Monday, April 7, 2014

Daily Reflection - April 7


Monday, April 7


Daniel 13:1-9, 15-17, 19-30, 33-62

John 8:1-11

 

Commuted Sentences:  Freed from Death Row!


Today's readings are from the Book of Daniel, chapter 13 and the Gospel of John, chapter 8.  These are two stories of women on death row, both charged with sexual sin, both condemned to die.  Both are saved.  Susanna, is falsely accused, and is rescued by the light.  She is rescued from rape by the light of her own integrity and by the fire of her courage.   She is rescued from death row by the light of her innocence and through the light of Daniel's spiritual and intellectual brilliance, as he first listens to the stirrings in his heart and then trips up the accusers by his clever questioning.  

 

The woman in the gospel is saved in the dark.  There is no suggestion that she might be innocent, in fact, it seems pretty clear that she is guilty of the crime.  However, Jesus saves her from execution, and his tool to do this involves further darkness.  He reminds her accusers of their own sins.  And they, reminded of themselves, depart in humility.  

 

I think that for many of us the journey to spiritual maturity goes through a period of lightness where we are getting there by getting it "right," by following the rules and shining ourselves up as best we can.  There is a deeper level though, where like the woman in today's gospel we know that in fact we are not OK.  Our own merits will not stand us in good stead.  We are indeed humbled.  We are brought low, by our own inadequacies, our inability to control even ourselves much less our children, our environments.  There is no prosperity gospel in authentic Christianity.  Jesus is not drawn to those with the shiniest exteriors.  He meets us in the dark. In the "humus," he writes our truths. He embraces us in our humbled, brought low, down on the ground state.  He reminds us that we are members of a flawed tribe, and that our salvation does not rest on our brilliance, but may be found in the dark, vulnerable, broken, sorry places of our lives.
                By Lou Ann Horstman

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