Homily for April 6, 2025

St. Jerome said that “ignorance of Scripture is ignorance of Christ,” meaning that we cannot know Christ if we are not familiarized with the Bible. It doesn’t mean you have to know chapter & verse of everything you’ve read, but if we’re not familiar with how God has revealed Himself to us, what God has done for us, and the promises He’s made to those who love Him,   our relationship with Him is drastically limited.   Today’s readings reveal to us how God works, what He does, and even teaches us to pray.

The prophet Isaiah is borrowing words from at least two Psalms.   He says, Thus says the Lord, who opens a way in the sea and a path in the mighty waters – that’s Psalm 77! – Remember not the events of the past, the things of long ago consider not – close to Psalm 25, which says, Remember not the sins of my youth, or my transgressions.   The Psalms are rich & full of human emotion: from great joy and thanksgiving to desolation & anguish.   They’re the prayers for generations, even that Jesus prayed—most famously: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.

When St. Paul is writing to the Philippians, I can hear the closeness – it’s like I’m talking with a close friend who’s confiding with me something deeply personal: Brothers and sisters: I consider everything as a loss b/c 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.

Something in common about all these human authors of the Scriptures is the honesty they’re writing with.   In the book of the prophet Isaiah, it’s the Lord Himself who’s telling him to not [remember] the events of the past.    The Lord is telling Isaiah that He has already gone past those things and doesn’t hold them against him, so the Lord says: see, I am doing something new!

God Himself teaches us how to pray—that when the Lord forgives, He asks us to look past those things; He also invites us to forgive ourselves.   It doesn’t mean that the things of the past don’t have consequences to this day for us, but that we need to move past our mistakes and see what God is doing in our life now—something new!   This is the kind of honesty that St. Paul gives us. He is speaking to us as someone who has given his whole life to Christ and everything else is as rubbish!

I would be quick to say: ‘That’s a saint speaking right there!’   But he knows that that’s what those listening would say, so St. Paul makes it clear saying:   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.   Talk about someone with a past! St. Paul is certainly not an exception—responsible for the first Christian martyr, St. Stephen, and for the persecution of many Christians.Talk about struggling to move past the sins of his youth!

But what’s significant here is St. Paul’s honesty before God.   He has turned away from his sins, yes; but he’s still on the road and says, I continue my pursuit toward the goal, the prize of God’s upward calling, in Christ Jesus.

Now think of this poor woman, caught in the very act of committing adultery. It was a grave sin & there’s no hint of doubt it happened! She wasn’t caught accidentally carrying her mat on the sabbath—no, she has to face the consequences of offending her spouse or the man’s wife (or both!).   Surprisingly, she doesn’t advocate for herself: ‘I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me. They’re lying!’

She knows that we can hide nothing from God. God has caught us in the very act of committing every sin.   And, even at the face of that reality, all that God asks is our humble honesty and contrition.   She showed contrition where only God could see it—in her heart.   Jesus knew this, so He protected her from the evil ones.   They couldn’t care less about this woman—they have no clue what she’s gone through to fall into that sin; but God does!   All they cared about was finding something to corner Jesus into contradicting the Law—they could care less at what cost: even to the point of carrying the death penalty on a woman who committed a sin of weakness.

And now, who’s the one w/o sin? Let the one among you who is w/o sin be the first to throw a stone at her.   The all-knowing God is protecting the one being condemned.   Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you? … Neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on do not sin any more.

What led her to God’s forgiveness?   It wasn’t begging or advocating for herself—much less lying about what actually happened—it was honesty, accepting that she had sinned, and being contrite/sorry for her past sins.   That’s what led to her being forgiven by God almighty. That’s what scared the scribes and Pharisees away:   they realized that they are also in need of forgiveness/that they could also be stoned should their sins come to light.   The only difference is that she was caught publicly and is being ridiculed as a means to make Jesus tangled up in His own words.    They utterly fail, as we know. They failed at the face of a strong honest woman.   (Tomorrow at Mass, too, we’ll listen to one of my favorite stories in the Bible: of another strong woman in the face of an unjust trial, Susana—go read Daniel Ch. 13 for a powerful witness of trust in God.)

In the end, it turned out that this woman, caught in sin, was stronger than the men condemning her. She gives us a glimpse of what will be Jesus’s own trial: He remains silent. Only difference? He’s actually innocent—He could speak up for Himself and say: ‘This is a misunderstanding; I have committed no sin.’   And yet, Christ chooses to remain silent.   In her silence, too, God teaches us to pray—it’s not about eloquent or many words.   The most powerful prayer is a change of heart.