Here our journey begins. With the “hosanna” singing and palm-waving we embark on what is in all probability one of the most tumultuous weeks of human history. As Jesus triumphantly enters Jerusalem, as the crowds sing their “hosannas” and “blessed”, little did they know how things would change in a matter of a few short days.

It’s a short journey: from the city center up to Golgotha. Jesus’ crucifixion took place a few hundred meters from the Temple, and less than 2 kilometers from Gethsemane. And yet, so much has happened in that short space and time

This week we are being invited to walk with Jesus. To participate, rather than being mere spectators. We too are called to do the journey and allow ourselves to be part of the story.

First we enjoy the Hosanna and bask in the glory of the moment. There is a sense of achievement, a sense of victory. Many would have thought that it’s mission accomplished – the one who came to save the world has achieved to do what he came for. The crowds are with him and, let’s face it, having witnessed so many miracles, it couldn’t be otherwise. Who doesn’t like a free meal of bread and fish, or some wine magically made from pure water? Not to talk of the healings and, yes, the bringing back of dead people to life.

But Jesus’ glory was not of this world, he had told that crowd over and over again. This is not what he came for. Things change, and the same crowd that sings Hosanna yells “crucify him” a mere four days later. Our challenge is to stay with him, to continue with the journey. His disciples fled. Those whom he had personally chosen, through whom he had planned to expand his mission, were too confused and too scared to witness what was happening. They just could not handle it. The man who had given them so much hope, so much to look forward to, is now being mocked, shoved and pushed all over the place, and eventually sentenced to death. All this makes no sense! They feel disillusioned, betrayed, fooled. So, they flee.

Mary stays. For her, too, all this does not make any sense. She too had heard some wonderful promises about her offspring thirty-three years earlier. How does all this fit into the story? Frankly, it doesn’t. Not if we do not manage to go beyond Golgotha, and the brand-new tomb. In spite of the confusion, Mary stays, and deep down believes that, in some incomprehensible way, this is part of the story.

Without rushing into the conclusion which we know so well, let us take time to stay with Jesus along the way. Let us feel the excruciating pain of the whips, the rod, the wood, the thorns, the nails. Moreover, let us try to feel that much bigger pain of the loneliness and the abandonment.

Having journeyed all the way with Jesus, Saturday night’s victory will then be sweeter. The Resurrection is not the denial of death, of the power of evil. On the contrary, it acknowledges its existence and tells us that there’s something, or someone, more powerful than that.

​As we celebrate our Palm Sunday liturgies, as we listen in the same liturgy the narrative of the passion story, let us allow our Hosanna and Blessed to gush out from the depth of our hearts. This is not a denial of our own pain and suffering, or a running away from it. It is an anticipation of what is yet to happen: during next weekend’s celebrations. 

She was left there, the center of attention, initially surrounded by everybody. Those who had managed to catch her “in the very act” and Jesus, to whom they had brought her. The law was clear. She was to be stoned to death. Asking Jesus for advice was superfluous. But their intention was not that of seeking advice but to entrap Jesus. Here was a Rabbi who had been preaching mercy, who was putting Love above all the written laws. What would he do now? Condemn her or disobey Moses’ law?

Jesus immediately understood what was happening. From his Rabbi’s seat in that Holy Temple, he neither condemns nor says anything that breaks the law. He buys time. He gives them time to think, to reflect, to calm down. He invites them to think of their own lives, their own weaknesses, their own sinfulness. Once more, Jesus reminds us that we are all in the same boat – no one has a right to judge another. Above all, moving his finger on the temple’s slab, Jesus reminds his audience of an important event in the scriptures which they knew too well: God had written the Law with His own finger on a slab. And it seems that, for these people, God’s law is still there, carved in stone rather than in their heart. And if it was in their heart, it seems that their hearts are still made of stone. Through the prophets God had promised His people that, eventually, He would have changed those hearts of stone into hearts of flesh, pouring into them a new spirit.

St Paul was a person who understood this transformation too well. Often, he reflects on his life, and compares the past with the present, the “old man” with the “new man”, the “old creation” with the “new creation”: Because Paul, too, had been a person under the law, with a heart of stone, becoming a murderer for the sake of this law. But his encounter with Jesus changed everything. Now he knows: nothing compares with the “supreme advantage” of experiencing Christ in his life. All else fades into nothing.

It seems that the people in the Gospel, somehow, got the message. One by one they started retreating, starting with the eldest. Maybe the eldest had the longest career of sinfulness! The heart starts changing. This is, indeed, conversion.

And, once more, they left her there – this time alone with Jesus. In their hands she had no dignity. She was just the sinner, the adulteress. Jesus treats her differently. Lovingly, he enters into dialogue with her. He shows her that, for him, she has the dignity of a human being. Moreover, he addresses her “woman” – the same address he used with his own mother some time earlier at the wedding in Cana, and which he will eventually use with his good friend Mary of Magdala after his resurrection.

Jesus does not condone the sin. He acknowledges the fact that she did sin. Still he does not delve in it. He asks no questions, no justification of the wrong committed. What’s done is done, but now he invites her to go and sin no more. Having had an experience of Jesus’s love and unconditional forgiveness, she can now start a new life. An experience which could have meant death for her, has been turned into an opportunity for a new beginning, a new life.

In the life of that woman there is the life of each and every one of us. We are aware of our sinfulness. Sometimes we feel guilt crushing us, its finger pointed to us like that of each of those who were accusing the woman in the Gospel. And yet, Jesus tells us that all is not lost. With him, there is always hope.
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This is precisely what we shall be celebrating in two weeks’ time. Without denying the reality of death, the Resurrection tells us that new life is always possible.
 

“The two of them alone remained: mercy with misery”. Recently Pope Francis used this phrase of St Augustine when he commented on the gospel passage of the sinner-woman brought to Jesus for condemnation. This beautiful encounter lived by Jesus with this woman is reflected in the story which Jesus tells us in today’s gospel. Most of us know it as “The Prodigal Son”. But I believe we would be setting out on the wrong foot if we were to focus immediately on the recklessness of the younger son. Surely, that was not Jesus’ intention. Our focus must be, rather on the father in this story.

“Quick … we are going to have a feast”. Some would say this is not the typical reaction of a parent upon the return home of a runaway son. He had taken his inheritance. His message was clear. For him, his family does not exist anymore. And yet, when he found himself hungry, with no roof above his head, he had the guts to return to the house he once called home. No remorse here. No conversion. Just self-pity, and a desire to fill his stomach and have a decent bed. It doesn’t matter if he’s put with the servants. When he was down tending the pigs, something happened and “he came” to his senses”, the gospel tells us. It is that particular moment when something suddenly clicks, when he realized how foolish he had been. Indeed, sometimes, like this young man, we need to hit rock-bottom before we come to our senses. After all, some good can always come out of bad things.

Unashamedly, he goes back to his father’s house. And the father’s reaction takes everybody by surprise. Just a dash outside and a hug – and probably a tear or two. No questions asked. No sermons given on “you should have known better,” or “Hope you had your lesson now”. What matters is the fact that the son is back, safe and sound. No wonder the older son is scandalized. The father’s reaction defies all logic. What we have here is utter misery connecting with mercy personified.

Unfortunately, the story tells us that neither one of the two sons really knew the father. And this is, probably, where their problem lay. That man would never consider any one of his sons as servant. He would not do it for the younger son, who dared come back and ask to be accepted as such. And he would not accept it from the older son, who apparently has wasted his whole life “working like a slave for” his father.

It would be a good idea if we tried to apply this story to ourselves. Perhaps sometimes I am a bit like one of the two sons, while in other times I might act more like the other. What matters is, who is the Father for me? What kind of relationship do I have with the Father?

​My answer will very likely determine how I live my life as a Christian.

If ever there were a gospel reading relevant for our times, we have it today. Jesus refers to two incidents which have caused a lot of discussion and, probably, confused many people.

One was a terrible act of non-sensical violence: Pilate had unscrupulously massacred a number of Galileans. The other was an accident which left a number of people dead. When these things happen, people start asking questions, demanding answers. Dealing with pain is never easy! Why and how? Whose fault is it? And, if no answer is to be found, one is conveniently made up. Very often this takes the form of blame and finger-pointing.

It was not uncommon for the people of Jesus’ time to conclude that, when someone becomes a victim of some incident, that person must have been guilty of something. Divine punishment can take many forms!

Jesus takes issue with this line of thought. If Pilate did that horrible act of violence, he is the one who has done wrong, not his victims. And if a tower (probably part of an aqueduct construction) collapsed, it could have possibly been due to human error in the construction, or perhaps merely an accident. But, certainly, one cannot blame the victims!

Jesus departs from these contemporary pieces of news to drive home a message. We are all in the same boat. We cannot group the world in two groups: “they” who are bad, and “us” who are good. We are all on a journey – a journey of constant conversion. If we’re not careful, Jesus tells us, we will “all perish”. In his typical matter-of fact manner, St Paul tells us “if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall”. Nobody is to be scandalized of another’s failure. No one is immune from falling.

Lent is a very apt reminder of all this. It is a journey that leads us to the celebration of Easter. Easter itself is a memorial of a journey: the journey of Israel from slavery in Egypt to freedom in the promised land. The Passover of the people of Israel which, in the person of Jesus, took a much deeper meaning.
As Christians, we are invited to participate in this journey of Jesus. Last Sunday we saw Moses and Elijah on the mountain talking with Jesus about his “Exodus”. It is, indeed, and exodus – a moving out from the darkness of sin and evil to the light of freedom and new life. In Jesus, everything takes on a new meaning.

In the Old Testament, it all started with the calling of Moses. God saw the people’s misery: God heard his people’s cry; God knew their sufferings. God is not indifferent. And throughout the whole story of the people’s exodus, God proved to always be present, even when the people thought he was absent. Our God is a God who is always present: “I AM” is his name. He is the God of the people’s ancestors: of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob. History has shown that he has always been with his people. There is no reason why he should fail them now.
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As we move on in our own journey, God may show us that we, too, have our own areas of darkness, our little masters that enslave us. With the help of prayer, and strengthened by the practices of fasting and almsgiving, lent is the ideal time when we can experience our own exodus. With God’s help, we too can experience the movement towards a freer, happier, more fulfilled life.

“It is good for us to be here”. This was Peter’s spontaneous expression on Mount Tabor as he witnessed the transfiguration of Jesus. Peter, the most spontaneous of them all. Peter, the one who always spoke what came out of his heart, before processing it through his mind. It is good, it is beautiful, it is wonderful. He could not help express his desire to keep enjoying the experience, as Jesus reveals himself for who he really is.

This is faith. This is faith, at least, as it is supposed to be. How often have we thought that faith is a matter of do’s and don’ts? How often have we been made to believe that faith is a burden, rather than joy? In Jesus’ presence, Peter discovers that it is good, it is beautiful.

A very short time before this experience, Jesus had told his friends that he was going to suffer passion, death, and then experience resurrection. Surely the disciples could not understand the meaning of all that. And yet, the little they could have understood – the passion and death bit; resurrection was something unheard of for them – they found very hard to accept. Moreover, we can also say that, through this experience, Jesus wanted to equip Peter, James and John for the passion-experience which was soon to come. In his foretelling, Jesus could not speak of death without making reference to the resurrection. And his oncoming death would not have made any sense without the resurrection. It is one whole event, and in the moment of darkness the disciple of Christ has to remember that there is always light and life waiting. And yet, talk of resurrection does not in any way deny the reality of suffering.

There are always moments of darkness to be lived in our lives, moments which challenge our faith which is very often taken for granted. As I write these reflections, I share the pain of many people who, in different ways, are going through darkness and suffering. On a global level, we have just witnessed the crash of an airplane killing 157 people. Within a few hours we’ve witnessed the terrorist attack in New Zealand, killing at least 49 people. These are not just numbers. For every victim there are friends, families, pained loved ones. On a more personal level then, I constantly witness stories of people who are going through darkness in their own lives: violence, failed marriages, death in the family, unexpected illnesses, etc. It is very easy to get disheartened in moments like this. It is very normal to start asking questions and, where faith had previously seemed so solid, now might feel all very shaky.

The story of the resurrection which we are about to celebrate at the end of this Lenten season, as does today’s story of Jesus’ transfiguration, helps us keep things in perspective. Moses and Elijah speaking with Jesus about his “exodus” which was about to happen on another hill in Jerusalem, emphasize the fact that he really had to suffer the consequences of evil. But these stories tell us that evil does not have the last word. The voice of evil is never the loudest voice.
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As we journey through our own desert during this lent, let us really listen to that voice saying: “This is my Son, listen to him!” And as we listen we start experiencing what Peter did in that short moment: it is good to be here. Let us really enjoy the beauty of his presence, of his word. Because without beauty, our soul dies.