Lest We Cast a Stone (5th Sunday Lent C)

 

In his exhortation during the Holy Year of Mercy, Pope Francis emphasized that all the faithful must contemplate the face of God's mercy and take the season of Lent as a privileged moment to celebrate and experience God’s mercy.

Jesus is the face of God's mercy. To contemplate on God's mercy, we need, then, to fix our eyes on Jesus. Let us do just that as we treat the gospel reading for today.

Today’s gospel reading (Jn 8:1-11) recounts the case of a woman caught in adultery. Her case is presented by the Scribes and Pharisees to test Jesus. If Jesus condemns her according to the Law of Moses, i.e. by stoning to death, he frustrates those who hope in his compassion and runs in conflict with the Roman law that has suspended the Jewish authorization to inflict capital punishment. If he pardons her, he can be accused of making light of the Law and lose his credibility before the people. But Jesus always outwits his malicious opponents. He manages to rise above the ploy to trap him and, what more, turns the occasion into one that instructs and teaches about the loving ways of God.

I suggest two things to consider for our reflection: First, Jesus’ invitation to self-examination and, second, his teaching on abhorring sin but loving the sinner.

Invitation to Self-examination. When the Scribes and Pharisees press him to give his position on the case, Jesus responds by saying, “let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her” (v. 7). Far from condemning the woman to death, Jesus instead invites the self-righteous Scribes and Pharisees to examine themselves first. The gospel recounts how each one goes away starting with the elders unable to cast the first stone. 

When we examine ourselves, we begin to realize how much the power of sin has affected us too. We begin to see that we are in an unfortunate solidarity with the sinners. We stop pointing an accusing finger on other people and admit that we also share in the sins of humanity. We begin to see the utter hypocrisy of casting the stone on others and to realize that like anyone else what we need is not legalistic impersonal judgment but mercy and compassion.

In this season of Lent, let us honestly and courageously look into our own sinfulness and approach God not in the self-righteous stance of the Scribes and Pharisees but in the utter dependence of the adulterous woman on the mercy of God.

Abhorring Sin but Loving the Sinner. Just like the message of the Parable of the Lost Son, today’s gospel teaches us about God’s unconditional love for us sinners. As far as God is concerned, we continue to be his sons and daughters despite our sinfulness. Today’s gospel illustrates how slow God is in condemning us and quick in giving us a fresh start. His words, “Neither do I condemn you” (v. 11), express Jesus’ willingness to give the sinful woman a chance, a new lease on life. God does not give up on us easily. His love and mercy always triumph over the power of sin that wants to destroy us. God’s love and mercy recreates us to become once again his beautiful children.

“Go; from now on do not sin anymore” (v. 11). Jesus is also clear about abhorring sin. Part of the gift of new life is the commitment of rejecting sin. Our encounter with Jesus brings new life and our experience of his compassion empowers us all the more to abhor the scandal of sin. We are God’s children; we are destined to live in grace. Sin is a despicable deception whose sole objective is to mislead and destroy.

Hence, the season of Lent is a good time to express our indignation to sin... to our sins... and to live in the grace of God’s mercy. 

This reflection does not in any way wish to abolish our legal and justice systems. They are necessary for social order. We have to be aware though that they can be flawed. The message of today’s gospel is that we move away from vindictive system that casts the stones out of lust for vengeance and conceit of self-righteousness. We move towards restorative system that allows for renewal and the chance to mend what has been broken by sin. Let us not allow sin to have the last laugh. It is God’s love that recreates, God’s mercy that restores.

Lord, break the shield of my self-righteousness lest I cast a stone on others; allow your mercy to expose the despicable deception of my sins that I may abhor them and hope for your promise of new life. Amen.

Wounds that Truly Hurt (Passion Sunday B)

We have to live with the fact that it is people we love that we hurt and that can hurt us the most. Wounds inflicted by enemies make of us a warrior, even fiercer than we ever had been before.  But wounds caused by a loved one send us sobbing in real pain and helplessness to a corner. And it is the inner wound in our being that truly hurts more than the physical wound that we endure momentarily. Physical wounds heal naturally leaving only some scars for reminder.

But often, we readily take notice of the external wounds oblivious of the greater pain that cuts deep inside.  Once I facilitated a Lenten retreat among lay leaders and Eucharistic ministers.  To help them begin with a proper disposition, I let them watch Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ. The film was in Aramaic but people understood it just the same and they were moved because of the graphic presentation of the passion of Jesus Christ. Many sobbed while watching Jesus receiving the blows and lashes.  Their hearts went with him as they saw the gaping wounds all over his body. Some could not stand watching the horrible manner with which Jesus’ torturers crucified him. The torture was too much. Perhaps, it was intentionally portrayed so by the film-makers to highlight the suffering of Christ and to evoke remorse from the viewers. In this aspect, the film is a tremendous success.

However, the film may put us into the risk of not noticing the real pain that Jesus endured the most as we can be transfixed by the gaping wounds, horrible bruises, and trembling hands nailed onto the wood. The gospel of Mark in today’s readings (Mk. 14:1—15:47) narrates the passion of Christ in a rather plain-spoken manner, characteristically devoid of descriptive details. Mark is contented for instance in reporting quite plainly that “they crucified him and divided up his garments by rolling dice for them to see what each should take. It was about nine in the morning when they crucified him.” That simple. No mention of blood spurting.

The simplicity of Mark’s narration however allows us to notice the wounds inflicted not by Jesus’ enemies but by his loved ones.  Let me point out four wounds that must have truly and deeply hurt him:

The wound inflicted by a kiss. A kiss is the sweetest greeting between friends. Judas turned this gesture into an act of betrayal.  Jesus had to endure being betrayed by one of his closest friends, a member of his most intimate circle of followers. Jesus was sold by a friend.  The kiss left no physical mark of wound; but it certainly cut deep inside the heart of the betrayed.

The wound inflicted by words of denial. “I don’t even know the man you are talking about!” Mark reports Peter saying this at the third instance of his denial.  Peter was the most trusted and depended on by Jesus among the apostles. Jesus even gave him the name, Peter, which means rock, because Jesus believed in his strength of character and his leadership.  With Peter’s denial, Jesus again must have experienced deep wounds that truly hurt him. There were no marks of lashes left by the words of denial; but certainly the pain of rejection reverberates deep inside.

The wound inflicted by false accusation and conviction.  The very people who chanted the Hosannas as Jesus entered Jerusalem are the same people who later demanded his crucifixion.  From the words of blessing—“Hosanna! Blessed be he who comes in the name of the Lord!”—to the words of curse and unfair conviction—“Crucify him! Crucify him!” How painful it is to see people who once believed in you now hand you over to death like a criminal!

The wound inflicted by the silence of the dearest of all. The Father was everything to Jesus. He was Jesus’ source of meaning and being. It was to Him that Jesus had complete trust and obedience. During this horrible moment of Jesus’ passion, however, the Father, the dearest of all, was silent. Distant. Tolerant of all the evil deeds inflicted upon his beloved Son. When Jesus was about to die, he cried out what must have been the most excruciating pain he had to endure as a man and as a Son: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” The wound of total abandonment by the beloved Father was perhaps the greatest suffering Jesus had to bear.

Such is the suffering of Jesus Christ. His physical wounds were nothing compared to what lashed and cut him at the core of his being.

We have the capacity to hurt the Lord because he loves us. We hurt him with our betrayal. We hurt him with our denial. We hurt him with our false accusation and conviction. We hurt him when we give him a cold shoulder when he calls us.

We hurt each other too with these same wounds. We have to remember that the wounds inflicted by people dear to us are the most painful. On this Passion Sunday, we are invited to a humble examination of our way of loving.  We may have been inflicting wounds on one another. We are invited too towards the only way of healing these deep wounds—the way of forgiveness and reconciliation.

“I love you Lord... and I hurt you... I hurt too people I love. Please... forgive me!”

Oops! I Did It Again (24th Sunday Ordinary A)

Britney Spears had the world as her captivated audience in the year 2000 for her teen pop song that spoke about a girl who thinks love is a game and plays with her lover's emotions. The song Oops!... I Did It Again became her signature song.  Was it her unique voice that made the song popular? Or was it her breath-taking dance moves? Or maybe her signature low-rise jeans and exposed belly as she wiggled about the stage? Perhaps...  Perhaps...  But it could also be, I suspect, the identification of millions of people with the experience of having repeatedly misbehaved in life.  So that the expression, “Oops, I did it again,” is simply a favorite.  Millions wouldn’t mind intoning it anytime of the day.

When every now and then we find ourselves helpless scratching our heads or biting our nails as we say with real regrets, “Oops, I did it again,” we acknowledge with humility and shame our need for forgiveness.  Not once, not just twice, not even thrice.  More times.  Peter, in today’s gospel reading (Mt. 18:21-35), is cognizant of the reality of repeated offense done against one another and against God.  Hence his question, “how often must I forgive?”  He follows it up with his opinion: “Seven times?”  Maybe he is expecting to be affirmed because seven is a perfect number and, by human calculation, to be able to forgive seven times is undoubtedly magnanimous enough.

Jesus’ reply bears again the perspective of God, not of man:  No. Not seven times, Peter. Seventy times seven!  This means in effect, setting no limit to the act of mercy and forgiveness.  Jesus is saying here, “Peter, when you forgive, forget about counting.”

Peter has a sense only of the thriving sinfulness of the world; hence, it is important for him to know how far forgiveness can be offered.  Jesus knows not just the sinful side of reality, he is aware, more importantly, of the liberating grace that abounds even more.  Only with mercy and forgiveness can this broken world be saved.  God is making sure we have unlimited source of this grace.  Sin, however it thrives and flourishes, however it comes back again and again and again, will have to be conquered by mercy and acts of forgiveness.  God’s unconditional mercy always has the last say!

Chronic sinners as we are, we can only submit in gratitude and humility to God as we chant David’s psalm as our own: 

He has not dealt with us according to our sins,

Nor punished us according to our iniquities. 

For as the heavens are high above the earth,

So great is His mercy toward those who fear Him;

As far as the East is from the West,

So far has he removed our transgressions from us (Ps 103: 10-12).

The ensuing self-explanatory parable of the unforgiving servant in today’s gospel is meant to highlight the fact that we are asked to forgive as we have experienced it from God.  God’s mercy is as expansive as the distance between heaven and earth, between one end of the earth and the other.  We experience this unconditional mercy of God; therefore, we just have to share that same liberating experience to those who have sinned against us.  Our failure to do so shows our lack of gratitude and appreciation of our experience of God’s mercy. 

Maybe we find this difficult and almost impossible because we humans are very calculating.  Our sense of justice is oftentimes devoid of the spirit of love.  To be appeased when aggrieved, we make sure we get even.  Or if we do forgive, we set limits. Otherwise, it’s foolishness; our human logic reckons so.

My father was a disciplinarian.  It was characteristic of him to pronounce clear rules, limits and boundaries to be observed at home.  First offense was tolerated as a necessary mistake to learn from. Second offense called for an unforgettable dressing down as a strong precaution. Third offense was the last warning!  Over and above this was unacceptable, the offender had no more excuse and must get lost!  I was naturally obedient and careful for I didn’t like the feeling of being scolded.  One of us was not.  So he reached the point, according to the rules, when he had to leave the house and live wherever he wanted.  With his absence, my father tried to appear undisturbed.  But with my mother twisting my father’s arm, he finally set out to look for his wayward son.  After this event, my father stopped counting.  Perhaps, he realized how foolish it is to set quotas for forgiveness when it concerns a loved one.

We may be very calculating. But beyond the limit that we have clearly set, we do realize sometimes that we still possess a heart that continues to beat with love for the offender. It is this same love with which God approaches our repetitious transgressions.   This love does not know how to count up to seven.  Much less compute seventy times seven!  This love only knows infinity.

So once again, we are facing the high standards of Christian love.  It demands that we forgive those who have offended us as often as they come with sorrow for their transgressions.  To enable us to actually do it, we just have to remember with gratitude how we ourselves have been forgiven by the merciful and kind God... again and again... and again.   

We often go to God admitting our guilt saying “Oops, I did it again.”  We experience his mercy anyhow.  It gives me pure and innocent joy to imagine God granting his grace of forgiveness for the nth time scratching his head or biting his nails mumbling to Himself, “Oops, I did it again...” but in His case, without any ounce of regrets.

The Face of God’s Mercy (24th Sunday Ordinary C)

 

About six years ago, an appalling P10-billion pork barrel scam was exposed. It was said to be masterminded by Janet Napoles involving a number of our “honorable” lawmakers and other high-profile officials.  Everyone then was understandably dissociating from her.  A mere photograph in the past that showed posing with her all smiles at a party or any function became regrettable as it would raise public suspicions of complicity with the revolting corruption she was tied with. Nobody wanted to be seen hanging around with her anymore.

Our keen hypocritical sense nudges us to keep a distance from those we consider sinners because it is shameful and detrimental to our already damaged “reputation.”

In the light of today’s readings, particularly the gospel (Lk 15: 1-32), it’s possible to imagine Jesus doing what everybody else is avoiding—dining and probably enjoying the picture taking with the scam mastermind in front of all the raised eyebrows around. 

The gospel reading today depicts Jesus hanging around with the public sinners of his time who were drawing near to listen to him. A complaint from the observing religious sectors goes this way: “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them” (v.2). This passage may be approached from two vantage points, that of the self-righteous and that of the sinner.

In fact, this statement comes from the self-righteous religious groups of Jesus’ time. As such, it is a criticism of Jesus’ act. The Pharisees and Scribes are scandalized by Jesus’ association with the sinners. For them, it is important to maintain a distance from sinners as purity is their most important vow and brushing elbows with the sinful is risking contamination. From where they stand, the act of Jesus is unbecoming of a holy man. They expect Jesus to act like them, i.e., to shoo away the sinners as one drives away a leper.

From the stand point of the sinners, however, their experience of Jesus mingling and dining with them is an experience of profound hope, the experience of the Good News. When the institution of their religion has virtually closed the door of salvation for them, they experience in Jesus the God who seeks them out when they are lost. They experience a God who does not condemn but saves.  Jesus’ act of spending time with the sinners is their invitation to conversion and their assurance that God’s mercy is available for them.

The three parables, that of the lost coin, the lost sheep, and the lost son, have a common message: God rejoices over a sinner who repents and turns back to Him. In the parables, Jesus probably intends to depict unrealistic reasons for the joyful celebration, like inviting the neighborhood for a feast because a coin is found.  Jesus’ message could be that God’s mercy, in human reckoning, is unrealistic and illogical. The ways of God in dealing with the sinners is far beyond our ways.

Especially the self-righteous, represented by the elder brother in the parable of the lost son, cannot understand the father’s merciful and unquestioning acceptance of the wasteful and irresponsible sibling. And it’s much harder to find any rhyme and reason in the joyful celebration of a banquet with his return. The self-righteous has his own logical standards and moral parameters; and the problem with this is that God’s mercy does not work in accordance with this standard or parameter. Hence, the self-righteous, while trying to maintain an exacting and high sense of justice in life, is in great danger of missing out on the abundance of God’s mercy.

On the other hand, the sinners receive God’s mercy as a welcome surprise like the experience of the prodigal son being embraced by the father and unquestioningly reinstated as a son after having turned away from him. The sinners real sense of unworthiness may find God’s forgiveness incredible but the same experience of humility makes sinners recognized their thirst for forgiveness and their absolute dependence on God’s graciousness.

Let us avoid self-righteousness. It is the surest way not to experience the mercy of God, not because there is lack of it, but because our conceit doesn’t allow the ocean of God’s mercy to flow into our hearts.

Our invitation is clear: Let us celebrate hope in spite of our helplessness as sinners. We may be naturally incredulous of the vast mercy of God revealed by Jesus but let us embrace it anyway or, more correctly, let us allow the God of mercy to embrace us as a father embraces his child with love.

We are in many ways like J. Napoles, only with different forms and degrees of sinfulness perhaps. It is consoling to remember that Jesus would always love to dine with us and allow us to take pictures with him in spite of our horrible reputations. He does not dissociate from us because we are sinners. On the contrary, he invites us to be in fellowship with him, to trust in God’s mercy, confessing with total surrender our sins that we may regain the newness of life that we have wasted and lost. Indeed, Jesus is “the face of the Father’s mercy” (Misericordiae Vultus, 1).

The Grace of Forgiveness (11th Sunday Ordinary C)

No doubt one of the most profound, liberating, and even life-changing human experiences is the joy of being forgiven. We just have to recall our own experiences of being forgiven in order to realize that the greater the offense we acknowledge to have done, the deeper is our sense of gratitude for being freed from its burden through forgiveness.

Today’s readings invite us to reflect even more deeply on our experience of the grace of forgiveness. We shall focus on three things: The recognition of sin as essential to the experience of forgiveness shown in the story of King David; the heart-warming tears of repentance illustrated by the sinful woman in the Gospel reading; and gratitude as our loving response to being forgiven as taught by the parable of the two debtors.

Recognition of Sin. The first reading (2 Sm 12:7-10, 13) recalls how the Prophet Nathan reminded David of God’s goodness to him—anointing him as king, rescuing him from the hand of Saul, giving him the house of Israel and Judah, and many other countless blessings. At the same time, Nathan reminded David that despite God’s graciousness, David had spurned the Lord and done evil in God’s sight by plotting the death of Uriah and ultimately taking the latter’s wife, Bathsheba, as his own.

The fact that David needed a prophet to be told of his sins shows that He had been spiritually blind. While, as a king, he had been enjoying the favor and blessings of God, he was practically unaware of the evil of his maneuverings in the sight of this gracious God.  Sin blinds. Our habit of sins renders us incapable of seeing the evil in what we do. The worst situation is precisely what’s going on now in our contemporary milieu—the loss of the sense of sin. People just want to do whatever they please without regard to moral principles.  We hear this being said too often: “How can this be wrong when it feels soooo right?”

It is only when David recognized his sins that he was assured of God’s forgiveness. “I have sinned against the Lord” (v. 13). To this confession, Nathan responded with assurance of God’s mercy. The grace of forgiveness abounds.  It is given, however, only to those who have recognized their sinfulness.  In the Sacrament of Reconciliation, the penitent names and confesses his offenses. It surely is embarrassing to oneself but it is at the same time empowering. By naming and confessing, the penitent get holds of his sins and not the other way around. Recognizing our sinfulness, naming and confessing our sins liberate us from our spiritual blindness and enables us to see the graciousness of God and hence experience the grace of forgiveness.

The Tears of Repentance. The gospel reading (Lk 7:36—8:3) presents an illuminating contrast between the gate-crasher sinful woman and the Pharisee, Jesus’ host for the dinner.  The woman came in weeping and started to wash Jesus’ feet with her tears! She wiped them with her hair, kissed them and anointed them with expensive perfumed oil; while the Pharisee had not offered this customary hospitality to his guest. The lavishness of the woman’s expression of sorrow and devotion to Jesus is reflective of both the depth of her repentance for her great sins and her faith in God’s mercy; while the coldness with which the Pharisee received the Lord manifests the Pharisee’s self-righteous stance—a stance that rendered him incapable of seeing his own need for repentance and forgiveness, much like the blindness of David to his sins.  This same stance gives him the self-endowed right to condemn and distance himself from sinners.

Like the sinful woman in the gospel, we are invited by the Lord to a genuine repentance of our sins.  If we should weep, so be it. The tears of repentance reveal both the sincerity of our acceptance of our sinfulness and the depth of our yearning to experience the mercy of God. At the same time, the Lord warns us against self-righteousness because it is the surest way to forfeit by default God’s abundant offer of the grace of forgiveness.

Gratitude as our Loving Response.  The parable of the two debtors--one with a large debt, the other with smaller debt—who experienced being forgiven as both of them are unable to pay, illustrates the point that the degree of gratitude and love evoked by the experience of forgiveness is directly proportionate to the amount of the debt forgiven.  Between the two debtors, the one whose debt is much larger expresses greater gratitude to the creditor who forgives. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.

We should not fear approaching the Lord for mercy as we realize how great a sinner we are.  The greater the burden of sins lifted, the greater is our gratitude, our joy, our yearning to love God in return.  No wonder most of the saints consider themselves as great sinners and their lives have shown the greatness of their love for God.

What is our invitation? We are invited to overcome our self-righteousness which hinders us from experiencing the abundance of God’s mercy and to acknowledge our sinfulness with tears of repentance. This is not, however, to make of us a community of guilt-ridden Christians but a community who can love lavishly because of the freedom experienced through the grace of forgiveness.

Faith and Friendship (7th Sunday Ordinary B)

I met a doctor in a convention.  Her commitment to the service of God’s Kingdom was amazing.  Later, her testimonies revealed to me that she was not always that way.  She used to be a typical product of modernity believing more in her medical expertise than in God.  She used to treat her patients as mere bodies with illness. Compassion was not her virtue. She would treat them only if the price was right. What changed her was the invitation of her friends to join a religious organization. Gradually, with the support of the organization she encountered God and henceforth became a different person.  She began to see her medical profession as an opportunity to serve the poor.  For countless times, she called on her colleagues to organize medical outreach programs in order to serve those who had no means to visit the hospitals. She would diagnose and prescribe medicines but deep inside her she would pray for the healing of her patients. “I will always look back with gratitude to that time when my friends led me to discover God in my life,” she exclaimed.

Faith, as a response to God, is necessarily personal.  It cannot be vicarious.  But almost always, we seldom realize, we come to an encounter with God not on our own strength and capacity but through the help of other people, of our family or friends who are there to lead us or just support us when we are yet weak.  While God waits for our personal response to Him, He does recognize the faith of the community to where we belong and allows that faith to work “miracles” in awakening our own faith.

In today’s gospel reading (Mk 2: 1-12), we hear the story of a paralytic whom Jesus forgives and cures on account of the faith of his friends:  While He was delivering God’s word to them, some people arrived bringing a paralyzed man to him. The four who carried him were unable to bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, so they began to open up the roof over the spot where Jesus was. When they had made a hole, they let down the mat on which the paralytic was lying. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralyzed man, “My son, your sins are forgiven.” 

A paralyzed man could not, by himself, approach Jesus who was surrounded by a crowd who, perhaps, were pushing and shoving to get near him.  Surely, he needed people to carry him to Jesus.  Blessed was this man who had with him some committed friends who were ready to do just everything to allow him that life-changing encounter with the Lord. On many other healing occasions, Jesus required the faith of the person.  In this particular event, Jesus was moved by the faith of the friends. So, “when Jesus saw their faith,” He forgave him and made him whole again.

People are spiritually paralyzed by sin. This generation has been so inured by the gross immoralities around that it has lost its sense of sin. All the more that people do not care about their spiritual life. This is paralysis. The gospel then is an invitation for many of us to cultivate such “faith of the friends” of the paralytic and be able to embark on a mission to reach out to those who cannot approach the Lord on their own. 

Cultivating in us the faith of the paralytic’s friends may entail, among many others, two things:  Acquiring empathy and developing committed action.

The faith of the friends certainly was characterized by empathy.  This is sensitivity to the needs of the paralyzed friend who is unable to act on his own.  Oftentimes, we are consumed by our own spiritual needs; we fail to understand the struggle of people around us.  We don’t see that people around us could use our support.  Developing empathy increases our capacity to see beyond our own needs.  This allows us to understand the needs of other people and so to put aside our own agenda and take on as our own those of others who silently cry for support.

Clearly a faith characterized by empathy leads to committed action.  The friends of the paralytic did not give up and leave him when they were confronted with the crowd that barred them to Jesus.  On the contrary, they looked for ways and means to bring their friend to Jesus.  Faith without action is dead.  When Jesus “saw their faith,” it was their commitment to act on behalf of their paralyzed friend that amazed the Lord.  We need to develop in us this commitment to act lest our promised prayers for friends who are in need of our support are in fact our way of escaping from the call to do something.

Who may be that paralyzed friend whose needs silently beg for our empathy and whose helplessness asks for our commitment to act on his behalf? Who is out there whom we can lead to have a life-changing encounter with the forgiving God?