Fifth Sunday of Lent at Mississippi Abbey
Scripture Readings: Is 43:16-21; Phil 3:8-14; Jn 8:1-11
Adultery! It was early in the morning, as the sun was beginning to rise over Jerusalem, when a man and woman lingered too long in the sensual delights of their couch and were caught in the blazing passion of their wrongful action.
Punishment would be severe. The Koran sentences those guilty of adultery to be flogged with a hundred stripes, and it warns the judges, “Do not let compassion move you,” (S xxiv. 1-3). The Law of Moses was even more severe, a death penalty. In the writings of the prophet Ezekiel, when God reproaches the adulterous nation he says, “Because your nakedness was uncovered … I will judge you as those who break wedlock. … They shall strip you of your clothes and take away your fair jewels, and leave you naked and bare. They shall bring up a host against you, and they shall stone you …” (Ez. 16:35-40).
Pulled from the arms of her lover who was unfairly left behind, this adulteress was already stripped of her clothes, ready for stoning. Perhaps the Scribes and Pharisees dragged her just as she was through the streets of Jerusalem to the outer court of the Temple. They thrust her in front of Jesus 
and said, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of adultery. The Law of Moses commanded us to stone such. What do you say?” The plight of this woman weeping and shaking with fear was dreadful. The law demanded punishment, but it had to be by stoning only if the adulteress was a maiden in the period of her betrothal, (Deut. 22:23). A maiden would be quite young, not even an adult by our reckoning. The trap is set. The young girl is seriously in the wrong, heart-wrenchingly pitiable. Justice and mercy are set in conflict with each other.
In the law of Deuteronomy both she and her paramour must die, but where is he? Many heard Jesus say he did not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it, (Mt. 5:17). According to his own teaching, someone who even looks with lust at another has already committed adultery in the heart and is at risk of being cast into Gehenna, (Mt. 5:28). Will Jesus stand firm like John the Baptist who preferred to die under the axe of King Herod rather than unjustly condone the king’s adultery? Or, will Jesus be swayed by his compassion for the girl to side with pagans, with Roman law forbidding Jews to inflict a death penalty? Will he stand up for justice with Jerusalem or will he bend to condone adultery by obeying Rome? Will his justice be unmerciful, or will his mercy be unjust? Will he condemn the girl while the boy goes free?
Jesus does not stand up against her. Instead, he bends all the way to the ground and begins writing in the dust. It is his posture that’s important here, not what he writes. While all other eyes are gawking at the girl and being deliciously scandalized, Jesus shows respect by turning his eyes to the ground and bending low. Thinking they have trapped him into condoning her sin, the Scribes and Pharisees close in to press their attack and insist on an answer. Only then does Jesus stand up, not to confront the trembling girl but to confront the conniving executioners. “Let the one without sin cast the first stone.”
“Without sin.” The word Jesus used means complete innocence not only from sinful deeds, but even from the sinful desires and lust that Jesus spoke about in the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus turns the trap upon the accusers, forcing them to make the choice between mercy and justice. Then, instead of staring them down, he once again turns his eyes away and bends low to the ground offering those sinners the same deference in their embarrassment as he showed to the girl in her nakedness. A profound silence falls upon the court while each one is self-convicted by the inner judgment of his own conscience. Everyone has sinned. The great German dramatist, Goethe, writes, “One need only grow old to become gentler in one’s judgments. I see no fault committed which I could not have committed myself,” (Maxims & Reflections p. 86). Beginning with the eldest, the silence of the courtyard is broken as one by one rocks drop from their hands and strike the paving stones. Of all the sinners who were present, only the astonished girl remains standing there in the encounter with Jesus. Only she hears his forgiving words restoring her to the embrace of divine friendship with God and challenging her to a new way of life. She entered the encounter with Jesus by force, sinful and naked, facing a brutal death. She leaves it in freedom, forgiven and clothed with the righteousness of Jesus and, I imagine, with his own cloak wrapped gently around her.
She has just experienced a sacrament of reconciliation, an encounter with the love and mercy of God. This sacrament is Christ’s gift to us. It’s not only our way of saying we’re sorry, (thankfully, we do just that). It is much more God’s way of wanting us to hear him say out loud with tender love, “I forgive you,” and challenging us to a better life. In coming to the sacrament of reconciliation we are like the adulteress girl encountering Jesus with all our sinfulness uncovered. She was a sinner among sinners, but only she heard the loving words of Jesus, “Neither do I condemn you, go and do not sin again.” It’s too bad the boy wasn’t there. What a great gift he missed in this encounter with Jesus reconciling a sinner with God.
This story does not end among the scattered rocks lying abandoned on the courtyard of the Temple. It ends on the hard rock of Calvary, because the mercy of Jesus saves us not by unjustly condoning our sins, but by taking our punishment on himself. Like an adulterer about to be stoned, Jesus was stripped of his clothes and died naked upon the cross. He took the boy’s place, and the girl’s, and ours. Justice and mercy have kissed in the person of Jesus who makes love to us by taking our death sentence upon himself and putting the cloak of his mercy around our shoulders. If we don’t walk away in shame like the girl’s accusers, if we stand exposed in all our sinfulness with the girl, we also will encounter the mercy and love of Jesus
The end of this story is the beginning of another. It was early in the morning, as the sun was beginning to rise over Jerusalem, when some women came to the tomb of Jesus and found the couch empty!
Fifth Sunday of Lent at Mississippi Abbey
Scripture Readings: Ez 37:12-14; Rom 8:8-11; Jn 11:1-45
Today’s story of Lazarus was written not only to tell us that there will be a resurrection of the body; it is written also to tell us that there will be a resurrection of the heart. The body will rise on the last day; the resurrection of the heart can happen any day and every day. Just ask the Samaritan woman; just ask the man born blind. The Samaritan woman was converted in life style; the man born blind was cured of a disease of perception and could see life anew; Lazarus is given a whole new life. Again today Jesus tells us that this is done “for the glory of God.” This is contrasted to the glory that WE seek.
Ezekiel tells us about that; he writes of “dry bones” that represent the low morale of the people. This is about the “famished craving“; the need for recognition that is universal in humanity. It is the need to be noticed, to receive glory from other humans. The lack of satisfaction for this craving is a major contributor to humanity’s low morale. No matter how well we might do at something, someone else will eventually do it better. We never really win and yet we never lose so profoundly as to give it up. The result is a loss of confidence in one’s life, a sense of futility that can only be called heartlessness.
Many of us remember the “If it feels good, do it!” ethic of the 60’s and 70’s. That ethic had a 
corollary: “If no one is hurt–if no blood or tears are shed—then do it.” This assumed we had no interior life, that our hearts could find peace in a juicy rationalization. With a wealth of entertainment forms to distract us, we could ignore the tugs of the heart, the pangs of conscience for extended periods of time. Heavy and persistent distraction allows us to set our hearts on false forms of transcendence and milk them for all they are worth…even though they are worthless! But how can we know this? How can we satisfy the famished craving? How can we live a life that is real, that is wholehearted?
The only way out is to acknowledge, to recognize One Being, One “observed of all observers” who is the source of real, true life. Jesus says, “He who believes in me shall live and he shall never die.” The distinguishing feature of the Christian, Pope Benedict points out in his book Jesus of Nazareth, Part Two: Holy Week, is that he and she LIVEs—not just existing—but has found and embraced a REAL life …the one that everyone else is seeking by achievement. This real life Jesus calls “Eternal Life.”
And this life is gained through recognition. This is not recognition for self at the expense of another. This is a recognition that creates communion; a union between the recognized and the one who recognizes. It is the prayerful union of self with God. When we join with others in this union we form a community of shared affection. This is recognition in which the Christian can “know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.” This is a recognition granted to us by faith. This will give us the resurrection of the heart.
Fifth Sunday of Lent at Mississippi Abbey
[Scripture Readings: Ezek 37:12-14; Rom 8:8-11; Jn 11:1-45 ]
At New Melleray we just finished our annual community retreat led by Sister Gail. Set in the background of her sojourn in the Holy Land, she reflected on St. Bernard's three degrees of truth: seeing ourselves as we really are, seeing our neighbor with compassion, and seeing the face of God, and his look of love. In today's Gospel we hear God's voice of love calling us.
While Jesus was weeping, he cried out with love, “Lazarus, come forth!” It was a shocking moment. The dead cannot hear, can they? Everyone held their breath, waiting to see what would happen. Necks were straining so that eyes could see the open tomb. Men and women stood paralyzed, as if time had stopped. Suddenly, a shrouded figure appeared in the gaping mouth of the cave. From the land of the living a great gasp rose into the air. The dead man stood motionless while the living staggered backwards in shock. Is it a ghost? What's hidden in that shroud? They saw the wrappings of death and they were afraid. But Jesus saw the life hidden underneath. Rejoicing he said, “Unbind him, and let him go.” Surprisingly, the Gospel is silent about the joy that must have erupted when the crowd saw Lazarus alive. Instead, St. John writes from that day on the chief priests and Pharisees planned to kill Jesus. The gift of life to Lazarus was met with a sentence of death for Jesus. Kill the life-giver and death will triumph!
“Lazarus, come forth!” It was a very loud cry. Never before had Jesus raised his voice against death with such open defiance. There, in front of everyone, by his tears and his voice of love commanding his friend to come forth, Jesus showed that “God does not delight in the death of the living” (Wis. 1:13). Instead he weeps with us.
“Lazarus, come forth!” These are the words that humanity long desired to hear, the voice of love that can untie all the knots binding bodies to burial grounds. At the command of this voice of love, death lost its claim to finality, but it did not give up easily. The tears and the loud cry of Jesus defying death will be met by death's revenge when the crowds give voice to the devil's hatred saying, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” Kill the life-giver, and the devil will triumph!
When Jesus cried out, “Lazarus, come forth!” it was the Good Shepherd's voice of love, who said, “I know mine and mine know me. … My sheep hear my voice, and they follow me” (Jn 10:14 & 27). For Jesus promised, “The hour is coming when all who are in tombs will hear [my] voice and will come forth …” (Jn 5:28-29). God gave us human life at our conceptions. He gave us his divine life at baptism, and he will give us eternal life when he calls each of us by name, restoring our dry, dusty bones with flesh like that of a little child. God is Life. So, Jesus was deeply troubled, even angry and in tears at the scourge of death, because “God did not make death. … It was through the devil's envy that death entered the world” (Wis. 1:13; 2:24).
A young, newly ordained priest was called to a hospital emergency room. Four teenagers from his parish were in a car accident. An officer took the new priest aside and said, “None of the kids survived. Would you please tell their parents?” The young priest was stunned, he was hardly more than a teenager himself. His face turned pale, his heart started racing. Passing through the double doors into the waiting room, he saw the anxious faces of parents turn to him. His voice breaking, all he could say were two words, “They're gone.” Parents collapsed into chairs and onto the floor in tears. Their young priest doubled over in pain and began sobbing with them. He couldn't say anything, he just wept. He felt like such a failure because he had no words of consolation. A few days later, at the wake, people looked at him, some pointed. He wanted to run away in shame. But after the service, as he prepared to slip away, several of the parents stopped him. “Father,” they said, “would you offer the funeral Mass?” Confused, he asked why they wanted him. A mother replied, “Because when you wept with us you showed that God was weeping with us, too.”1
Jesus weeps with us in the face of death. But his response to us is not the gift of a longer life on earth, only to see us die again, like Lazarus. His response is the voice of love calling us to come forth in the general resurrection to eternal life. By his tears Jesus shows us that God weeps at every death, but the day is coming when he “… will wipe away every tear from our eyes [and his]. And death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain any more, for the former things have passed away” (Rev. 21:4). Then we will enjoy forever listening to the voice of love, and seeing the look of love on the face of God.
1. Basil Pennington, Living in the Question, p. 116f.
Fifth Sunday of Lent at Mississippi Abbey
[Scripture Readings: Is. 43-16-21, Phil. 3:8-14, Jn. 8:1-11]
Adultery! It was early in the morning, as the sun was beginning to rise over Jerusalem, when a man and woman lingered too long in the sensual delights of their couch and were caught in flagrante delicto, in the blazing passion of their wrongful action.
Punishment would be severe. The Koran of Islam sentences those guilty of adultery to be flogged with a hundred stripes, and it warns the judges, “Do not let compassion move you … and let a party of believers witness their punishment,” . The law of Moses is even more severe, a death penalty. In the writings of the prophet Ezekiel, God reproaches Israel saying, “Because your nakedness was uncovered … I will judge you as those who break wedlock. … They shall strip you of your clothes and take away your fair jewels, and leave you naked and bare. They shall bring up a host against you, and they shall stone you …” .
Pulled from the arms of her lover who was unfairly left behind, this adulteress was already stripped of her clothes, ready for stoning. Perhaps the Scribes and Pharisees dragged her just as she was through the streets of Jerusalem to the outer court of the Temple. They thrust her in front of Jesus, saying, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of adultery. The law of Moses commanded us to stone such. What do you say?” The plight of this woman weeping and shaking with fear was dreadful. The law prescribed death, and it had to be death by stoning if the adulteress was a maiden in the period of her betrothal, . A maiden would be quite young, not even an adult by our reckoning. The trap is set. The girl is seriously in the wrong, yet, perhaps hardly more than a child, heart-wrenchingly pitiable. Justice and mercy are set in conflict with each other.
In the law of Deuteronomy both she and her paramour must die, but where is he? Many heard Jesus say he did not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it, . According to his own teaching, someone who even looks with lust at another has already committed adultery in the heart and is at risk of being cast into Gehenna, . Will Jesus stand firm like John the Baptist who preferred to die under the axe of King Herod rather than unjustly condone the king’s adultery? Or, will Jesus be swayed by his compassion for the girl to side with pagans, with Roman law that forbade Jews to inflict a death penalty? Will he stand up for justice with Jerusalem or will he bend to condone adultery by obeying Rome? Will his justice be unmerciful, or will his mercy be unjust? Will he condemn the girl while the boy goes free?
Jesus does not stand up against her. Instead, he bends all the way to the ground and begins writing in the dust. It’s his posture that’s important here, not what he writes. While all other eyes are gawking at the girl and being deliciously scandalized, Jesus shows respect by turning his eyes away and humbling himself. Thinking they have trapped him into condoning her sin, the Scribes and Pharisees close in to press their attack and insist on an answer. Only then does Jesus stand up, not to confront the trembling girl but to confront the conniving executioners. “Let the one without sin cast the first stone.”
“Without sin.” The Greek word used here means complete innocence not only from sinful deeds, but even from the sinful desires and intentions Jesus spoke about in the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus turns the trap upon themselves, forcing them to make the choice between mercy and justice. Then, instead of staring them down, he once again turns his eyes away and bends low to the ground offering these sinners the same deference in their embarrassment as he showed to the girl in her nakedness. A profound silence falls upon the court while each one is self-convicted by the inner judgment of conscience. Everyone has sinned. The great German dramatist, Goethe, author of Faust, writes, “One need only grow old to become gentler in one’s judgments. I see no fault committed which I could not have committed myself,” . Beginning with the eldest, the silence of the court is broken as one by one rocks drop from their hands and strike the paving stones. Of all the sinners who were present, only the astonished girl remains standing there in the encounter with Jesus. Only she hears his forgiving words restoring her to the embrace of divine friendship with God and challenging her to a new way of life. She entered the encounter with Jesus by force, sinful and naked, facing a brutal death. She leaves it in freedom, forgiven and clothed with the righteousness of Jesus and, I imagine, with his own cloak wrapped gently around her.
She experienced a sacrament of reconciliation, an encounter with the love and mercy of God. This sacrament is Christ’s gift to us. It’s not so much our way of saying we’re sorry, (but, thankfully, we can do just that), as it is God’s way of wanting us to hear him whispering with love, “I forgive you,” and challenging us to a better life. In coming to the sacrament of reconciliation we are like the adulteress girl encountering Jesus with all our sinfulness uncovered. She was a sinner among sinners, but only she heard the loving words of Jesus embrace her, “Neither do I condemn you, go and do not sin again.” It’s too bad the boy wasn’t there with her. What a great gift he missed in this encounter with God reconciling a sinner with himself in Jesus.
This story does not end among the scattered stones lying abandoned on the courtyard of the Temple. It ends on the hard rock of Calvary, because the mercy of Jesus saves us not by unjustly condoning our sins, but by taking our punishment on himself. Like an adulterer about to be stoned, Jesus was stripped of his clothes and brutally tortured, dying naked upon the cross. He took the boy’s place, and the girl’s. Justice and mercy have kissed in the person of Jesus who makes love to us by taking our death sentence upon himself and putting the cloak of his mercy around our shoulders. If we don’t walk away in proud shame we also can encounter and receive his mercy and be challenged to make love like Jesus.
The end of this story is the beginning of another. It was early in the morning, as the sun was beginning to rise over Jerusalem, when some women came to the tomb of Jesus and found the couch empty!