It’s common for Catholics to hear the question, “Why do I have to go to a priest to have my sins forgiven?” I’ve never liked that question because not only is it clunky (confession is the ordinary way for the pardoning of serious sins, not lesser ones). But it misses the larger context: the wonderful origins of the sacrament itself. And this context is deeply Jewish.

When I was a young boy, my parents told me about their wedding. Then a few years later, they showed me my mother’s wedding dress and my dad’s suit. It was astonishing to see and touch garments that connected me to the event that led to my existence. Of course, I already believed they were married based on their word. But these holy garments made the event real and tangible for me.

Consider how useless it is to spread your clothes on the ground for a donkey to walk on. The clothes get smeared with hooves, and who knows the grimy places where they’ve been? The animal may leave some unsavory presents on them. They may get stolen by a thief looking to make a buck. The thorns, thistles, rocks and muck of the road will leave stains. The clothes may never be useful again, and you’ll probably walk home shivering without your normal covering. Yet this is precisely the gesture the people employ to welcome Jesus and his donkey. Why does this detail matter?

“The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery and made her stand in the middle” (John 8:3). Why do they make her stand in the middle? Why not expose her on the periphery? The reason is something that affects us practically every day.

The center is what stabilizes a community’s identity. We humans tend to center ourselves around an accused and condemned victim — though we rarely admit it. This renews our fragile communities and our power as those who weaponize the accusation. This is effective because it is often a victim who represents something truly dangerous for the group.