John 8:1-11

As tacky as it is, there’s something that I love about prop comedy. Whether it’s Gallagher smashing watermelons or Carrot Top doing whatever Carrot Top does, there’s something kitschy and relatable about it. Looking at mundane things in a surprising new way.

Jesus was no stranger to prop comedy. A Roman coin with the image of Caesar. An incredible catch of fish that burst the nets on the boat. The hilarious announcement that three loaves and five fish would feed over 5000 people. Jesus knew that people were visual and metaphoric—that things that connect are things that can be seen and understood in a new light. Prop comedy makes the viewers feel like they are part of the action—the joke—because the comedian stands behind the props—the props take center stage.

But what happens when a prop is used, not for comedy, but for judgment? What happens when the prop isn’t an inanimate object, isn’t something mundane, isn’t something harmless meant to serve a greater purpose?

What happens when the prop is a human being?

One could imagine Gallagher would get a far different response with his mallet if watermelons were replaced with people.

***

There are two tendencies during the season of Lent—both of which are dangerous.

The first is to cast oneself as the hero of Lent, on a journey to self-improvement and holiness. Our sacrifice, our giving up, and our trials serve to improve us—perpetually running after a Divine gold star or the accolades of which our hearts are certain the Lord keeps track.

The second is to cast ourselves as the reason for Lent. We are the ones personally responsible—with our "manifold sins and wickedness” —for the Church’s proclamation of penitence. We are not worthy. We are not redeemable. We are dust and ash. Even as we make it through Holy Week and Easter, we’re left wondering: did I do enough? Did I repent enough? Is there any assurance—any hope?

On their face, both might seem like reasonable responses to this season—each with a correlating benefit, charism, and telos of holiness.

But in both tendencies, the problem is clear: We have become a prop.

A prop for transformation and holiness—resulting naturally in the judgment of others and self-righteousness.

A prop for humility and self-denial—resulting, again, in the judgment of others and self-righteousness.

It is very natural for us to become a prop in Lent—to hide behind our actions and our works—because maybe, just maybe, if we hide well enough the Lord won’t find us, the Holy Spirit won’t move us—maybe we’ll wrest some control out of an otherwise uncontrollable existence.

Better to be a prop.

***

“Jesus straightened up and said to her, ‘Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?’ She said, ‘No one, sir.’ And Jesus said, ‘Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again.”

***

Here is the Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ:

Jesus doesn’t want props. Jesus wants people.

Jesus didn’t come to live, die, and be resurrected for props. He came for people.

The hard part of this season is that our intentions and prop-y-ness are on full display in both our holiness and our self-deprecation. We can stand before Jesus and point out all the “other” sinners who are deserving of judgment. We can personally pass out the stones to onlookers at our public trial. Props for exultation and execution.

Jesus says (in the traditional version), “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”

Friends, you and I, and all of us are in no position to cast any stones—at others or ourselves.

And the Good News of the Gospel is that Jesus refuses to. “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.”

In his radical, unconditional act of forgiveness, Christ reminds us that we are not props to be displayed, but people to be saved. It is his recognition of our humanity—our shared humanity with the Son of God—that confers forgiveness and makes possible any hope of sanctification.

Jesus comes this Lenten season to beg us to put down the props. Come out of the shadows. Stop hiding. And as terrifying and embarrassing and difficult as it might be, to be seen for the people we are: a sheep of his own fold, a lamb of his own flock, a sinner of his own redeeming.

Not as props, as people.

Meditation by the Reverend Ben Maddison
Rector, Trinity Episcopal Church, Wenonah
Diocese of New Jersey