The Good News is... rooted in justice, mercy, and faithfulness

Scriptures: Matthew 23:23

John 8:2-11

There is Good by Hannah Garrity  (Inspired by Matthew 23:23)

At Highlands, we’ve begun sharing a weekly Message for All Ages to engage young people in ways they can understand. This week, in light of recent allegations about Cesar Chavez, we addressed the difficult topic of sexual abuse and learned about the incredible Dolores Huerta.

I have a question—Do you know who this is?

No? That’s okay. Her name is Dolores Huerta.

Can you believe she is 95 years old? She is almost the same age as Martin Luther King Jr. would have been. And like Martin Luther King, Dolores Huerta was an important civil rights leader.

Many years ago, she helped farm workers come together to demand better treatment and pay. She used her voice to stand up for people who were being treated unfairly.

But—would you believe that Dolores went to jail?

Not just once, but lots of times.

Now, we usually think of jail as a place for people who do bad things. But sometimes, people who are trying to do what’s right get in trouble.

That’s because not every law is fair, and sometimes doing the right thing means breaking the rules.

That’s why Dolores went to jail—she broke the rules to help all those farm workers who were being treated unfairly.

Jesus talked about this, too. He showed us that loving people and doing what is right matter more than just following rules.

Today, Dolores is still using her voice for good.

This week, she shared something very personal and very hard. She told people that many years ago, someone she had worked with had hurt her. This man was Cesar Chavez.

This made a lot of adults feel sad and angry, because they had looked up to him. There are parks and streets and schools named after him, and even a holiday in his honor.

Dolores didn’t speak up when it happened because she didn’t want to hurt the work they were doing together. She wanted to keep helping people.

She also didn’t know if people would believe her, because this happens sometimes.

But now, Dolores decided to tell people. The good news is that now, lots of people believe her!

It’s an important reminder.

Doing the right thing isn’t always easy. Sometimes it means telling the truth, even when it’s scary. Sometimes it means standing up for what is right, even if it gets you in trouble. And that kind of courage? That’s exactly what Jesus teaches us.

That sounds like good news to me—How about you?

Next, Rev. Delaney preached this sermon: "Rocks in our Hands: Mercy, Accountability, and the Justice of Jesus."

The Rev. Lizzie McManus-Dail once wrote that, “mercy is inconvenient… and brutal.” 

I agree.

Mercy is inconvenient… it can also be brutal… 

I would add that mercy often feels unsatisfying… at least at first.  

And it can also be really confusing. 

Why else would Jesus talk so much about mercy and forgiveness, if it weren’t something he knew we struggled with?

This past week, when I heard the news of Dolores Huerta’s abuse by her former boss and collaborator, Cesar Chavez, I immediately thought of the women in today’s story in the Gospel of John.  

For those who do not know. Dolores Huerta was one of the co-founders of the United Farm Workers, the labor union that has, since the 1960s, helped improve the working conditions for our country’s agricultural workers. 

A lifelong labor organizer, Dolores has also supported movements for the equal rights of women, LGBTQ people, and immigrants. 

The response to the growing allegations against Chavez has been swift. 

Statues are being taken down. 

Signs bearing his name were covered up or removed. 

Legislation is being passed to rename the federal holiday. 

Meanwhile, Dolores has gone into hiding, fearing the public backlash against her, which has also been swift and strong. 

Emotions right now are running high—so many admired Chavez, not only his activism, but also his deep Catholic faith. He often interpreted the struggle for social justice through the lens of catholic social teaching. And while all of this describes Dolores Huerta as well, it was Chavez who has been elevated, his moral leadership celebrated at the highest levels of our society. 

Hearing of his abuses of women and girls is too much for some to make sense of—and so they reject the victims of his abuses. 

And so, as often happens in these cases, Dolores is facing criticism for her decision to finally speak out. If the allegations are true, didn’t she say anything before?! 

Like the unnamed women in John, the self-righteous are circling Dolores… and they are carrying rocks in their hands. 

Now, by relating Dolores Huerta’s story, which is supported by the testimony of at least two other victims, to the woman of our Gospel lesson. I am knowingly casting this unnamed woman in a sympathetic light. 

I imagine that here, Jesus embodies mercy towards a woman who has received little mercy in her life. 

But perhaps, echoing the words once again of Rev. Lizzie, “these are my own protective instincts kicking in for women in patriarchal places.” 

I, too, desire to defend women who have so often been mistreated within patriarchal society and religion. 

But, it’s entirely possible this unnamed woman “deserves” little of what Jesus is offering her.

She very well could have messed up in her marriage. She could have hurt others in the process. 

It could also be true that she made some terrible choices, hurt others, and had also been given little mercy in her own life. 

Like most human beings, she is likely neither a perfect victim or villian.  

That is exactly why mercy is brutal… and inconvenient.

Because mercy is rarely earned. 

And we don’t always like this… especially when it's given to others. 

Recently, I read an essay provocatively titled, “We Want Mercy, not Accountability—Until it's Someone Else.” 

In it, the author describes the “Accountability Trap.” It’s our tendency to expect radical accountability from others, while extending radical mercy to ourselves.

A quick example: 

If I'm driving and I cut in front of you because I’m late, I tell myself I had a good reason. But if you cut me off, suddenly you’re reckless, irresponsible, and maybe you shouldn’t even be on the road.

It’s a humorous example. But if we’re honest, it’s how we so often move through the world.

And it’s because of this tendency of ours that practicing mercy in our own lives is among the hardest things we can do.

It means letting go of the score we keep in our heads—every slight, every misstep, of others. The running record of a partner’s or a child’s mistakes. The quiet pile of resentments we carry toward co-workers, neighbors, or friends.

“Mercy is,” as Rev. Lizzie continues, “a practice of hoping and knowing that there is more than the thing that hurts us.” 

But sometimes—and this is what makes mercy so brutal and confusing, at least to me—the hurt we carry is far bigger than small slights or everyday annoyances that build over time.

Sometimes the harm is real and deep. Hurt like Dolores Huerta has been carrying silently for decades.

Hurt that I am sure many of us in this room know ourselves. 

Oftentimes, these hurts are the fruits of injustice; the result of systems and cultural forces—like patriarchy and misogyny, exploitative working conditions, and cruel immigration laws.

That’s why mercy so often presents us with the real dilemma—the tension between mercy and justice. 

I find this difficult because of the specific scenarios I’ve seen. 

Like the pastor who urges a congregation to forgive someone accused of sexual assault, while quietly working to keep the abuse hidden from police and the public.

Or the willingness of many in this country to have a president who has been found liable for sexual abuse and is facing multiple serious allegations.

In situations like these, mercy is twisted into something it was never meant to be. Instead of a path toward healing, it becomes a shield for the powerful—protecting those who have done harm from accountability. 

That is what is so profound about this story in the Gospel of John. 

In today’s story, we find Jesus facing a similar dilemma between mercy and accountability. 

Conflict between Jesus and the religious leadership of the day is brewing. Some biblical interpreters argue that the real target of their stoning was not the woman, but Jesus. 

As they laid out their case against the woman, they demanded a response from Jesus. It’s a test—about legal procedure. And they’ve devised this test knowing that whichever path is taken, they could use it against him. 

Under Roman rule, local authorities were not permitted to carry out capital punishment—only a Roman official could impose the death penalty. So if Jesus had said the woman should be stoned, he would have been violating Roman law and could have been charged with sedition.

And more than that, it would have contradicted everything he had been teaching about mercy, grace, and forgiveness.

But if he told them to let her go, it would appear that he was disregarding the law of Moses. The law is clear: “If a man is found lying with the wife of another man, both of them shall die” (Deuteronomy 22:22).

*I will note there is no mention of this other man. Only the woman has been brought forward. So it does seem to be a hypocritical interpretation of this law, regardless. 

So you can see the trap they’ve set. If Jesus affirms the law, he risks Roman punishment. If he resists it, he risks being seen as unfaithful to God’s commands to his community. 

They are forcing him into an impossible choice: uphold the Mosaic law and face Roman consequences, or comply with Roman authority and appear to abandon the law of Moses—either way, discrediting him in the eyes of the people.

These men are trying to trap Jesus into a choice between gentleness and righteousness; between mercy and justice.

But as he so often does, Jesus refuses the terms of the trap altogether.

Here I am reminded of Matthew 23:23. 

In this passage, Jesus is bemoaning the hypocrisy of religious leaders. 

He says—“Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of your spices—mint… dill… cumin. You give all these spices! But you neglect the weightier matters of the law—justice, mercy, and faithfulness. These you ought to have practiced, without neglecting the others.”

Jesus is helping us to see that God’s justice is not at odds with mercy. Faithfulness to God is not separate from mercy. It’s all bound together—justice, mercy, faithfulness.

That’s why Jesus turns to the crowd—hands clenched around their stones, eager to discredit him, seemingly unmoved by the harm they are doing to this woman.

And instead of answering them, he bends down and begins to write in the dust. Is he ignoring them? Stalling? Writing a warning… or perhaps the 10 commandments…? We don’t know.

But when they keep pressing him, Jesus stands up and says, “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”

It’s not a dismissal of accountability—it’s a demand for it.

Jesus forces them to confront the very double standard we so often live by: expecting justice from others, while extending mercy to ourselves.

One by one, the stones fall. One by one, they walk away—until only the woman remains, standing there with Jesus.

They cannot condemn her, because each of them knows their own need for mercy.

And Jesus does not condemn her either… 

Because God’s justice does not look like ours.

God’s goodness is not retributive—It is not rooted in punishment or payback—it’s generative. It’s Life rising up in the face of death. Human dignity persisting where harm has been. God's justice delights in restoration. It rejoices in a life reclaimed.

Which is why Jesus can say, all at once, both things:  “Neither do I condemn you… Go, and sin no more.”

Mercy does not ignore wrongdoing or harm. And justice does not abandon mercy.In God’s equation, they belong together.

So may we be people who practice all three—justice, mercy, and faithfulness—trusting that even when it feels brutal or inconvenient, mercy is the way God uplifts and affirms,

true life… true justice… true joy.

And that is Good News for us all.  

This sermon was originally preached by Rev. Delaney Piper on 322/25.