St. Ann Catholic Church | St. Louis, MO

Early on in Lent, I was at a meeting with the Archbishop.  As he led the closing prayer he used a simple image: “Lord, help us to be faithful in our journey to the foot of the cross.”  That phrase got me to thinking about a couple of things.  First, I am grateful that I don’t have to climb on that cross – that suffering love has already been endured for my salvation.  I don’t have to re-do what our Lord has done.  But journeying to the foot of the cross made me realize that I have to face the sufferings that Jesus embraced upon that cross.  I had to see what Jesus took to himself in his agony.  I had to understand what Jesus was reconciling in his body as he suffered.  I became aware of those sufferings in different ways this lent.

Listening to NPR as I drove in my car, I heard recent stories about the gang and mafia related violence in and around Mexico City.  The reporting commented that these are primarily fueled by drugs, fueled by people in the U.S.’s addiction to cocaine and marijuana.  People are dying in Mexico because people in St. Louis and around the country want to enjoy a ‘toke’ on the infernal weed, or a hit of the white powder.  I find myself at the foot of the cross trying to figure out how to stop the demand on this side of the Rio Grande so that people might live on their side of the Rio Grande.

Like you, I’ve been reading and hearing as the abuse scandal that we faced in our country is now being faced in Ireland, Germany, the Netherlands and the like.  Parallel to our experience, some of what is written is true – and we need to hear it and face it.  Some of it is false, and it needs to be corrected.  And some of it is blatantly attacking the church in an effort tear down and destroy the body of Christ – and that part needs to be confronted.  I find myself at the foot of the cross praying once more for victims and perpetrators, leaders and followers in this church of ours – that we might let the example of Christ lead us.

On a more personal note, my family has been dealing with issues around my mom’s broken but slowly healing arm, her failing mobility, her fierce independence and our desire to love her in a way that keeps her safe but respects her freedom.  So I find myself kneeling at the foot of the cross called aging and geriatric care, asking for the wisdom to know a path forward.

And then there is that pesky Lenten resolution to spend more time in prayer.  Where did that go?  How did I get to Good Friday and not significantly change my behaviors and patterns despite my best intentions.  And I find myself at the foot of the cross, begging forgiveness and mercy.

What brings us here tonight is probably as varied as the people sitting in the pews next to you.  Whether corporately or individually, we have all journeyed to this moment and this hour – to the foot of the cross.  Perhaps it is the foot of the cross of cancer where you find yourself this year.  Perhaps it is a lousy job that you are trapped in, especially in this economy.  Perhaps it is the corporate sin of our country so locked in one way of thinking that we can’t even disagree civilly anymore.

Whatever the cross invites you to face this year, we assemble at its foot.  In a few moments, we will have the chance to venerate the cross.  Bring whatever you need to this place of costly grace – your sin, your repentance, your need for God, the situation YOU are FACING  – and surrender the burden.  Lay it down upon the Lord.  It is what he wants to do – for you, for me, for the world…

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I stopped by my mom’s house the other day, to sort through some papers while she is recovering from her broken arm. As I drove to the house, I could see the old lot between the houses in the curve of the road. It got me to remembering. I remember that the third base fowl line was a tree in the outfield, and it was very difficult on some fly balls that dropped in to tell if it was fair or fowl. And we’d argue. Sometimes there was a disagreement whether the runner was safe or out. So we’d argue. Sometimes, underneath that pile of bodies, it was hard to tell if the football actually got across the invisible goal line between the fence and the tree. Both sides press their case. After a lot of arguing and shouting and disagreements, the initial energy would calm down a bit. And then someone would say those magic words: “Do-over.” Replay the hit. Replay the down. Do the play over. And we’d all know: “Of course- it is the only way… DO OVER”

Wouldn’t you love to have the power of do-over’s as an adult? You mess up on a huge project and the boss says: “No problem, you get a do-over.” You say something stupid to your spouse/significant other in a moment of anger – they look at you and you realize what you’ve done – and they say: “Let’s back up 5 minutes, you go out the door, and walk in as if it is the first time. You get a do-over.

Two sets of people needed do-over’s in today’s gospel. The woman certainly needed a do-over. According to Mosaic law, she was not long for this earth, even while her male counterpart walked free. The Pharisees pushed and shoved her in front of the crowd, and they made her ‘stand there’ – they held her there – in her sin, in her shame, in their self righteous anger. And if she somehow survived the next moments, she would always be the one caught in the act of adultery. Her past would mark her future forever. Even now, the gospel story is not entitled “The Forgiven Woman” but “The Woman Caught in Adultery”. She needed a major do-over.

But the other group that needed a do-over today was ‘the mob’ – all those who had brought the woman before Jesus. They didn’t care about her – she was collateral damage, an after thought. (If they really were concerned about the Mosaic law, they would have brought the man as well) She was the instrument to get to Jesus. SHE was invisible to that crowd – except as a tool to be used.

So what does Jesus do? Like our neighborhood kids in the sandlot, he lets the energy cool down. He drops to his knees and writes with his finger in the ground. Though the gospel writers do not record the words, we do know that God is the only one who writes with his finger in the Hebrew Testament. So when Jesus writes with his finger, besides letting the energy cool down, he’s saying what is coming next is something that comes from the heart of God. And then he stands and says equivalently: DO-OVER.

To the mob – Jesus invites them to see this woman as one of them – to embrace her as one of their own. “Let the one without sin cast the first stone” – don’t be about judging, but see the common humanity you share. Know that her sin is no different from yours – no more or less in need of punishment then your own hardness of heart. “Stand with her…” Not in condemnation. That is what he wants of them. That is what he hopes for them – that they would love this woman. “Woman, where are they?” – is a sad statement from Jesus’ lips. He had hoped they would stand with her.

To the woman, he holds out a new possibility. He doesn’t deny her actions, doesn’t ask if she was sorry, doesn’t demand a perfect act of contrition and dole out a harsh penance. He simply gives her the possibility of a new future. “Go and sin no more.” Not: Go and be racked with guilt and ponder and be a mess – just – go and begin your life. I give it back to you to start anew. DO OVER.

We know we cannot go back and change the laws of time and physics, we cannot undo the action we have done or others have done. But in the realm of how we respond to what we’ve and others have done, we have huge possibilities of offering do-over’s.

You see, there is a third group that Jesus is speaking to in today’s gospel story. To you and I who struggle with forgiveness of self or the forgiveness of another – Jesus holds out the same offer. “You are not what you have done. They are not what they have done.” Though we clutch those stones of judgment, there is always a more, always a deeper possibility, always a new beginning that the divine mercy holds out to us. Don’t hold yourself in the past. It is done. Don’t put your spouse or friend or the image you see in the mirror in the middle of the circle of your life and stand there with stone in hand ready to crucify them for their failing. Hear the invitation of Jesus: ‘Neither do I condemn you…”

This week the gospel invites us to reflect on two questions: Who stands in the middle of your life – wondering if it is to be the stone that they will know from you – or hoping that you’ll grant them a much needed do-over? And when you look at that face in the mirror, what within you stands in the middle, ready to be judged, not with mercy, but harshly, with condemnation? Give yourself what Jesus gave to the woman and the crowd in the gospel – a chance to do it over again, a chance to get it right.

DO OVER!

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What if the two sons in today’s gospel were optometrists? I wonder what kind of glasses they think their father needed, or what kind they hoped he was wearing?

In the beginning of the story, the younger son is thinking that his dad needs to be corrected for his nearsightedness. He can only see this small world at the end of his nose. He doesn’t feel the need to travel, to experience all the amazing things that are out there in this world. “There is so much more out there and dad will never understand that, because he can’t see that. He can’t see anything past the end of the road that defines the limits of his world. I am so trapped here, so stifled here. I’ve got to get away. I’ve got to see all the things that LIFE has to offer.” And to his credit, the father lets his son have his way. If you must see what is beyond these familiar boundaries, then explore you must…

And so the father watches him as he disappears where the pavement meets the horizon, where the dust of the road melds into the haziness of hot days. And there, the Father’s gaze remains. Each day. Every day. Looking to that farthest end of the horizon, because he knows what the road will do to those who believe life only happens out there.

The older son believes that his dad eyes needs to be corrected for his farsightedness. Everyday, as he goes out to the fields to tend the flocks and work the ground and till the soil, he sees his father, sitting there on the porch, with his eyes only on the end of the road. Looking only on the distant horizon – watching for the son who does not come. “Who am I” he thinks? “Chopped liver? How come he doesn’t SEE ME? How come he isn’t looking down the road to these fields and waiting for me each night when I come home, and welcoming me and letting me know how much he loves ME – the faithful one? He needs reading glasses to see what is here before him.”

Things change for the youngest son. There among the pigs, with his stomach growling and heart empty, the younger son realizes he had it all wrong. “I want my dad to be farsighted. No I NEED him to be farsighted – to be looking down the road for me – eyes on that horizon for me – because it is the only way I’ll have a chance.” Maybe, he things, he’ll be looking down the road and I’ll get a chance to say how wrong I was and how stupid I was, and though he won’t be able to see me as a son, at least he’ll be able to see me on the horizon to take me in. Please let him be farsighted, O God! “I need you to be farsighted, dad!”

And when the younger son returns and the party is going on, and the older son is remaining in the fields, and his dad come to talk to him, all of his anger comes out. “I have been with you all these years and never once did you give me …anything! I’ve been here right under your nose, and yet where is the appreciation for all I’ve done, for all I’ve given you? You can’t even see what is right beneath you. YOU need glasses dad. Bad. Real bad.” You’ve been looking down that road every day since that no good son of yours left so much that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. “I need you to be nearsighted.”

And in one of those wonderful reversals that the gospels are famous for, it turns out that the Father is the eye doctor – offering to both his sons the corrective lens that THEY need. And it turns out that the ‘glasses’ the sons thought their father should be wearing said more about them than it ever did their father.

To the younger son – “Put the ring on his finger, the cloak on his back, sandals on his feet.” All of those are cultural signs in the world of Jesus that denote the status of ‘son’ in a family. “Let HIM see himself as MY SON. Not a worker, not someone who has failed miserably, not even as an unworthy sinner – but as MY SON.” See beyond the failures that you are most present to right before your eyes and see the deeper truth on the horizon. You are my son who was lost and now is found. “I don’t need you to see your faults – I know them, you know them. Don’t get trapped there. See beyond them to my love. “I need you to be farsighted.”

To the older son: “All I have is yours. It’s always been. My love is always there for you. Don’t you get it? But put on these glasses to see what your anger has blinded you from seeing – this “son of mine” as you call him is also YOUR BROTHER. Learn to rejoice that he has come home. Learn to see what has always been right before your eyes – but you couldn’t see – he is yours, I am yours – TOGETHER we are a family. I need you to see what is right in front of you. I need you to be nearsighted!”

And you – what kind of prescription are you hoping that God is wearing these days? Do you hope he is a bit farsighted, overlooking YOUR FLAWS, your mistakes, your sinfulness? Do you demand that he be nearsighted, that he notice you for all your hard work, all your faithful church attendance, all the good things YOU have done? Or perhaps, do you pray that he has lineless bifocals – like these (show my own glasses) – that allow him to see both your younger son wanderings and your elder son resentments? Do you hope God can see both near and far in your complicated life to hold all the opposites and failures and successes together?

This week, will you pray to God that he fix YOUR seeing of this world according to His vision, and not the other way around?

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