This Gospel text is so hot that the early Church did not accept it till about the sixth century. I guess the thinking was, if we told people that Jesus went around forgiving people who had committed adultery, then people might get the idea, not that Jesus forgives, but that adultery is not all that bad.
Unfortunately we still see the church choosing to downplay forgiveness and mercy for fear that some might get the idea that God is, perish the thought, a forgiving and merciful Father. But that is what he is, and mercy and forgiveness are the themes in today's readings.
It is a dramatic scene. The Pharisees had pulled a woman away from the very act of adultery. She was probably standing before Jesus and the whole crowd of leering religious leaders, clutching whatever makeshift piece of clothing she had been able to put around herself. The ones who should have been ashamed were these hypocritical religious leaders, and not the poor woman.
The question they posed to Jesus was meant to entrap him. They said the woman had just been caught in the act of adultery. We can well ask, How would they have known unless they set this act up themselves? They pointed out to Jesus that the Jewish law said such a woman should be stoned to death. What did he say?
The dilemma they were putting Jesus in is that if he agreed to her being stoned, he would be undermining his whole teaching of forgiveness. Then the Pharisees could have held Jesus and his teachings up to ridicule. If Jesus said, however, as the law stipulated, that the woman should not be stoned, he would be going against the Jewish law. In this case, the hypocritical Pharisees could accuse Jesus of being a breaker of the revered Jewish law. Finally, if Jesus said she should be stoned, he was going against the Roman law, which forbade the Jews to carry out any capital punishment on their own.
So Jesus was being set up in an airtight conundrum. No matter which of the three courses he took, he would be either a laughing stock or guilty of breaking the Jewish or Roman law.
Jesus did a peculiar thing. He squatted down and started drawing lines in the sand. This gesture of squatting was what Jewish men often did to show their utter disinterest in the topic at hand. Jesus was saying by this gesture, I choose not at all to involved in your hypocritical kangaroo court against this woman. See to it yourselves.
But rather than say, "See to it yourselves," he said something else that was a stroke of genius. He said, "Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone." This was such a beautiful comeback, for Jesus was saying "I recognize the Jewish laws and the Roman laws; but if you are so eager to see this woman stoned, let he among you who has never committed the same sin as this woman, let that person cast the first stone." Then we read that Jesus went on drawing lines in the sand. Some commentators say he was writing the sins of each man, or at least that each man, walking by and looking down at Jesus' lines in the sand, saw written there his own sins of adultery and worse. And the text says they all walked away, beginning from the eldest.
It's interesting that the elders walked up first and read their sins first, for they were the most hardened in their sins, and most certainly had committed exactly this same sin and many more. They were terrified to think that others might see their sins written in the sand. That's why it's delicious to think that Jesus simply doodled in the sand with the effect that each man read his own sins.
Then Jesus did a most beautiful thing. He recognized the woman as a human person deserving of respect. He showed he sympathized with her feelings of shame and confusion. He asked simply of the woman: "Has no one accused you?" She probably hung her head when she answered softly, "No one, Lord." Then Jesus showed his divine mercy in saying softly also, "Neither do I condemn you. Go, then, and do not commit this sin again," or more simply, as some translations, "Go, now, and sin no more."
Jesus showed the confidence he had in this woman's goodness, that she was repentant and would not commit this sin again. And he routed the shameful religious leaders by his ploy of writing in the sand.
To have played down this incident, as the early church did, shows that the bureaucracy still fears that showing mercy and/or forgiveness will give a lesson of permission to commit evil rather than a lesson of simply mercy and forgiveness. We see it in the public's lust for capital punishment. Some say, "We cannot be forgiving men on death row; they must die, or others won' t learn the lesson that you can't go around killing people." But if we forgave a man on death row, and worked to rehabilitate him, might not others learn the lesson of mercy and forgiveness? What lesson do we want more to put across, that of "an eye for an eye," or Jesus' new commandment of love and forgiveness?
The idea of forgiveness is still so new to our culture, that it must be what Isaiah, the prophet, is speaking of in the first reading when God says, "Behold I am doing something new in your midst; now it breaks forth; do you not perceive it?" (Isaiah 43: 16-21)
- In his recent best seller "Soul Stories," author Gary Zukav tells us about a
native tribe gathered in a circle to determine the fate of a young man. The
man had murdered his friend and the victim's family, overwhelmed by the
tragedy sought his death in return. "Kill him too," they cried.
Then the ancient grandfather spoke. "Let us think this through, he said. And as they deliberated deep into the night they began to reflect on the consequences of their decision, not only on the young man but on themselves.
In the morning they called the young man into the circle to deliver their verdict. "See that tepee," they said, pointing to the murdered friend's tepee, "it is now yours." "See that horse," pointing to the dead friend's horse, "It too is yours." That day the victim's family adopted their son's murderer as their son. That decision changed his life and theirs. The young man grew to be a devoted son and the family surrendered the terrible burden of refusing to forgive. Letting go of the bitterness and revenge of the past created the possibility of a future in which harmony and spiritual growth could unfold. [i]
- In the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, in a tiny town named Mafraq, two Bedouin
youths got into a fight, fell to the ground in their fury. One lad pulled
out a knife, plunged it fatally into the other's flesh. In fear he fled for
days across the desert, fled the slain boys vengeful relatives, fled to find
a Bedouin sanctuary, a "tent of refuge" a designed by law for those who kill
unintentionally or in the heat of anger. At last he reached what might be a
refuge - the black-tented encampment of a nomad tribe. He flung himself at
the feet of its leader, an aged sheik, begged him: "I have killed in the
heat of anger; I implore your protection; I seek the refuge of your tent."
"If God wills," the old man responded, "I grant it to you, as long as you remain with us."
A few days later the avenging relatives tracked the fugitive to the refuge. They asked the sheik: "Have you seen this man? Is he here? For we will have him."
"He is here, but you will not have him."
"He has killed, and we the blood relatives of the slain will stone him by law."
"You will not."
"We demand him!"
"No. The boy has my protection. I have given my word, my promise of refuge."
"But you do not understand. He has killed your grandson!"
The ancient sheik was silent. No one dared to speak. Then, in visible pain, with tears searing his face, the old man stood up and spoke ever so slowly: "My only grandson - he is dead?"
"Yes, your only grandson is dead."
"Then, said the sheik, "then this boy will be my son. He is forgiven, and he will live with us as my own. Go now; it is finished." [ii]
How far we go in shying away from the burden of forgiving! No other words are most apt on the lips of this dying God of ours than those of "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Had he not said these words, we would all be destined for hell.
- I taught a young man English Literature in St. Henry's seminary in 1956. He
was brilliant then and still shows his native brilliance as he sits in the
chair of cardinal archbishop in the archdiocese of Chicago: He is Cardinal
Francis George.
Cardinal George is very conservative and surprised some, myself included, in coming out recently asking that we write the President and ask him to pardon Timothy McVeigh, the young man who blew up the Murraugh building in Oklahoma, killing hundreds of people.
I was so proud to see Cardinal George coming out for mercy and forgiveness for Timothy McVeigh. What else would Jesus do? He would do exactly the same thing. If we cannot forgive, let us remember the old saying: "He who does not forgive is burning the same bridges he must cross in order to enter heaven."
[i] "Do a new thing," Homily Hints, Outline 1588, Fifth Sunday of Lent (Year
C), April 1, 2001.
[ii] Walter J. Burghardt, SJ, Love Is a Flame of the Lord, (Mahwah NJ:
Paulist Press 1995) ppg. 20-21.
(Comments to Jerry at padre@tri-lakes.net. Jerry's book, Stories For All Seasons, is available at a discount through the Homiletic Resource Center.)