Fifth Sunday of Lent, April 6, 2025

Year C Readings

Today’s Readings, from the USCCB:

Reading I

Isaiah 43:16-21

Thus says the LORD, who opens a way in the sea and a path in the mighty waters, who leads out chariots and horsemen, a powerful army, till they lie prostrate together, never to rise, snuffed out and quenched like a wick. Remember not the events of the past, the things of long ago consider not; see, I am doing something new! Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?

In the desert I make a way, in the wasteland, rivers. Wild beasts honor me, jackals and ostriches, for I put water in the desert and rivers in the wasteland for my chosen people to drink, the people whom I formed for myself, that they might announce my praise.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 126:1-2, 2-3, 4-5, 6.

R. The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy.

When the LORD brought back the captives of Zion, we were like men dreaming. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with rejoicing.

R. The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy.

Then they said among the nations, “The LORD has done great things for them.” The LORD has done great things for us; we are glad indeed.

R. The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy.

Restore our fortunes, O LORD, like the torrents in the southern desert. Those that sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

R. The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy.

Although they go forth weeping, carrying the seed to be sown, They shall come back rejoicing, carrying their sheaves.

R. The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy.

 

Reading II

Philippians 3:8-14

Brothers and sisters: I consider everything as a loss because of the supreme good of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have accepted the loss of all things and I consider them so much rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having any righteousness of my own based on the law but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God, depending on faith to know him and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by being conformed to his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead.

It is not that I have already taken hold of it or have already attained perfect maturity, but I continue my pursuit in hope that I may possess it, since I have indeed been taken possession of by Christ Jesus. Brothers and sisters, I for my part do not consider myself to have taken possession. Just one thing: forgetting what lies behind but straining forward to what lies ahead, I continue my pursuit toward the goal, the prize of God’s upward calling, in Christ Jesus.

Verse before the Gospel

Joel 2:12-13

Even now, says the Lord, return to me with your whole heart; for I am gracious and merciful.

Gospel

John 8:1-11

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.”

 

Stones, Shame, and the Sound of Mercy

There are moments I wish I could erase. Words I should have held back. Decisions I wish I could take back. People I wish I hadn’t hurt. And nights – so many nights – where I’ve stared at the ceiling wondering if the damage I’ve done is too deep, too wide, too lasting to ever come home again.

I’ve stood in the middle of the circle before – caught, exposed, ashamed – not unlike the woman in today’s Gospel. I know what it’s like to feel the eyes of others weighing heavy, the atmosphere electric with judgment, the silence louder than a verdict. And I know what it’s like to feel like no one will speak up for you when your failures are laid bare.

The circle is a cruel place. It’s where the whispers gather like wind. Where the people who once cheered for you now wait to see you fall. And when you do – when you trip, when you sin, when you disappoint – some are quick to grab stones. They don’t even wait for permission.

I’ve had people throw those stones at me. Not physical rocks, but words sharp enough to bruise. Silence loud enough to scar. Rejection fierce enough to break. Some were people I loved, trusted, even sacrificed for. People I thought would stay. And when I needed mercy most, they offered none. Just quiet departures. Just cold distance.

But to be fair, I made it easy for them. I failed. I hurt others. I let my pain turn into distance. I’ve prayed prayers I never deserved to be answered. I’ve messed up, and I’ve lived with the echoes of those mistakes.

So yes – I’ve stood in that circle.

And yes – I’ve thrown stones at myself, too. 

If shame could be currency, I’d be wealthy. I’ve bought into the lie that my sin disqualified me. That I wasn’t worthy to stand in a church pew, let alone be heard by God. That forgiveness was for other people – cleaner people – who hadn’t wrecked relationships, disappointed their family, or carried the kind of guilt that wakes you up at 3:17am and whispers, “It’s too late for you.”

But then…this Gospel.

Jesus doesn't ignore the woman. He doesn't minimize the sin. But He also doesn’t reach for a stone. He doesn't shame her. He doesn’t demand she earn her worth back. He doesn’t recite her failures like a resume. He kneels down beside her, meets her in the dust, and begins to write.

We don’t know what He wrote.

But maybe…maybe it wasn’t for the crowd at all.

Maybe it was for her. And maybe for me.

Because sometimes the most powerful grace is quiet. A Savior kneeling in the dirt beside someone who thought their story was over. Not lecturing. Not condemning. Just present.

And maybe that’s all I’ve ever really longed for. Not a flashy miracle. Not a get-out-of-shame-free card. Just presence. Just the nearness of a God who doesn’t flinch when He sees the mess.

I’ve spent years convinced that God was distant. That my unanswered prayers – especially the ones I prayed for my sons, for my parents – were proof He’d stepped away. That maybe I’d finally exhausted His patience. That maybe I’d asked for too many second chances.

 

But this Gospel undoes that lie.

Because here is Jesus, surrounded by accusation, injustice, and hypocrisy – and still He chooses mercy.

He protects her before He corrects her.

He doesn’t wait for her to grovel. He doesn’t test her sincerity.

He simply says, “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on do not sin anymore.”

That line…that line really hits home for me. Because I’ve spent so long trying to fix myself before coming back to God. I’ve tried to earn my way into worthiness. To patch the wounds, hide the scars, and present something cleaner than the reality of my soul.

But Jesus doesn’t ask for that.

He just says, “I’m still here.”

And that changes everything.

It’s hard to let go of shame. It sticks to the soul. It convinces you that you’ll never be more than your worst decision. That you’re disqualified from peace. That the people you lost were right to leave.

But I’m starting to realize that healing doesn’t mean forgetting.

It means believing that even with everything you carry, you’re still worth kneeling next to.

 

It means trusting that the God who sees you in your brokenness still calls you by your name, not your failure.

It means letting the stones drop – not just the ones others have thrown, but the ones you keep hurling at yourself.

There’s a part of me that still flinches when I think of people from my past. The ones who walked away. The ones who acted like I was never worth fighting for. The ones whose absence still haunts me.

But there’s another part of me now – quiet, growing, slow like spring – that is learning to believe in mercy.

That part of me is remembering what it felt like to be loved without condition.

To be forgiven without performance.

To be called back to life after assuming the door was shut.

And today I am learning to be like the woman who stood in the center of the circle, not sure how it would end.

I am her.

And yet I am still standing.

Still loved.

Still being invited forward.

Not condemned – but called.

Not perfect – but being made new.

So if you're standing in the middle of your own circle – if you feel exposed, ashamed, unwanted, too far gone – hear this…

He is not walking away.

He is not joining in the shaming.

He is kneeling in the dust beside you.

And the only sound you’ll hear from Him is not condemnation.

It’s mercy.

And maybe that’s the sound that calls us back from the edge.

Maybe that’s what resurrection sounds like. ​​