There is a legend told about a young soldier who served in Napoleon's army. He didn’t want to be there—he had been conscripted into service against his will. Eventually, he decided to desert and ran away, trying to return home. But he didn’t get far before he was arrested by other soldiers. At that time, desertion was considered a serious offense, punishable by death. So the young man was imprisoned and sentenced to die.
His mother, upon learning what had happened, was determined to save her son's life. She managed to find Napoleon one day while he was out in public and begged him to show mercy. Napoleon replied, “But your son does not deserve mercy.” The mother answered, “I know. If he deserved it, it wouldn’t be mercy.”
She was exactly right.
Mercy, which stands at the heart of today’s Gospel, is not something we earn. It's not something we deserve. Mercy is a gift—freely given. And just like the mother's plea for her son's life, God's mercy is not based on merit. It's rooted in love, and it restores life.
In today’s Gospel, we hear the story of a woman caught in adultery, brought before Jesus by the religious leaders. But this is not a scene of justice—it's a trap. They want to corner Jesus, to put him in a no-win situation. The Law of Moses commanded that both the man and woman caught in adultery should be stoned. But under Roman law, Jewish leaders were not permitted to carry out executions. So they ask Jesus, essentially: “Are you going to follow Moses or the Romans?” Either way, they think, he’ll be discredited.
But even worse than the legal trickery is the way the woman is treated. She isn’t spoken to. She isn’t even acknowledged as a person. She’s simply labeled: adulteress, sinner. She's being used—instrumentalized—as a pawn to trap Jesus. Her dignity is ignored.
And yet, in this moment of injustice and humiliation, Jesus responds with extraordinary wisdom and compassion. First, he turns the trap inside out: “Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to cast a stone.” He's not rejecting the law—he’s revealing the hypocrisy of those trying to use it as a weapon.
One by one, her accusers slip away, starting with the elders, who perhaps recognized the truth more quickly. Then Jesus, for the first time in the whole scene, turns to the woman. He addresses her directly. He restores her dignity. He doesn't condemn her. Instead, he offers mercy—and a future: “Go, and sin no more.”
Jesus doesn’t deny her wrongdoing, but he refuses to let her be defined by it. He refuses to let her be reduced to her worst moment. In offering her mercy, he restores her life—literally and spiritually. He is the only one in the entire scene who sees her as a person, not a problem.
There’s a saying often associated with this Gospel:
“God knows your sins but calls you by your name. The devil knows your name but calls you by your sins.”
That’s the contrast we see so vividly here. The religious leaders act as the accuser—naming only the sin. Jesus, in contrast, knows her sins, but calls her into a new future. He knows who she is, not just what she has done.
This Gospel is a powerful reminder and challenge for us—to imitate Jesus in our own lives. It’s easy to fall into the trap of naming people by their failings, especially in the age of gossip, social media, and quick judgments. And sometimes we give our gossip a little "Catholic seasoning"—we share unflattering stories about others under the noble-sounding pretext: “I’m only telling you so you can pray for them.”
Let’s be honest: that’s not mercy. That’s what the Pharisees were doing—focusing on someone’s sin and ignoring their name, their humanity.
To be merciful like Jesus, we must first recognize our own need for mercy. When we’re honest about our own faults—our need for forgiveness—it becomes easier to extend that same compassion to others. We’ve all fallen. We’ve all been forgiven. Mercy is not earned—it’s received, and then shared.
As we journey deeper into Lent and approach Holy Week, we’re invited to reflect on this great mercy of God. In the days ahead, we’ll have opportunities to celebrate the Sacrament of Reconciliation—a beautiful chance to accept that mercy for ourselves.
So let us remember today: Jesus knows our sins, yes—but he calls each of us by our name, because he loves us. Let us do the same for others.
