Jesus went to the Mount of Olives.
But early in the morning he arrived again in the temple area,
and all the people started coming to him,
and he sat down and taught them.
Then the scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman
who had been caught in adultery
and made her stand in the middle.
They said to him,
“Teacher, this woman was caught
in the very act of committing adultery.
Now in the law, Moses commanded us to stone such women.
So what do you say?”
They said this to test him,
so that they could have some charge to bring against him.
Jesus bent down and began to write on the ground with his finger.
But when they continued asking him,
he straightened up and said to them,
“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?
Has no one condemned you?”
She replied, “No one, sir.”
Then Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you.
Go, and from now on do not sin any more.”

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

5th Sunday Lent Year C

The Unburdening Mercy: Finding Ourselves in the Dust

This Sunday brings us face-to-face with a stark and timeless drama: the woman caught in adultery dragged into the harsh glare of public judgment, and the quiet, yet earth-shattering, intervention of Jesus.

The scene is set with calculated cruelty. The scribes and Pharisees, ever vigilant for an opportunity to trap Jesus, present him with a woman caught in the very act of adultery. The Law of Moses is clear: she should be stoned. Their question isn't about justice, but about ensnaring Jesus. If he advocates for leniency, they can accuse him of disregarding the Law. If he agrees to the stoning, he contradicts his message of compassion and love.

Jesus’s initial response is telling. He bends down and begins to write on the ground. This simple act buys him time, perhaps a moment for the tension to dissipate, for the accusers to confront their own hearts. His silence speaks volumes, a stark contrast to the clamor of condemnation surrounding him.

When pressed, Jesus offers his now-famous words: “Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” This isn't a dismissal of sin, nor a disregard for justice. Instead, it’s a piercing challenge to the self-righteousness of the accusers. It forces them to confront their own imperfections, the hidden corners of their hearts where judgment often festers.

One by one, beginning with the elders, they drop their stones and walk away. The weight of their own unspoken transgressions becomes heavier than the stones they intended to cast. The crowd, initially baying for blood, disperses, leaving only Jesus and the woman.

In this quiet aftermath, Jesus looks at the woman and asks, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” Her simple reply, “No one, sir,” underscores the profound shift that has occurred. The power of judgment has crumbled in the face of truth and self-reflection.

Then comes the core of the message, the heart of God’s mercy: “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on do not sin anymore.” Jesus doesn't condone her sin, but he refuses to let it define her. He offers forgiveness, a clean slate, and a call to a new way of life. This is not a license to sin, but an invitation to transformation, empowered by the very mercy she has received.

During Lent, we  are called to examine our own lives, to acknowledge our failings, and to resist the urge to cast stones at others. We, too, are often caught in our own forms of “adultery” – betrayals of our faith, our values, and our relationships with God and one another.

Just as Jesus offered the woman a chance for a new beginning, he offers us the same. Lent is a time to lay down our own stones of judgment, to confess our sins with humility, and to embrace the unburdening mercy that Jesus so freely offers.

It is in recognizing our own need for forgiveness that we can truly understand and extend compassion to others, mirroring the boundless love of our Savior. The dust where Jesus wrote becomes a symbol of our shared humanity, our shared vulnerability, and the transformative power of a mercy that calls us not to condemnation, but to conversion.

With Love and Blessings,
Fr Damian