Read the author's column on the liturgy of the Passion.

I run a number of races each year, many of which begin in the chill of early morning. Event organizers encourage people to wear old clothing over their race clothes while they’re waiting for the gun to go off; anything cast off along the course is donated to a local charity. It normally takes a mile or so to warm up, so racers spend the first several minutes dodging old sweatshirts and stretched-out kneesocks used as arm warmers.

I always think about the streets of Jerusalem, littered not with runners’ secondhand clothing but with the cloaks of everyday people, come to see Jesus. In Luke’s Gospel, there’s nary a palm in sight; people spread their cloaks on the road instead. When this text comes around in the lectionary, my friends and I make preacher jokes about celebrating Cloak Sunday.