Neither Do I Condemn You: Christians and War

When I asked my daughter what I should write about this month she said: “The reading from Sunday’s Mass.” This is the story of the woman caught in adultery. It reveals to those living at the beginning of the twenty-first century a meaning that spans the centuries.  When looking at the narrative we see how this story unfolds the plot of a drama that ends in an unexpected twist.

The narrative opens in a calm and factual way.  The description of the scene begins as “they went each to his own house, but Jesus went to the Mount of Olives” (John 7:53-8:1).  The author then leads us back down the mountain, to the temple where the people gather to hear Jesus using the phrase “all the people came to him” (John 8:2).

The use of this language and setting brings to the fore a scene of unity and ease.  The language flows softly and serenely; we can imagine the sun gently shining on the crowd with perhaps a cool morning breeze.  However, this simple view is abruptly shattered as the scribes and Pharisees burst upon the scene bringing with them the woman “who had been caught in adultery”(John 8:3).  The contrast of the words “went” and “came”, implying freedom of movement in the first few verses with the words “brought”, “caught” and “placing” implying force and restriction of movement in the following changes the scene suddenly and dramatically.

Again, as we move further into the passage the serenity is frustrated by the speech of the scribes and Pharisees with their demand.  The use of voice here again is abrupt, demanding, and impatient.  The words “caught”, “act”, “now”, and “commanded” are all forceful words suggesting a sense of urgency.  In contrast to this is the softness of Jesus’ reaction, meant to defuse the tension.  Here we see a subplot develop.  The overall tension in this text is that of the Pharisees and scribes against Jesus.  The idea is that their demand is simply about justice, which the reader can neither deny nor ignore and eventually must be addressed.

However, underlying this tension is the motive of the elders, who are trying to trap Jesus and find something against him. “They said this to test him, that they might have some charge to bring against him” (John 8:6). This adds to the overshadowing of evil or perhaps the rendering of these characters as villains in that they are disregarding the humanity of the woman who they have already tried and found guilty.  This subplot shows the baseness of humanity in our own attempt at proving our self-worth or wallowing in our very own pride at the expense of another.

In this way, the plot twists and turns toward the climax of the scene.  Jesus ignores them or answers with indifference by saying nothing, showing that he is not interested in being involved in this unfolding drama.  As they persist, however, the human mind is led in one of two directions.  First, perhaps the Pharisees are right; the woman was, after all, “caught in the very act of committing adultery” (John 8:4), and even though we do not like the tactics of these men, the Lord must of course adhere to the law and agree with them.  Our humanness wants somehow to make them accountable for their own injustice.

As it has been set up, however, this is almost another issue, less demanding, less important at the moment.  In this view, it seems as though evil will win out over the good.  The second direction our thoughts take us is the hope that Jesus will chastise them, mock them, or make them look foolish.  There is the desire for the Lord to punish them for their conceit and in so doing good will violently prevail!  And as the Pharisees and scribes persist in their demands the tension of the scene mounts.

However, the climax of the drama does not explode with a loud clap of thunder from the mouth of God.  No. Meekly, quietly, frankly, the Lord “stood up and said to them, ‘Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her’” (John 8:7).  This is not violent.  Not the pistol-whipping we almost demand. Christ responds with such softness that not only are the Pharisees and scribes brought to a moment of humility, but the reader is also as well.  This is not the moment of triumph we were hoping for, but instead a direct and unadulterated look at humanity, the movement from pride to humility.  This response to the Pharisees is in stark relief to their own action.  Again the language shows us, that Jesus “stood” and “said” as opposed to “brought” and “commanded”.  Here we see quiet, resolute respect.  After the questioning, “once more he bent down”(John 8:8).  The softness of his justice!  Now they “went away.”  Jesus allows them to leave with their dignity, that which they had stripped from the woman.

And yes the woman, of whom we had almost forgotten.  There she stands, forgotten and silent.  The Lord “looks up” at her and speaks to her as a person, instead of an object, which had been placed “in the midst” (John 8:3).  Here Augustine says that “two were left, misery and Mercy.” But within his mercy “neither do I condemn you;” is also justice “go and do not sin again” (John 8:11).

The overriding values of the text are repeated throughout – malice and compassion, the judgment of others and self-examination, justice and mercy.   The story leads us on the path to salvation.  From the moment we are brought before the Lord, sinful and sorrowful, (or perhaps not sorrowful; there is, after all, no mention of whether or not the woman is indeed sorrowful, however, one would guess that she is!) we are judged with mercy and compassion.  The verdict cannot be declared, justice cannot be doled out as man against man indeed it only comes from God himself as this passage points out.  We must look only upon our own sins and not those of our fellow man, walk humbly before God and take accountability for our own actions.  In this way, justice will be sure and mercy great.

And while all of this is true and right and beautiful, I will now tell you why my daughter wanted me to write about it. She has been volunteering every weekend at the dworzec głowny (main train station) here in Krakow. On Saturdays, she usually leaves before 9:00 a.m. and returns just before 7:00 p.m. and on Sundays, she sleeps in a bit and heads to the station to start her shift by 10 a.m. returning again around 7:00 p.m. She spends her entire weekend with refugees who have nothing and are sometimes lost and confused.

As such, we’ve been going to Mass on Saturday evenings. We go to the Dominican Basilica for the 7:30 p.m. Mass. The brothers are usually ending compline before Mary in the side chapel when we arrive. As we prepare ourselves for the liturgy, we can hear them chanting. The Saturday evening Mass is very quick, with no music, no organ, no choir. Also, the basilica isn’t full, which is unusual for a Mass with the Dominicans here in Krakow. As a matter of fact, it is most often completely full, with people standing on the sides, on the stairs, in the loft, and in the back. This happens at every Sunday Mass and the Dominicans have ten Masses every Sunday.

But last Saturday’s Mass began and flowed as usual. Then came the reading and the homily. The priest began by reflecting on the readings and then suddenly he said the unexpected. “And should we not pray for Putin and the Russian soldiers?” His homily was so powerful. Words about the mercy of God in the midst of the misery and evil that has descended upon Ukraine. And he knew. He had just come from Kyiv.

Every day there is more news about the war. The bodies in the streets, the crimes against women and children. Mariupol. Bucha. Kramatorsk. We are close to our brothers and sisters who are now living among us. But to pray for the very men who are implicit or complicit in such crimes? That is what we are truly called to do as Christians. That is what we are asked to do in the Gospel. To leave them with the Lord, go away with our own sins, and pray for their conversion.

Of course, the inner man cries for justice. We must fight against this evil! I will make no comment here and leave this argument for the moral theologians and just war doctrine, but as I sit in my living room in the center of Krakow where no bombs are falling and no battles raging, there is no weapon for me to wield other than that of prayer, the rosary, the powerful call to St. Michael the Archangel to defend us in battle, to be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil. To call on this prince of the heavenly host, by the divine power of God, to cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who roam throughout the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.

As we approach Good Friday, we must feel the weight of the darkness that has filled the world. The darkness that whipped, beat, humiliated, and tortured our Savior and hung him on the Cross to die in the heat of the day. Evil, indeed, roams the earth and in fact, has never stopped since it entered the world. Is it possible to leave the judgment to God? Can we sit in the darkness and pray for light? This is the struggle of each Christian. To seek to love and not to hate. This is the radical choice the Christian makes. This is not an easy one and that is why the Cross is a stumbling block and foolishness to those who do not believe in the all-powerful loving hand of God that raised Jesus up on the third day.

Here words fail me. So, I will end with a quote from the book Dogma and Preaching by Joseph Ratzinger (Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI).

As we wait in the night-dark church for the Easter light to be struck, we should experience the consoling realization that God is fully aware of the night by which we are surrounded. In fact, he has already struck his light at the heart of it… The night enables us to appreciate what the light really is. It is brightness… that enables us to see; that shows the way and gives direction; that helps us to know both others and ourselves. It is warmth that strengthens and brings mobility; that consoles and gladdens. finally, it is life, and this tiny quivering flame is an image of the wonderful mystery that we call ‘life’ and that is in fact profoundly dependent on light… At this moment we are not only celebrating the Resurrection; we are also being given a distant glimpse of the second coming of the Lord… We should also ask ourselves the questions: ‘Will I be one of those who sit at God’s table?’… But perhaps it is even more Christian to ask ourselves the right questions about the present. The world is indeed dark, but even a single candle suffices to bring light into the deepest darkness. Did not God give us a candle at baptism and the means of lighting it? We must be courageous enough to light the candle of our patience, our trust, our love. Instead of bewailing the night, we must dare to light the little lamp that God has loaned us: ‘The light of Christ! – Thanks be to God!’” (pp. 43-44)