As I sat with the Word of God this Fourth Sunday of Lent, preparing for Mass, I came face to face with something I couldn’t ignore—the radical compassion of God. It leapt from the pages and found me.
I saw it first in Joshua 5:9, where the Lord says to Joshua, “Today I have removed the reproach of Egypt from you.” Such a loaded sentence. God not only leads them out of slavery but also wipes away the stain, the shame, the memory of their captivity. What a mercy.
Then in the Gospel, there it was again—this time in the eyes and arms of the father in Jesus’ parable. The son, known as the prodigal, hadn’t even spoken a word yet, and already, “While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him” (Luke 15:20). No interrogation. Just embrace. Just love poured out without condition.
And then Saint Paul drives it home with this thunderous truth: “Whoever is in Christ is a new creation: the old things have passed away; behold, new things have come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). A whole new life, not earned, but gifted. That’s the miracle we meet again and again in Lent: God removes our shame and restores us.
A Long Whisper of Grace
All of this feels like one long whisper of grace. A clear reminder that it all begins with God. That the first movement is always the Lord’s. It is God who initiates, God who invites, God who restores. It is He who rolls away our shame, who clothes us again in dignity, who lets us begin anew.
We try our best to heal, our best to be whole, yet we return to our wounds again and again. It’s God’s touch—His whisper of grace—that does the restoring.
When God says to Israel in Gilgal, “I have removed the reproach of Egypt from you,” it is not just a historical footnote. It’s a divine act with layered blessings—spiritual liberation from shame, a covenantal reinstatement of identity, a historical declaration that they are no longer what they used to be. It is healing within, expressed outwardly, and shinning forth for others to see and glorify God.
From a theological lens—both Jewish and Catholic—this moment announces redemption and renewal. In this act of mercy, God removes our shame and rolls away the weight of the past so we can walk forward in freedom and holiness.
Removing Your Shame
I think of many I’ve met—or others I’ve heard about—who live under the crushing weight of shame. It could be a family history riddled with secrets, addiction that loops like a dark spiral, infidelity that keeps bleeding through generations, violent abuse that leaves one feeling perpetually hunted by shame and pain, or the silent wound of poverty—so deep it becomes identity. Or the weight of always coming last… in school, at work, in life. Or simply never feeling loved or knowing the joy of being seen and valued. People whose stories feel like one long reproach.
And yet—God whispers hope. Healing. Restoration. It starts deep within, like water seeping into dry ground. Through baptism, we’re marked by what Saint Paul calls “the circumcision of Christ,” where the old flesh is put off and the new life begins (Colossians 2:11–12). Early Church Fathers like Origen and Theodoret of Cyrus saw this moment in Joshua as a prefiguration of baptism—a sacred washing that confirms what we believe: God removes our shame and calls us His own. “You are mine.”
Reconciled and Restored
When we are reconciled to God, as Paul says in 2 Corinthians 5:18–20, a great transformation occurs. We are not merely pardoned; we are made new. There is, as Saint Paul also writes elsewhere, “no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). None. Not a trace remains.
That robe the father places on the prodigal—oh, it says it all. Not just fabric clothing. It’s identity restored. Dignity reclaimed. It’s the sound of heaven saying, “You are my beloved. Let’s start again.” That’s what it looks like when God removes our shame—a return home, a beginning anew, clothed in grace.
