Just a Thought
Whereas the Gospels of the other Sundays of Lent in Year C are always taken from Luke, this one, on the Fifth Sunday, is taken from John: the well-known episode of the woman caught in adultery whom Jesus did not condemn. It is enough to read or hear this passage from the Fourth Gospel to be struck by its similarity of tone and perspective with the Gospels proclaimed on the preceding two Sundays: the call to conversion (Luke 13:19 — Third Sunday) and especially the parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:1-3, 11-32 —Fourth Sunday). We feel we are still in Luke’s Gospel. In fact, some exegetes think it likely that this passage was written by Luke and later inserted into the Fourth Gospel, where it is the perfect illustration for this word of Jesus, ‘I do not judge anyone.’ Whatever the case, we have here the indisputable witness of one evangelical tradition of Jesus’ life, an integral part of the good news of God’s mercy proclaimed in words and actions by the Lord himself.
Luke noted that in the last days he spent in Jerusalem before his Passion,— ‘during the day, Jesus was teaching in the temple area, but at night he would leave and stay at the place called the Mount of Olives. And all the people would get up early each morning to listen to him in the temple area.’ This retreat into solitude was certainly not inspired only by the legitimate and necessary need for rest. Several times, Luke notes that the Lord withdrew alone, apart, and often on a hill, to pray during the night. There is nothing surprising, then, in Jesus doing the same every day of the last week spent in Jerusalem before his passion. More than ever, he felt it necessary to reserve such moments of encounter with the Father, in order to draw from him the strength he needed and to discern what he must absolutely teach during these few days still at his disposal.
Therefore, once more sitting in the Temple, where he is teaching ‘all the people’ crowding upon him to listen to him. ‘All the people,’ that is, the multitude of lowly folks and simple hearts, eager to hear God’s word. This peace is suddenly disrupted by the arrival of a group of ‘Scribes and …Pharisees’ pushing and bringing forward in front of Jesus a woman caught in the act of adultery.
‘In the law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?’ It is a question of life or death: immediately for the woman.; and also for Jesus, since the evangelist says, ‘they said this to test him, so that they could have some charge to bring against him.’ Indeed, if Jesus answers ‘Stone her, since the law commands it,’ he will be seen by all as an imposter, first of all by the people ‘hanging on his words.’ They will say, ‘He was preaching mercy and here he is condemning to death a woman without having listened to her, which is contrary to the law. Young Daniel showed more wisdom. When the two elders appointed as judges that year summoned Susanna, testifying that they had surprised her in the act of adultery, Daniel questioned them and convicted them of false testimony. But how can Jesus let them stone her without verifying the grounds for the accusation?’ If, on the contrary, Jesus says to pardon her, he makes light of the law; and in the event the sin is proved, he becomes an accomplice by casually absolving the woman. And people could then tell him, ‘How can you acquit this woman of a sin deemed very serious by the law?’ In either case, his teaching on the demands of his message would thus be stripped of all credibility, even with the ordinary people. The snare is a perfect one: whatever answer he gives, Jesus is caught.
We can admire the way in which Jesus, once more, foils an insidious ploy. (We especially recall how he avoided the trap prepared for him on the question of the tax due to Caesar.) But beyond this, there is a lesson to learn. To those who put the question to him, Jesus first of all opposes a silence during which all must be holding their breath and which they undoubtedly interpret in different ways, some perhaps with satisfaction, as a sign of embarrassment. ‘Jesus bent down and began to write on the ground with his finger.’
What did he write? As the Gospels do not tell us, we are sorely tempted to guess it, or rather imagine it. Saint Augustine suggests: ‘That this gesture portrays Christ as the divine legislator: and that in fact, God wrote the law with his finger on tablets of stone. Thus Jesus is the Legislator, he is Justice in person.’True as this may be , it is no use trying to surmise, what’s the use? It is futile even to wonder at the meaning of this gesture and even more to hypothesise on what Jesus was writing on the ground. One thing is certain: Jesus’ attitude and gesture do not express any contempt or lack of interest for this woman — her sin — her fate — or any lack of appreciation of the seriousness, the gravity of the question put to him. For this question concerns the woman standing in the middle of all, it concerns those who, are asking themselves the question sincerely and in good faith, and await a response from the Master, and finally, it concerns Jesus himself.
‘Jesus bent down’ to write on the ground, thus perhaps avoiding looking at those who questioned him about the woman, and at those surrounding him. Is not this delicacy and discretion of Jesus an invitation addressed to the readers and hearers of the Gospel? Joining in Jesus’ silence, we shall take advantage of this brief pause to reflect on how his words might strike a responsive chord in our hearts regarding the situation.
‘If there is one of you who has not sinned let him be the first to throw a stone at her.’
This is a direct and clear allusion to the law: It prescribed that the one who denounced a crime thus give the signal for the stoning. But let us not be mistaken about the meaning of Jesus’ answer. It does not mean that, because we ourselves are sinners, we are forbidden to render justice or pronounce a sentence. But it urges all of us to scrutinise our intentions. In France, for instance, it is required today that witnesses in criminal cases take an oath to speak without hatred. And as we could all have other motivations equally invalidating — in conscience — when we clamour for the punishment of a guilty person, we should perhaps bear our motivations in mind.
Finally, Christians must remember Jesus’ word on the wooden beam and splinter (see Luke 6:42-42)Conscious of being sinners, we must strive to reconcile, as much as possible, justice and mercy. Because he was without sin, Jesus could come close to sinners without being contaminated by their sin, and he could show mercy without in the least making compromises with evil, without failing to recognise its gravity. The same is true of genuine saints. While vigorously denouncing sin, they show admirable mercy toward sinners. Moreover, because of their holiness, they convey to sinners a strong demand for conversion in the very act of granting them pardon in God’s name.
‘They went away one by one, beginning with the eldest’ Sometimes we hear it said that the older ones left first because, having lived longer, they were burdened with more sins. This is one explanation. We could retort, however, that their leaving before the others demonstrates wisdom and better self-knowledge. But what is the interest of these rather unkind judgements either on the older set or the younger? Since again Jesus lowers his eyes and keeps silent, let us take advantage of this moment of recollection to humbly confess our sin — without comparing ourselves to anyone — by giving thanks to the one, who being without sin, can and wants to obtain pardon for us.
‘Jesus was left alone with the woman before him.’ — ‘Woman, where are they? Has no-one condemned you? She replied ‘no-one sir’’.
These are the only words the sinner pronounces. Probably in her turn, she dares to look up at Jesus when he says to her: ‘Neither do I condemn you. Go away, and don’t sin anymore.’ Once again we hear the thoughts of Saint Augustine who asks: ‘What does this mean, Lord? Do you approve sins? Nothing of the sort. Listen to what follows, ‘Go, and , from now on, do not sin anymore.’ The Lord has condemned too, but the sin, not the person, for if he approved sins he would say, ‘I shall not condemn you either, go, live as you see fit, sure of being pardoned, no matter how great your sin….BUT HE DID NOT SAY THIS! But, rather, ‘Neither do I condemn you’; however, reassured as to the past, be on your guard for the future; I have erased your faults, keep my commandments in order to receive my promises.’
The story, which from beginning to end is sparingly told but filled with great dramatic tension, ends here. What became of the woman? The Gospel does not tell us, as it did not say what the older son had finally done in the parable last Sunday. The encounter between Jesus and a woman caught in the very act of adultery leads us to examine our own attitudes towards our brothers and sisters guilty of serious sin, as well as our own reactions when our misery meets with the mercy of God in the Gospels or in the sacrament of penance and reconciliation.
The liturgy of this Fifth Sunday admirably brings to a close the Lenten itinerary of conversion we have walked in Year C, under Lukes’s guidance. Whatever the efforts and renunciations we must consent to — the ‘gains’of former days — it remains that to be converted is to turn with joy and trust to the Father, always ready to receive us; to the mercy of God always offered, revealed by Christ in words and actions. To be converted is to start on the road of righteousness that does not come from us, but from faith in Christ, in whom God will recognise us as righteous, whatever our sins may be, even if the world condemns us. Through Christ, God makes of us ‘a new creation.’ The efficacious word of salvation is pronounced over us:
‘Neither do I condemn you. Go [and] from now on do not sin anymore.’
