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I Do Not Condemn You Either (John 8:1-12)
Wherever we go or stand, everything and everyone demands a judgment of us—good or bad, for or against, yes or no. We even ask it of children: What do you think? From childhood on we have to have an opinion on everything.
Our judgments make it hard for us to observe with an open mind, let alone to find the truth. The harder we become in our judgments, the more we lose sight of reality. Hard judgments eventually become prejudices. And prejudices become unbending points of view. Whoever once takes such a standpoint, in the end he can’t make another step; he keeps himself imprisoned in a world of his own laws. In a world where differences are becoming ever greater, we tend to fall back on the Old-Testament judgment of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
Only when we combat our superficial sympathies and antipathies do we begin to see the other—not the way we think he ought to be, but as he really is. Then only does the other feel seen and recognized: he has the right to be.
The story of the woman who committed adultery in John 8 speaks volumes about our deeply rooted inclination to judge and condemn. True, a thin layer of civilization keeps us from actually stoning such a person, but with our judgment on the guilt of others we stone them no less effectively.
And Christ? He was the only one who did things differently. He went to places on the earth where not only the shadow of guilt prevailed, but also the darkness of condemnation. It just is the way it is—sinners are stoned, literally or figuratively. He alone could say: “Whoever among you is free of sin, let him throw the first stone at her.”
He alone, the only one who is without sin, has the Old-Testament right to stone her—and He does not do it. Instead, He takes what is unbearable in our sin in His hand and writes it with his finger into the earth. That is another expression of the classic words: “See, the Lamb of God who takes the sin of the world upon himself.”
And when we want to find His light, the light of the world, there is no other way than to follow Him through the darkness of guilt. Without this darkness we are not able to recognize His light. And without His light we are not able to overcome our darkness.
-Rev. Bastiaan Baan, March 21, 2021
Passiontide
When you listen carefully to the words of the Act of Consecration of Man you will eventually notice that a few times something is lacking. Although in itself the text is perfect, it sounds as if some sentences are not complete. The verb is lacking:
Christ in us
Christ in the lifting of our hands
Christ’s light in our daylight
These sentences move in a realm between possibility, wish, and full reality. Is Christ fully in us? Or is that a wish? A prayer? A promise?
The only thing we know for sure is that He is usually not in us, when we are busy with our everyday things.
Christ in the lifting of our hands—that does not happen all by itself just by lifting up our hands.
Christ’s light in our daylight—it has not yet appeared, but we, He and I together, have to make this possibility a reality.
At this time of year, we enter a world of darkness that shows us from all sides: Christ is not in us—on the contrary. For now, we find ourselves in a state of isolation and deprivation, far from the light of Christ. Passiontide is a time of disillusion, of painful diagnosis of our human shortcomings, in which we have to accept how poor we are, since we lost the spirit.
Ask the Savior for healing.
Pray for Christ’s light in our daylight.
Lift up your hands as a beggar for the Spirit—and He will stretch out His hands to you.
Ask, pray, seek—and it shall be given to you.
–Rev. Bastiaan Baan, March 14, 2021
“The Light of the Body is Your Eye” (Lk.11:34)
A large part of our lives—maybe the largest part—consists of watching events without being able to do anything. That is true for the news the world dishes up for us every day; it is also true for countless events that happen to us. Natural disasters, illness, human tragedies, war and terror—they all put their stamp on the world, and we, powerless, can only watch. This powerlessness is our collective lot; and it is also a sign of this time. We have developed a spectator consciousness that has the tendency to keep looking, even when the situation asks us to act. “I stood there and watched.” No more, but also no less. Rarely do we realize that through our glance we can add something to the reality around us. How do we look at it?
One person’s confused gaze makes the darkness around him or her even more turbid than it already is, whereas another can light up the darkness with a lucid glance.
Of course this does not relieve us of the duty to act when we possibly can. But if watching is the only thing we can do, our glance has to be clear.
“The light of the body is your eye.”
Our eyes can do much more than watch: they can perceive. And if our inner light is sufficiently lucid, they can do even more than perceive clearly. They can add something to the reality:
A look of recognition
An enlightening insight
A stream of love.
-Rev. Bastiaan Baan, March 7, 2021