NB: This Sunday we had the third scrutiny. The homily for the mass with the scrutiny can be found below. The homily for the Year C reading used at the other masses follows immediately:
When the scribes and Pharisees placed a frightened woman before Jesus, they believed they were creating a test—a situation that would trap Jesus into either breaking the law or compromising his message of mercy. But Jesus, seeing beyond their trap, responded differently than anyone expected. Notice an easy to miss detail, his posture, his quiet presence: he bent down, writing silently in the dust. In this simple gesture, he paused the moment, shifting attention away from accusation and judgment.
When Jesus finally stood and spoke, he did not deliver a harsh rebuke, nor did he condone wrongdoing. Rather, he turned the gaze inward with words of profound clarity: “Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” With this single, gentle challenge, he invited each accuser to self-reflection. And quietly, one by one, they withdrew.
What is remarkable here is not just Jesus’ mercy toward the woman—beautiful though it is—but his equal mercy toward the Pharisees. He offers them an opportunity to see themselves differently, free from the weight of their pride and judgment. His posture and words communicate not rejection, but an invitation—a compassionate call to conversion, extended equally to everyone present.
When he stands again before the woman, Jesus repeats this act of mercy. He neither shames nor lectures her. Instead, he meets her exactly where she is, dignifies her with dialogue, and gently points her toward a life renewed. “Neither do I condemn you,” he reassures her, freeing her from guilt and shame. But he does not leave her unchanged; he invites her forward, saying simply, “Go, and from now on do not sin any more.”
Jesus’ posture, bending low in humility, rising in dignity, captures perfectly the heart of God’s mercy. He does not distinguish between sinner and saint, accuser and accused. Each is equally in need of this profound, transformative mercy. Each one of us, too, stands before Jesus just as the Pharisees and the woman did—neither condemned nor dismissed but loved and invited to deeper conversion.
How easily we place others—or even ourselves—in boxes marked ‘worthy’ or ‘unworthy,’ labeling some as hypocrites and others as victims. But Jesus refuses such labels. Instead, he quietly reminds us of our shared humanity, our shared need for mercy and grace. He challenges us to drop our stones—the stones of judgment, resentment, and self-condemnation—and to open our hands to receive his healing grace.
Let us remember Jesus’ merciful posture and words, and allow ourselves to be transformed by them. Let us accept his gentle invitation to release judgment and embrace compassion. For in doing so, we step forward into the freedom Christ offers—the freedom to love as generously as we are loved.
The Third Scrutiny
When Martha confronted Jesus after her brother’s death, her voice carried the sorrow of every human heart: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” We understand Martha’s cry because it mirrors our own: If God truly loves us, why does he sometimes seem distant precisely when we need him most?
Jesus’s deliberate delay upon hearing of Lazarus’s illness appears puzzling, even troubling. He loved Lazarus deeply, yet he waited two days. We might see this as neglect or even indifference, but it was neither. Rather, in that intentional pause, we witness the full depth of Christ’s compassion. Lazarus’ death makes room for Jesus to demonstrate the limitless mercy of God—a mercy that conquers even death itself.
Throughout his ministry, Jesus healed the sick and restored the broken, continually pushing back the shadow of death. Yet, he knew humanity needed something more profound. We required assurance not merely that death could be delayed, but that death itself could be defeated. Lazarus’s resurrection became a preview of what was soon to come—Christ’s own victory over the grave.
The mercy of God does not prevent every sorrow or loss, but it reveals itself powerfully in and through these experiences. Jesus’s tears at Lazarus’s tomb were genuine—he shared the grief of Mary and Martha, as he shares ours today. His compassion is not detached or distant; it is deeply personal and profoundly real. Yet, beyond the shared sorrow, he offers something even greater: an invitation to trust in mercy that transcends the grave.
Lazarus’s raising calls us to see death clearly—not as God’s creation, but as the destructive consequence of sin. God’s mercy does not simply comfort us in our grief; it actively confronts and defeats the very source of death itself. Just as Christ called Lazarus out of darkness, he continues to call each one of us away from the darkness of sin into the light of life. The promise offered to Lazarus is ours as well: unending life through the boundless mercy of God.
Today, the third scrutiny directly calls our elect to recognize the power of Christ’s voice summoning them from death into new life. Just as Lazarus was called out of the tomb, our elect are invited to turn from the darkness of sin and death and embrace the radiant life Christ offers. This scrutiny is more than an examination; it is a profound moment of transformation and trust. The only real barrier to experiencing this new life is our own resistance to fully believe and accept God’s mercy and love.
So today, let us reflect on Lazarus emerging from the tomb, bound but alive, and hear Christ’s voice calling to us as well. Let us release whatever binds us—doubt, fear, despair—and accept his offer of eternal life. For the mercy of Christ reaches across every boundary, breaks every barrier, and brings life even from death itself.