The Commemoration of Saint Turibius of Mogrovejo
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He guides me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
He restores my soul. He guides me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, They comfort me.
You prepare a table before me In the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil. My cup runs over.
Surely goodness and loving kindness shall follow me all the days of my life, And I will dwell in the Lord's house forever.
But Jesus went to the Mount of Olives.
Now very early in the morning, he came again into the temple, and all the people came to him. He sat down and taught them. The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman taken in adultery. Having set her in the middle, They told him, "Teacher, we found this woman in adultery, in the very act. Now in our law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. What then do you say about her?" They said this testing him, that they might have something to accuse him of.
But Jesus stooped down and wrote on the ground with his finger. But when they continued asking him, he looked up and said to them, "He who is without sin among you, let him throw the first stone at her." Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground with his finger.
They, when they heard it, being convicted by their conscience, went out one by one, beginning from the oldest, even to the last. Jesus was left alone with the woman where she was, in the middle. Jesus, standing up, saw her and said, "Woman, where are your accusers? Did no one condemn you?"
She said, "No one, Lord."
Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you. Go your way. From now on, sin no more."
Saint Turibius of Mogrovejo spent his life as Archbishop of Lima defending indigenous peoples and reforming a corrupt church in colonial Peru. His legacy reminds us that true pastoral care means protecting the vulnerable and speaking truth to power.
The woman caught in adultery stands exposed before a crowd hungry for judgment. Notice how the scribes and Pharisees use her shame as a weapon against Jesus – she becomes a pawn in their theological chess game. Yet something profound happens in that dusty temple courtyard. While her accusers clutch their stones, Jesus bends down and writes in the dirt, creating space for conscience to work.
There's a rhythm here worth pondering: accusation, silence, reflection, departure. The oldest leave first – perhaps wisdom recognizes its own failures more readily than youth does. What emerges isn't cheap grace that ignores wrongdoing, but mercy that sees beyond the moment of failure to the person's capacity for transformation.
The psalm's gentle shepherd imagery frames this encounter beautifully. Even in valleys shadowed by shame and public humiliation, divine presence offers restoration rather than destruction. The table prepared "in the presence of enemies" becomes real in Jesus's final words to the woman – not condemnation, but invitation to a new way of living.
This tension between accountability and mercy plays out constantly in our relationships. Consider how we respond when others fail – do we reach for stones of judgment or create space for genuine change? The movement from "sin no more" suggests transformation is possible, but it requires both honest acknowledgment of harm and genuine commitment to different choices.
How do we balance holding people accountable while still extending compassion? When have we experienced the kind of mercy that actually empowered us to change rather than simply excusing our behavior?