjudged the speed of an oncoming car.

Then I turned my attention to her—her shattered heart. “How are you doing?” I asked. She said she didn’t know. And in that moment, I tried to imagine what she had endured: the horror of the accident, the chaos of sirens, the uncertainty, the fear. And for someone living on the street, the presence of police can bring its own anxiety.

She summed it up with one word: “Stressed.” A guarded response from someone who has learned that oversharing can be dangerous.

But as I listened with my heart, I felt what the unexpress emotions within her heart.  I felt overwhelmed. Devastated.  Confused.  Traumatized.

It was as if I was experiencing an echo of what she could not—or would not—express. In a sense, I was carrying feelings she had to hold back to survive.

I offered to pray. I extended my hands and closed my eyes.  I then I felt the light touch of her fingers. She didn’t just need a prayer to God; she needed connection with another human being. In that moment, this rescue mission had become her family. After extreme trauma, she came not only for a shower or a meal, but for something deeper: a place where her pain could be shared and lifted up.

That moment gave me a window into something profound. When we truly listen, especially with our heart, when we truly love, we begin—just a little—to carry the burdens of another. We feel what they sometimes cannot express. We hold what they cannot hold alone.

And that experience is only a tiny fragment of what Jesus did on the Cross. He didn’t just observe our suffering. He entered into it. He absorbed it. He carried the full weight of the sin of the world—the broken systems, the fractured relationships, the silent griefs, and the hidden traumas.

Homelessness is one example. Yes, personal choices can play a role. But no one simply “falls out of the sky” into homelessness. It is the result of layers of dysfunction: lack of mental‑health care, addiction treatment, broken families, unaffordable housing, and political systems that punish the vulnerable. It is one of many living examples of the “sin of the world.” And Jesus takes all of that onto Himself.

I return to my original question:  What would it be like to enter the heart of Jesus?

So what does this mean for us as we begin Holy Week?

• First, gratitude. When we look at the Cross, we see not only the forgiveness of our personal sins, but God’s response to the entire brokenness of humanity.
• Second, compassion. My experience with Elizabeth reminds me that we are invited to participate, in a small but real way, in what Christ has done. When we listen deeply, when we allow ourselves to be moved, when we carry another’s burden—we continue the work of Christ.
• Third, action. If Jesus came to heal the sin of the world, then we cannot be indifferent to the brokenness around us. Each of us is called to respond more generously, serve more intentionally, and love more concretely.

This week, as we walk with Jesus toward the Cross, perhaps we can ask for grace: to see the brokenness around us more clearly, to feel it more deeply, and to respond more generously.