Gospel Reflection for Sunday, April 6, 2025

«Let the one without sin throw the first stone»

Dear brothers and sisters, peace and goodness to you.

What do we do when everything seems lost? Sometimes, we fear—or even convince ourselves—that we’re the last Christian generation, that it’s time to «close up shop» and turn off the lights. But neither the history of the world nor the history of faith is in our hands—it’s in God’s. Salvation isn’t just a thing of the past; it’s not about nostalgia. We’re living a new kairós—a fresh moment of faith and salvation.

We must have faith. Faith like the royal official in this week’s Liturgy, who turned around and went home without question when Jesus told him his son was healed. Faith that God makes all things new, even when we can’t see it yet. The first reading reminds us: paths in the desert, streams in the wasteland, relief for your worried heart. We need new eyes to see what God is doing here and now.

God’s thoughts are nothing like ours! His way of seeing people—of seeing the world—is completely different. Why? Think of last Sunday’s Gospel: the merciful father welcomed his son, despite his shameful actions. God’s mercy is overwhelming, patient, beyond our grasp. He has a Father’s heart, arms that always welcome, and eyes that only look with love.

The first reading tells us: God acted in the past, and He’s still acting today. His love keeps showing up in ways even more surprising than the Israelites’ desert miracles—but we need eyes of faith to see them.

Paul’s words are clear: you’ll never reach the bottom of the Christian mystery. You’ll never say, «I’ve experienced it all, and I’m satisfied.» Your thirst is infinite—but the water Christ offers is infinitely infinite (if that makes sense!). You’ve already reached the goal—or rather, God’s grace has placed you there. Yet, at the same time, the goal still calls you forward. You’re in it (indicative), but you’re also called to keep moving toward it (imperative).

Put simply: it’s about diving deeper into an endless experience, growing in a journey with no finish line. You’re in a goal that never ends. That’s where your certainty comes from: you’re not lost—you’re found. And that’s where your fire comes from: you’re called to win God, to win Christ—realities both ancient and new, timeless yet fresh.

New creations must turn the page. Paul saw his Jewish past as a closed chapter, despite its achievements. After meeting Christ, he could say: «I let go of those old trophies. I won’t build my identity on myself. The truest part of me is being rooted in Christ’s Passover—where God’s love was revealed to me as Father. My old life had something unhealthy at its core.»

Today’s Gospel says everyone flocked to Jesus. They saw something in Him that other teachers lacked. They said, «This Rabbi teaches with authority—not like the scribes and Pharisees.» And yet, this Nazarene had no formal training. His wisdom was different—not human, but divine. The reason people came? Faith. That same faith should move us to listen to Jesus, who still speaks through His Church today. (That’s the big difference between any wise theologian and the Pope. The Pope deserves our respect and obedience always; a scholar only when their reasoning aligns with the Church.)

Today’s Gospel scene plays out like a movie. Imagine the tension: the heat, the noise, the shouts, maybe the woman’s tears as she stood exposed before the crowd. Her adultery was just an excuse to trap Jesus. They put her in the center—evil on display—and demanded a verdict. Two forms of justice clashed: the scribes’ and Pharisees’ way, and Jesus’ way. He knew their game. In that dramatic moment, He bent down and wrote on the ground—maybe to calm the frenzy, to create silence so they could see as He sees.

When the crowd pressed Him, Jesus looked up and spoke words that echo beyond believers: «Let the one without sin throw the first stone.» What a lesson for them (they left, starting with the elders—bad intentions, but some conscience, it seems) and for us, who so easily judge others. We forget: «Do not judge, and you will not be judged» and «The measure you use will be measured back to you.» It’s easier to accuse than defend, to focus on faults rather than mercy.

Let’s try shifting our perspective—be kinder in judgment. Or better yet, let God be the just judge, while we stay merciful. As Christians, let’s seek what Jesus gave this woman: compassion. This Lent, let’s ask: Do I react to others’ flaws as a judge—or as someone who understands and helps?

Jesus’ final words—«Neither do I condemn you»—were so radical that early Christians sometimes omitted this passage. He doesn’t excuse sin (adultery is serious; it hurts people and breaks families). But He refuses to condemn the person. His sexual morality is demanding, yet He calls us to help those who stray, not crush them. That’s true justice.

Today, let’s ask: Where can I bring healing—in my family, work, relationships, society? Lent’s final week is here; Easter’s near. If you haven’t yet, experience God’s mercy in Confession. His forgiveness has no limits. Imagine if we all added a little more love, joy, and hope to the world—like God does for us.

Your brother in faith,