The term “gaslight” has re-entered our vocabulary in the last decade. Which is pretty remarkable when you realize the origin of it comes from nearly a century ago, from an obscure British play, called, unsurprisingly “Gaslight.”  In the play, a husband manipulates his wife into believing she is losing her mind in order to control her and gain access to her inheritance. He does that by ever so slightly dimming the gas lights in their home. When she notices it or asks about it, he argues that there’s no change, he doesn’t know what she’s talking about, it must be something in her own mind. Which leads to her to then start doubting her own perceptions and sanity.

Thank you for taking the time to read this homily for the FIFTH SUNDAY OF LENT (April 6, 2025). Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.

And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me.  Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim

Sound familiar? Maybe not the gas lights part, but the manipulation? In our digital age, gaslighting has taken on new forms. We see it in toxic relationships, on social media, in comments sections where people try to make others question their experiences, memories, and even their worth.

We’ve become experts at digital gaslighting. Someone posts about their mental health struggles, and commenters tell them they’re just seeking attention. A person shares their experience of discrimination, and others rush to explain why they’re “too sensitive.” We screenshot conversations before they can be deleted, save posts before they’re edited, because we live in a world where our reality is constantly under siege. Like those dimming gas lights, the truth seems to flicker and fade until we’re not sure what’s real anymore.

But here’s the thing – gaslighting isn’t new. In fact, we see a similar dynamic play out in today’s Gospel from John, where we encounter the woman caught in adultery.  The religious leaders weren’t just accusing her of a sin; they were trying to manipulate the entire situation. Think about it: where was the man involved? It takes two to commit adultery, yet they only dragged her before Jesus. They weren’t seeking justice – they were using her shame to set a trap for Jesus while making her doubt her very right to exist.

We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Maybe not caught in adultery, but we’ve all had moments when others tried to define our reality for us. When they’ve tried to make us feel smaller, less worthy, less human. Some of the scribes and Pharisees became masters at this – using religion itself as a weapon of manipulation. They were the original online trolls, twisting the law to serve their own agenda, using public shame as a form of control.

But Jesus? He flips the script entirely. “Let the one without sin cast the first stone.” With one sentence, He exposes the gaslighting for what it is. He doesn’t deny that adultery is wrong – sin is still sin – but He refuses to let them manipulate this moment into something it’s not. He sees through their game, just like He sees through the games we play today.

This is where it gets real for us, especially in our hyper-connected world. We’re quick to point fingers, quick to shame others on social media, quick to join the mob with stones in our hands – or nowadays, with keyboards under our fingers. We create callout threads, compile receipts, and participate in pile-ons, all while convincing ourselves we’re serving justice. But are we? Or are we just the scribes and Pharisees with better technology?

Think about how Jesus handles this situation. He doesn’t start a debate. He doesn’t create a thread explaining why the accusers are wrong. Instead, He bends down and writes in the dirt. What was He writing? The Gospel doesn’t tell us, but maybe that’s the point. Sometimes, in our rush to respond, to post, to comment, to share, we need to slow down and let the dust settle.

When Jesus finally speaks, He forces everyone present to confront their own brokenness. One by one, they walk away, from the oldest to the youngest. Age, it seems, brings wisdom – or at least enough self-awareness to recognize our own capacity for sin. In our world of carefully curated online personas and Instagram filters, how often do we allow ourselves this kind of honest self-reflection?

The power of this moment isn’t just in what Jesus says to the accusers – it’s in what happens next. When Jesus says to the woman, “Neither do I condemn you,” He’s not saying her actions were okay. He’s not an ancient version of “you do you.” Instead, He’s showing us what real truth looks like – truth wrapped in mercy. It’s a stark contrast to gaslighting, which uses lies to destroy. Jesus uses truth to restore.

We live in an unusual time – a world of extremes – either everything is permissible, or nothing is forgivable. Cancel culture tells us one strike and you’re out. Moral relativism tells us there are no strikes at all. But Jesus shows us a different way: one that acknowledges the reality of sin while refusing to let sin have the final word.

“Go and sin no more,” He tells her. These words carry weight because they come after “Neither do I condemn you.” Without mercy, this command would be just another stone. But paired with mercy, it becomes an invitation to repentance and conversion. It’s like the difference between someone commenting “Do better” on your post versus a friend privately messaging to check if you’re okay.

So what does this mean for us? It means we need to be people who neither gaslight nor cast stones. When we see someone struggling, caught in their own mess – or when we’re caught in ours – we’re called to respond with truth and mercy. Not excuses, not manipulation, not shame – but with the same dignity Jesus showed that woman.

This might look like:

Choosing to listen without judgment when someone shares their struggles

Speaking difficult truths with gentleness instead of using them as weapons

Remembering our own need for mercy when tempted to condemn others

Creating spaces in our families and communities where people feel safe being honest about their failures

Pope Benedict XVI reminds us: “Holiness does not consist in never having erred or sinned. Holiness increases the capacity for conversion, for repentance, for willingness to start again.” We might feel weak, fragile, or unworthy – just like that woman probably did. But God isn’t in the business of gaslighting. He doesn’t manipulate us about our sin or our worth. Instead, He invites us to see ourselves as He sees us: beloved children capable of more than our worst moments.

As we journey deeper into these final weeks of Lent, the contrast between light and darkness grows starker. We’ll walk with Jesus toward Jerusalem, where the interplay of truth and deception, of mercy and judgment, will reach its climax at Calvary. These aren’t just ancient stories – they’re a mirror for our own choices today. Will we be people who bring light into the shadows of others’ lives, or will we add to their confusion? Will we speak truth with the gentleness of Christ, or manipulate others for our own ends? Will we offer mercy in a world quick to cast stones? Because in the end, that’s exactly what Jesus did for us – even as the shadows of the cross loomed before Him, He chose light over darkness, truth over manipulation, mercy over condemnation. And that’s what He’s calling us to do for others. In a world of flickering lights and manipulated truths, we’re called to be people who help others see clearly – not by shaming them, but by showing them the same mercy we’ve received at the foot of the cross. In the end, we all stand in that circle with stones in our hands. But Jesus shows us there’s always another choice – to drop our stones, open our hearts, and let His mercy transform both the accused and the accusers. This is how light conquers darkness. This is how the divine mercy of Christ converts the world.