Loading...A meditation delivered at Assumption High School on Feb. 25 and reprinted in Episcopal News' April issue. Unfortunately, the entire reflection was not printed. The entire reflection may be found here.
Thank you for asking me to join you to share my reflections on "Ash Wednesday to Easter: a meditation on the death penalty, reconciliation, forgiveness and resurrection."
We begin the Ash Wednesday service with a reading from Matthew about the good shepherd and the lost sheep. The gospel tells us nothing about the sheep or why it was lost. Was it attacked and injured by wild beasts? Was the sheep stolen, the object of a crime?
Some sheep are lost through hiding, some though misdirection, some through mistake and some are separated from the flock as outcasts-black sheep.
The reading from Matthew says nothing about why the sheep was lost because it makes no difference-the parable teaches an overarching theme of finding and reconciling ALL lost sheep with the rest of the flock. That is what Jesus did and that is what we are called to do-even if the lost sheep is not attractive or if it is sick, unruly, lame, out of step with the rest-and yes, even if the lost sheep is an outcast and on death row, convicted of a horrible crime.
A reflection on the death penalty fits this holy liturgical season that reaches its penultimate climax on Good Friday, when we bear witness to the world's most famous execution.
Let me begin my meditation with some thoughts about vengeance by asking: would any of you return the kick of an unruly mule? Would any of you bite a rabid dog because it bit you?
Fables have such an endearing way of teaching us that vengeance is sometimes foolish, sometimes dangerous and always futile.
The Greek myths add to our understanding of vengeance by showing us the danger of becoming the monsters we slay.
Vengeance has unintended consequences as well. Perhaps the most ironic is reported by Hamlet as he observes the unguarded back of his father's murderer, waiting for justice's bloody knife. But Hamlet sees the villain on his knees, at prayer, and knows if he kills him, he will send him straight to heaven. "And so am I reveng'd," says Hamlet, and so he goes to Heaven. "A villain kills my father; and for that, I...do this same villain send to Heav'n."
In his Divine Comedy, Dante shows us a horrific word picture of vengeance: Count Ugolino was the victim of a horrible crime perpetrated against him and his family by the archbishop. When Dante sees them both in the inner circles of Hell, they are bound together in an eternal embrace as the count torments and tortures the archbishop in a gruesome exercise of just revenge. But wait! Although we know why the evil archbishop is in hell, why is the count there with him, in the same circle, in the same cell? The answer is obvious: that is where vengeance leads. We may have vengeance, but only if we are willing to go to hell with the villain and live there together forever. The warden and the prisoner are truly bound by the same chain, and the villain and the avenger live together behind the same bars.
Like cures like and give fire to fire are good rules of alchemy but poor rules of justice.
As a lawyer, I read the Bible-not looking for loopholes as W.C. Fields suggests-but with a special interest in laws. Jesus said there are two commandments on which hang ALL the laws and the prophets: (1) love God and (2) love your neighbor as yourself.
But Jesus added a new twist to the second commandment: Love each other as I have loved you, he said. The new gloss adds a divine and selfless dimension to a love that transcends self and self-interest.
And through the Paschal mystery, Christ established a new covenant of reconciliation. According to Luke, as his last act on the cross, Jesus forgave.
Dare we today on this Ash Wednesday at the beginning of Lent on the way to Easter aspire to a personal Easter, a Renaissance and a resurrection where we too are reborn in selfless love, reconciliation and forgiveness?
