RSS

Chapter VI
He wrote on the ground
But Jesus bowing Himself down wrote with His finger on the ground. John 8, 6.

O Jesus, whatever be the subject matter of each one of my readings – even a scientific or technical text or a purely literary one – it should be “animated” by You. By no matter what detours, it ought to communicate You to me. Or rather, each time I read, I ought to hear You reading.

But what about Your handwriting? Do Your life and Your Gospel have something to teach me about the expression of Your mind by means of written signs?

Only once, O Lord, throughout the Gospels, are You represented in the act of writing. It is during the episode of the woman who was taken in adultery.

I am aware of certain difficulties of a textual nature which the passage has raised. But I see in this page, O Lord, one of the most touching manifestations of Your attitude toward the sinner.

Your refusal to give an opinion, the silence which You oppose to the insidious questions of the scribes and Pharisees, the defiance which You hurled at the accusers: “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her,” and that other word addressed to the guilty woman: “Neither will I condemn thee. Go, and now sin no more.”

In all that I see Your merciful compassion and the integrity of Your justice shine forth at one and the same time.

Among other aspects of this episode there is a gesture in which I should like now to look for an inspiration. When the scribes interrogate You, they do so not only to accuse the woman but also to put You to the test. You give them no answer, but you stoop down and write with Your finger on the ground. And after pronouncing the sentence relative to the first stone, again You stoop down and write.

What were You writing?

Those for whom each one of these gestures is full of a spiritual meaning, which must be deepened, have wondered about it.

Perhaps Your gesture was intended simply to express indifference or detachment, or perhaps it was a refusal to give any sign of interest in the accusation.

Perhaps it was meant to evoke the memory of the two stone tablets “written with the finger of God,” which Moses had received; and the allusion to the law could become an allusion to all transgression.

Finally, perhaps the signs which Your finger traced on the ground reminded the accusers, in a very pointed way, of this or that personal sin.

When the accusers heard Your word about the first stone, “they went out one by one, beginning at the eldest.” The Gospel establishes no direct rapport between their going out and the sentence which You pronounced. But Your writing on the ground would certainly not be mentioned in two verses if in some way or other it did not have a connection between the accusation and the accusers.

We do not know what You were writing. We shall never know until the last day. Yet there are two things of which we can be certain.

First of all, Your gesture was mysteriously orientated toward the truth. While You were writing, the accusers and the woman herself were at grips with their conscience.

A silent appeal was thus made to their deepest inner “ego.” And then Your gesture was directed toward mercy and justice, with respect to the adulterous woman. What she felt and thought on seeing You write remains unknown to us. But Your gesture was a prelude to their withdrawal of the accusation, then to the pardon, and finally to the warning which was the conclusion of the episode.

“Jesus, bowing Himself down, wrote . . .” And a little further on: “And again stooping down, He wrote . . . .”

The Gospel, O Master, underlines the fact that You stooped down. You did not want to assume the attitude of a judge who, standing or seated, stares at the accused. You tactfully avoided looking at the adulterous woman as long as her accusers were present. It was only after their departure that You rose to Your feet again, and then seeing the woman alone, You spoke to her.

Lord Jesus, I dedicate to You all my writings. I dedicate to You not only my written texts, but the very act of writing. Make this act of my hand always be a participation in Your handwriting on the ground at the time of Your encounter with the adulterous woman.

Whether it be a question of an original work, or of a simple list to copy over again, or still – and above all – letters which make up my ordinary correspondence, grant that I may not write without entering into Your intention.

May whatever I write, O Lord, serve truth. For all truth is Your truth. May what I write (especially if it be a question of a personal letter) help the other party to retire within himself, to see what is true.

May what I write serve Your compassion and Your mercy and always be directed, even very indirectly, toward this end which is goodness.

Every time I write, may I see You writing on the ground! and may I feel in myself what the scribes and Pharisees felt and what the accused woman felt, and in some measure, what You Yourself felt.

Because my condition resembles that of the pharisaic accusers and transgressors and also that of the adulterous woman, but also Your own life which You communicate to men.

Lord, every time I write, make me stoop down as You stooped down while tracing the letters on the ground. May I never enter into a feeling of superiority toward those to whom my written work goes! May I never stand up with a gaze of an accuser or a lover of justice!

Through the mouth of Your Prophet Jeremias, You said: “I will give My law in their bowels and I will write it in their hearts,” O Master, write in my heart, so that all I will ever put on paper may be the tracing of what You have put in me.

While I write, place Your hand on mine and guide it. Make of me an accurate, solid and flexible instrument, through which You will write in hearts.