As we recall the Lord’s Passion and Death today, we are confronted with two very different ways of looking at reality. We have the worldly way, and the Christian way.

In the eyes of the world, Calvary was nothing more than an insignificant hill that just barely stuck out of the dirt of Jerusalem. It was a just mound in the background of a forgotten place, outside of the paths of civilization, in the remotest corners of the Roman Empire. The events of Good Friday were simply another drama of hatred and jealousy, of people who cried in a small paved plaza asking for one conviction among so many others, a miniscule incident that was forgotten in the murmur of the Passover feast, an incident that might barely merit even a single line from the writers of the era.

But in the eyes of God, that is, in reality, the sacrifice of Christ is the real constructor of history; it is the center at which everything converges and the heart from which everything radiates. It, and it alone, is the event that gives meaning and unity to all other events in the world, in history, and throughout the centuries. Apart from the cross, nothing makes sense; with it, everything takes on new light and new clarity.

Even in Jesus’ time, as He was making His sacrifice, we find both of these ways of looking at things. We can consider the first in how the soldiers responded and how Pilate replied, and, finally, we can see God’s way of seeing things how Mary answered.

​In today’s Gospel John recounts for us the betrayal of Judas at the Last Supper. If we read carefully, we’re struck by just how merciful Jesus is, and we can see this in three of Christ’s actions towards Judas: first, where Judas was sitting, second, the giving of the morsel, and third, the fact that Jesus didn’t openly reveal Judas’ sin.
​
First, when we think of where people were sitting at the Last Supper, usually we think that Peter was on one side of Jesus, and John, “the one whom Jesus loved,” was on the other. However, if this were the case, as Fulton Sheen points out, Peter wouldn’t have asked John to ask Jesus the question: he could’ve just asked Jesus himself. Rather, it’s likely that Judas was seated right next to Jesus. Jesus wanted his betrayer as close as possible to Him, so that He could help him to repent. Christ never tires calling of out after those who He has chosen, encouraging them, and begging them to repent.

There’s a great deal that could be said about today’s Gospel, but one thing that calls our attention immediately is the great difference between Mary and Judas.
​
Mary gives Jesus a very generous gift; we know that the oil is valued at 300 days’ wages. If we think about it, we know that she must have saved up for a long time to buy it, since obviously she had to eat and buy some things in order to obtain it; even if she went without eating every other day, it would’ve taken her at least two years to save up that amount. We can think of all of the sacrifices, all of the work and all of the love that went into that gift. What’s the result? John the Evangelist tells us “The house was filled with the fragrance of the oil.” Her good deed spread throughout the entire building; her actions benefited, not only Jesus, but everyone else in the house as well, who were able to partake of her good deed.

Today’s Gospel presents us with Christ in Cana in Galilee, and a royal official who comes to asks for a miracle on behalf of his son. Yet Jesus gives the man a surprising response, and the official repeats his request, which is then answered. There’s a lot we could say about this passage, but one of the most beautiful teachings, and most pertinent to this Lenten season, is about prayer. John gives us two insights into the official’s prayer, two elements that need to be corrected, and then shows us how Christ responds to sincere and humble prayer.