Two Were Left, Misery and Mercy

Shouldn’t There Be Something More?

The end is near! Today marks the beginning of the fifth week of Lent. Next week we’ll start Holy Week with Palm Sunday. We’ve been traveling in the desert now for 31 days. Our journey has been a difficult one. We’ve done without our favorite things (I’ve done without candy!). More importantly, we’ve learned something about ourselves and our walk with God on this journey. But maybe, if you’re like me, there’s still something missing. I sometimes feel like I’m approaching the end, and I’m not quite “there” yet. I’m not quite ready. Isn’t there something more? Why haven’t I felt this profound change? I should feel this oneness with the suffering of Jesus. I’ve gone 31 days without candy.

Endings have a way of calling the question. When we come to the end of a journey, the crazy starts happening. At the end of the day, we hustle to clear our desks. At the end of the workweek, we clamor to get everything ready for the weekend. And so it is as we approach the end of the Lenten season. Is there something more? Where is this transformation I’m looking for?

Gradual Change Through Discipline

Sometimes we expect something because of what we think should happen. In 2003 I graduated from UM St. Louis with my Ph.D. My family always asked, “do you feel different,” as if something was supposed to happen when they handed me my diploma magically. It’s not like Harry Potter; after all, the sorting hat calls out your house, and the rest of your life is different. No, this was different. The change in me was gradual over time. After years of disciplined studying and examination, I knew I was different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

That’s how these disciplines of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving work. The change in us isn’t immediate; it’s a change that occurs over time. And, it’s a change that can be hard for us to see in ourselves. The change from these disciplines comes when we believe in them earnestly. Our diligent sacrifice has changed us, but that change isn’t on the surface. It’s in the DNA of our faith life. It’s in how we see the world. These changes prepare us for what comes next. In the case of disciplines like fasting, prayer, and almsgiving, they prepare us to encounter our Lord in a meaningful way.

Encounter

Typically, we encounter the Lord through the sacraments; these produce that immediate change in us. They can transform us, but only if we let them. Sacraments are an encounter with God, much like the woman accused of adultery experienced in today’s Gospel. Unlike my Ph.D. graduation, when the bishop laid his hands on me at ordination, there was a fundamental change. Real change comes from the encounter. That’s what this journey should be about. We’re on a journey to encounter God.

Misery and Mercy

Today’s Gospel presents us with a picture of what that encounter should be like. Today we meet the woman who has been “chased” to Jesus. Having been found guilty of adultery, the scribes and Pharisees bring her to Jesus. They want Jesus to sentence her to death, but they know he won’t. They’re hoping he’ll go against what Moses wrote in the law. That’ll give them something to charge him with.

But Jesus refuses to answer them. He bends down and writes on the ground with his finger. The translation we read today doesn’t say what he was writing. But there’s an Armenian version of the Gospel that dates back to the 10th Century that states Jesus was writing the sins of these men in the sand. One version says that first, he writes their sins. Then, when he goes back to write again, he writes their names. This is when they walk away, with their heads hung low in shame.

And then it’s just Jesus and the adulteress. All of the hustle and bustle is gone. The voices of hate from the crowd around her are gone. The Mount of Olives is just outside Jerusalem and rises about 100 feet above the city. To the south, she and Jesus could see the wilderness of Judea. In the east, they could see the Dead Sea. Looking to the west, they would see Jerusalem itself and the temple. Here, in this quiet, remote, rugged place, all the noise of her persecutors is gone. St. Augustine says in the stunning silence, “relicti sunt duo, misera et misericordia.” This says, “two were left: misery and mercy.” There, in the quiet of the mountain, two were left. She, standing in the misery of her sin; he standing in the glory of his mercy.

Isn’t this where we find ourselves in the confessional? In the quiet, still place, apart from the world, in the Sacred space of our Church, two are left. We stand in the misery of our sin, and we encounter the mercy of Christ. And in that moment, we are invited to hear the words that the adulteress heard: “Go, and from now on, do not sin anymore.” This woman is flooded with God’s mercy; we are invited in much the same way to experience the mercy of God when we confess our sins.

Maybe our prayer, fasting, and almsgiving have opened our eyes to see our lives differently. Maybe the burden of our sins is hanging upon us, and we now know we must do something about it.

On Monday, our youngsters will experience their first reconciliations. They will step into the confessional for the first time and experience the sweet joy of Christ’s mercy. A week from Wednesday, just before Easter, we will hold a “light is on for you” event. We’ll have multiple priests available to hear confessions and help us let go of the burden of our sins.

Jesus calls each of us to stand on the Mount of Olives with him. He’s calling us to experience the tender mercy of our God in the silence and stillness of the sacrament. He’s calling each of us to draw closer and be free of the weight of our sins as we enter into the Easter mystery.