7 & 8 March 2026, 3rd SUNDAY OF LENT
The Rod of Penance to soften hearts hardened by sin
We’ve spoken before about the various ways in which we read sacred Scripture, inspired by God to reveal His nature to us. Unless something is clearly a parable, we can say with certainty that what the Bible claims to have happen, did happen – an actual, literal, historical record. But this inspired text communicates much more than what is literal: there is a way in which even in the historical, something superhistorical is being transmitted. It goes beyond the here-and-nowness (or there-and-thenness) of time because it is revealing something eternal; it is pouring into our hearts, as it were, a deeper mystery.
This is certainly true about the episode in the wilderness, where Moses – fearful of being stoned by the frustrated and complaining Jews – turns to the Lord for His aid. How will God save His people, who are thirsty in the desert? He commands Moses to an act of violence against a rock: to strike only once, in this account, and to pierce it. Trusting in God, Moses does this – and a saving stream pours out.
Of course, this event is true, historical and miraculous. But it does point to something more perfect and enduring, as St Paul would teach the Corinthians in his letter to them. God, seeing man in the wilderness of sin, does not leave him without salvation. To bring peace, He allows the violence of the law to strike, not a rock, but His faithful and obedient Son. The unique offering occurs once for all, not at Meribah and Massah (the place of grumbling), but at Jerusalem, the city of peace. And from His pierced side flows a more powerful stream than the Jews had; blood and water from the heart of the God-Man show the extent of God’s love for us. What was foretold in history as a type is fulfilled in reality in Jesus, Who gives Himself up for us and our salvation: on the Cross, in Baptism and in the Holy Eucharist.
It is strange, then, that the lectionary-compilers in the modern liturgy didn’t choose this as the Second Reading at Mass today! Rather, we have St Paul to the Romans, speaking to us about a quality of this miracle of salvation, where God pours His love, like a living stream, into the heart. God hasn’t come to us because of our complaining, or because we showed ourselves worthy of His goodness. “While we were still helpless,” still sinners, Christ died for us. God, Whose love is steadfast and unmoving, like a rock, does not wait for us to be perfect before He comes to save us; rather, it is at His coming that our hardened hearts are made more supple, more receptive to His grace.
In that case, the Second Reading is a good prelude to the Gospel account. The Samaritan woman is encountered by Jesus in all of her imperfection. She has inherited a partially-true religion; she has been worshipping at the wrong place; she is ignorant of the Prophets and the Writings, because the Samaritans only honour Mosaic Law. Her moral life is questionable too: five husbands, and now cohabiting with a man who isn’t a husband. But Our Lord comes to the well of her life and begins a conversation that will change everything. St Augustine says something remarkable about this moment: “He who asked for water was thirsting for the faith of the woman.” Our Lord does not need the water she can draw from the well. Rather, He desires the faith that can spring up in her heart. And once she offers that to Him, and sees that He is the Messiah, the Christ, the Saviour, she is set free.
In some way, this historical figure, is a type of our fragile, wounded condition. Our practice of holy religion could likely be improved; there is so much to know and learn, but we’re a little slow sometimes. Our choices over good and evil don’t always align perfectly with the truth that is taught by Jesus, the saints and the Church. We are still sinners, desperate for the Lord in the desert. But Our Lord has not abandoned us; He is truly among us. He comes to the well of our lives, and asks us for the gift of faith that has already been poured into our hearts. Slowly, our conversation with Him is softening our hearts, too, making them more tender towards the Saviour of the World.
What can we do?
- Let’s not relax the rod of penance, yet
We’re deeply into the Lenten pilgrimage now, and could easily give up on those practices we undertook on Ash Wednesday. We could generate any number of excuses for “cheat days”, as though our fasting were a diet rather than a spiritual chastisement on the body. We must not give in to the complaining of our bodies, demanding the satisfaction it desires. Rather, we accept the beating of our little sacrifices, trusting that the Lord will quench our thirst with His grace. If we’ve failed a little in our promises, it’s a good thing that Our Lord wills to encounter us “while we were yet helpless” – start again tomorrow (Sundays are not for excessive penance, are they?).
- Renew the grace of baptism with a good confession
What baptism gives us is wounded, and sometimes lost, by sin; God has not abandoned us in this deprivation. But, through the death of His Son, has given us a remedy for sin in Confession. It restores the soul to the baptismal state again “through the ministry of the Church”. We could also say that a soul that comes often to confession is also given strength to endure, for love of God, any hardship brought to it – by persecution or penance, either self-imposed, undertaken under obedience or by some involuntary act. In going to the “well of confession”, where Our Lord asks us to trust that He is the Saviour, we can be restored to Him, Who loves us.
So, let’s not lose hope, so deeply engaged in Lent, and look forward to Easter joy! Amen.