In one of my first years of campus ministry, a student referred to me as “The Queen of Transition.” That took me by surprise because, truth be told, I’m not a fan of change. She said, “It’s because you talk so much about transition. You talk about it all the time.” At that time, I was in my first vows in religious life. That campus ministry job was already my fourth ministry, and I had lived in five different house communities by then. So, yeah, I had been through a lot of changes in a very short time, and I guess I talked about it more than I realized. Actually, though, I don’t think the students minded my one-track mind. They, too, moved through many changes in those short college years, and bringing our transitions to prayer was helpful to them.

God makes all things new. We’re reminded of that this Sunday in our First Reading. Despite my aversion to change, I love this reading from Isaiah. It encourages me to know that God makes a way when the path forward seems impossible. God brings renewal to parched land. God tells us not to dwell on the past but to look at what’s happening now, the movement of Spirit in our lives. Although there have been times, particularly in my religious formation, when I’ve read the words, “See, I am doing something new,” and said to God, “Look, buddy, you’ve got to stop doing that,” I know there’s no stopping the Spirit. It’s always on the move. And I don’t want to stop it. Not really.

This reading from Isaiah is placed here, on this Fifth Sunday of Lent, alongside the Woman Caught in Adultery. That’s the heading that precedes her story, and it’s the only name we have for her, so, unfortunately, that’s how we know her. This encounter happens on what could maybe be the worst day of her life. She’s pulled from wherever she’s been and placed in front of Jesus and a crowd and publicly shamed for a sin that takes more than one person to commit. And it’s all for show, all for the sake of testing Jesus. If she wasn’t used by the person with whom she had the affair, then she’s being used by these men now.

How awful. Honestly, this reading has always made me uncomfortable. There’s something about the shame of it that just gets me. She was a person, but now she’s The Woman Caught in Adultery. She’s entirely defined by this one thing she did. It reminds me of a quote by Bryan Stevenson in his book Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption: “Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.” It’s true, deeply true. Each of us is a complex person full of mixed motivations, complicated histories, beautiful kindnesses as well as selfish, hurtful actions. And yet, in our day too, we can reduce people to their worst actions and most vicious words. People record everything, pull it out of context, and then condemn. I wonder how, in this story, anyone can be caught in adultery without someone popping out of nowhere to take pictures and videos. I also wonder – is this the worst thing she’s ever done? Wouldn’t it be worse if she was selfish or cruel or had killed somebody? It’s always the sexual sins that get condemned. It’s only those kinds of actions about which people say, “Love the sinner, hate the sin.”

But Jesus doesn’t say that. As it turns out, he doesn’t condemn her at all. Instead, he writes something on the ground.

Have you wondered with me – what in the world is he writing? What a strange reaction. Maybe he’s writing out a list of their sins or hinting at them. I know what you did last summer. Maybe he’s writing out the Ten Commandments, a kind of examination of conscience. How many of these have you broken today and it’s not even lunchtime? Who knows? Whatever it is, though, it works, and everyone leaves, including the judgmental religious leaders. The woman is left alone with Jesus. And he sets her free.

He tells her, “Go, and don’t sin anymore.” Jesus refocuses everything back to an action she took rather than the person she is. The Woman Caught in Adultery is not longer that; she can go back to being a person, a person who can choose to sin or not, a person who is more than this thing she did. I wonder what that was like for her, to have her identity cracked open and made new.

What’s that like when it happens for you? When I’m going through a major shift, something that taps down deep into the core of who I am, there’s a lot of things happening. Fear of the unknown. Sadness, because there’s a loss with every change. Hope, joy, and excitement at new possibilities that are unfolding, because somewhere in this shifting, the Spirit is likely doing something good.

That last bit can be a hard thing to trust, that even when it might not feel like it, the Spirit is doing something good. Big, sweeping changes can make me feel like the rug is being pulled out from under me while I cartwheel through the air. I don’t know how to find my footing. On the other hand, when I’m going through a rough time, one in which things feel bleak and impossible, I draw hope from God’s assurance of renewal. Situations that seem to have no resolution make me wonder if things will ever change, and it’s hard to imagine how they will. But God promises to make all things new. Somehow, some way, transformation is going to happen. In my limited human perspective, I can’t see how, but God assures me that things will change. So, I hope.

The movement of change calls us to hold a lot of contradictions. We say goodbye but then hello. We acknowledge what we know but then move toward the unknown. I try to stay open, and although I may want to freeze or just slow down, I keep moving. I feel loss but trust that I will also gain something new. I try to say with Paul, “I have accepted the loss off all things.” I’m not sure, though, if I accept it or if I just come to resigned trust after wrestling with it until I’m worn out.

Not only does transformation always come, whether I want it to or not, but God’s love is in that movement, whether I see it or not. And God invites me to see it. “See, I am doing something new! Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” In this season of spring, it’s hard not to perceive new life springing forth. And in this season of Lent, it’s hard not to notice the movement of dying and rising, suffering and joy – transition. Transformation.  

God is doing something new. I trust this movement. That’s what we’re celebrating as we move through Lent toward Easter, isn’t it? It’s the Paschal Mystery. Death is always followed by life. Suffering is redeemed. Dawn always follows the night, and both the dark and the light are holy. As we bear the crosses in our own lives, we may have to dig down deep to find hope, but resurrection is on its way. God makes all things new.

For reflection:

How do you respond to times of transition? Do you resist, welcome it, fight it, deny it?

How have you experienced God during times of change?

Is there anything in your life that’s in transition now? What’s God’s call for you? Where is God in it?

What’s giving you hope right now?

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By Sister Leslie Keener, CDP

Sister Leslie Keener, CDP is the director of God Space, a community-building spirituality ministry in Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky. She’s a Sister of Divine Providence with a Masters in Ministry and a Certificate in Spiritual Direction and Retreats from Creighton University. She directs retreats, meets with people for spiritual direction, and serves as the vocation director for her community. She also serves on the Coordinating Council of Spiritual Directors International. She enjoys music, meaningful conversations, and dancing.