Sunday Homily, March 13, 2016, 5th Lent, C
Readings:
Isaiah 43, 16-21, See, I am doing something new
Psalm 126, The Lord has done great things for us, we are filled with joy.
Philippians 3, 8-14, For his sake I have accepted the loss of all things.
John 8, 1-11, The woman caught in adultery.
Says Genevieve, "Welcome, Everybody, where you been?"
Isaiah Observations:
The scene: the Jewish people are captives in Babylon ca. 555 years before Christ. Isaiah No.1 had warned the people that their bad ways were going to lead to this.
In this chapter 43, which is Isaiah No. 2, Isaiah has Yahweh reminding them of how much he has done for them in the past and lets them know that they are still his people. Their lives will get better.
The first 5 verses of this chapter are some of my favorites in the whole Bible. Isaiah No.2 is telling the people to not be afraid because he is with them. It goes—
Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by your name. You are mine. When you pass through deep waters, I will be with you… When you pass through fire, you will not suffer. I regard you as precious, honored, and I love you.
Leo, The Candle Lighter of The Week, at work.
Philippians Observations:
Philippi was a town in Macedonia, now called Greece. Philippi was the first church Paul set up on European soil. He is in prison. He is basically saying that for him nothing has any importance beyond his relationship with Jesus.
The Chair Person of our Welcoming Committee.
Punishment or Compassion
I would like to talk this morning about the woman in the gospel, the one about to be stoned to death for being caught in adultery. An example of punishment vs compassion. The Law vs Jesus. The brutality and the injustice of it smacks me in the face. It is, also, so contemporary.
It reminds me of a very uncomfortable situation I found myself in when I was learning Swahili in Tanzania. This would have been about ’77 or ’78, when I was just getting into the language.
Alison preparing the communion cups.
I was at an outstation church from an outstation church maintained by our Jesuit parish in a town called Tabora, smack in the middle of Tanzania, on the east-west train track. This is the place where I later fell into the grave of a little lady I was burying and the place where I spent Advent and Christmas one year with two young Jesuit interns from the Island of Malta just off the Mediterranean tip of Italy.
On this occasion I was being shown around by the 4-5 men of this tiny village with a small, mud walled church. I could not have been saying much because the language was still quite difficult for me.
Sir Charlie saluting The Queen Mother.
It was afternoon of a pleasant day. We are way out in the bush and I remember the land was fairly green. It was probably the period of the small rains, meaning, say, February or March. The long rains come in our summer. This is south of the equator.
At one point the men and I are wandering up a slope on top of which was a fairly large corrugated metal building, probably built by the government to help the villagers store their produce.
Offertory, Tom & Aggie & Allen.
As we get closer I can hear voices from inside the building and a thud or two. Maybe the guys escorting me had explained what was going on and I did not understand.
Whatever the case, we are maybe twenty yards from a door at the corner of the building when, all of a sudden, the door opens and a few guys come out and with them staggers a man who has been beater. He is dressed in nothing more than something like a towel or a skirt. He has bruises on his shoulders and legs. Because he is black I can’t see discoloring, but I see wounds.
The Best, Shonda, Bethany, and Ray.
He has been caught cattle rustling. He took one cow that he found out in the countryside near the village and attempted to get away. He is a skinny older guy and probably not too smart. They caught him easily.
After teaching him a lesson, they are planning to walk him to the police station about 40 miles away in Tabora, the larger town I came from. Along the way they will pass a few small villages where the inhabitants will also beat him. If he makes it, jail will look pretty good. And he does make it, I heard later.
Can that be a little mouse I see. Looks like a familiar little mouse.
When this old guy sees me, he sees a savior and comes toward me with a begging gesture.
I am ready to throw up and I want to tell the people to stop beating the man. But I don’t know the language and I feel very awkward because these people are hosting me. I feel paralyzed.
What do I do? I did nothing. And I was haunted by my doing nothing for years. I had to forgive myself somewhere along the years.
Long time best buddies, Leo and John
Two lessons for me here.
- Which is better, justice according to the law or compassion?
- What do I do if I chicken out?
Anybody recognize this foot? Looks like it belongs to That Mouse.
