Monday of the Fifth Week of Lent
March 18, 2024

Today’s Readings:

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/031824.cfm

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One day, while the elders were waiting for the right moment,
she entered the garden as usual, with two maids only.
Susanna decided to bathe, for the weather was warm.
Nobody else was there except the two elders,
who had hidden themselves and were watching her.
“Bring me oil and soap,” she said to the maids,
“and shut the garden doors while I bathe.”

Daniel 13:15-18

“Let the one among you who is without sin
be the first to throw a stone at her.”
Again he bent down and wrote on the ground.
And in response, they went away one by one,
beginning with the elders.
So he was left alone with the woman before him.
Then Jesus straightened up and said to her,
“Woman, where are they?

John 8: 7-10

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We encounter so much in life that is hidden – motives, ambitions, agendas, pasts, judgments, reactions. We hide these things for all kinds of reasons. The lustful elders hid their actions for fear of discovery and condemnation. The Gospel stone throwers hid their pasts to exonerate themselves by judgment of another.

Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:

We are reminded that with God nothing is hidden. And nothing needs to be. We can place our lusts, false judgments, and any other shadow-laden weaknesses in God’s Light because that Light is Forgiveness and Healing. That Light will free us to become forgivers and healers ourselves.

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Poetry: Peter Quince at the Clavier – Wallace Stevens

Wallace Steven’s poem and Handel’s oratorio indicate the extent to which the tale of Susanna has been culturally interpreted down through the ages.

Just as my fingers on these keys 
Make music, so the selfsame sounds 
On my spirit make a music, too. 

Music is feeling, then, not sound; 
And thus it is that what I feel, 
Here in this room, desiring you, 

Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk, 
Is music. It is like the strain 
Waked in the elders by Susanna: 

Of a green evening, clear and warm, 
She bathed in her still garden, while 
The red-eyed elders, watching, felt 

The basses of their beings throb 
In witching chords, and their thin blood 
Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna. 

                                              II 

In the green water, clear and warm, 
Susanna lay. 
She searched 
The touch of springs, 
And found 
Concealed imaginings. 
She sighed, 
For so much melody. 

Upon the bank, she stood 
In the cool 
Of spent emotions. 
She felt, among the leaves, 
The dew 
Of old devotions. 

She walked upon the grass, 
Still quavering. 
The winds were like her maids, 
On timid feet, 
Fetching her woven scarves, 
Yet wavering. 

A breath upon her hand 
Muted the night. 
She turned— 
A cymbal crashed, 
And roaring horns. 

                                           III 

Soon, with a noise like tambourines, 
Came her attendant Byzantines. 

They wondered why Susanna cried 
Against the elders by her side; 

And as they whispered, the refrain 
Was like a willow swept by rain. 

Anon, their lamps' uplifted flame 
Revealed Susanna and her shame. 

And then, the simpering Byzantines 
Fled, with a noise like tambourines. 

                                             IV 

Beauty is momentary in the mind— 
The fitful tracing of a portal; 
But in the flesh it is immortal. 

The body dies; the body's beauty lives. 
So evenings die, in their green going, 
A wave, interminably flowing. 
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting 
The cowl of winter, done repenting. 
So maidens die, to the auroral 
Celebration of a maiden's choral. 

Susanna's music touched the bawdy strings 
Of those white elders; but, escaping, 
Left only Death's ironic scraping. 
Now, in its immortality, it plays 
On the clear viol of her memory, 
And makes a constant sacrament of praise.

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Music: Guilt trembling spoke my doom – George Frideric Handel

Susanna is an oratorio by George Frideric Handel. Handel composed the music in the summer of 1748 and premiered the work the next season at Covent Garden theatre, London, on 10 February 1749. (Lyrics below.)

Guilt trembling spoke my doom,
And vice her joy display’d,
Till truth dispell’d the gloom
And came to virtue’s aid.
Kind Heav’n, my pray’rs receive,
They’re due alone to thee,
Oppression’s left to grieve,
And innocence is free.