John 8:1-11

Caught. The heaviness of the word tangled itself within her throat. Her hair, pinned and combed only hours before, now served as a leash, pulling her to her doom. These men didn't seem to mind her attire (or lack thereof). They also didn't seem to be bothered by the streams of coal makeup flowing down her bloodless face, or the rips in her clothing. In fact, they rather enjoyed it. "You weren't fighting so hard a minute ago, whore," one of them said. She reached up to slap him but her wrist was caught by another man, covered in robes. "Don't let the filth touch you," he said to his friend. "You might catch something." The woman was consumed in grief. Men are all alike, she thought. They want something from you, and once they get it, they are done. Nothing but an object to be used and discarded. Even these men, though not sexually enticed by her, seemed to have some other purpose. It was evident in the speed they exhibited, the eagerness and excitement displayed as if coming home from a long hunt with fresh meat for the family. Why couldn't they have just stoned her when they caught her? Why this public display of humiliation? She couldn't bear to look at the crowds that had begun to follow. Children stopped their play and looked at her, mothers covering their eyes, protecting their sons and daughters from this "thing of iniquity." Suddenly, a memory came to her mind: a little girl in her daddy's arms, singing songs to Jehovah God. A sudden burst of pain, blood filled her mouth. So much for that, she thought. The little girl had grown up quickly when Father had given her away. "Sacrifices must be made," he had said. "Our family has to eat somehow." And so it had begun. Beauty comes with a price, and how she had paid it over and over again. Every time she entered a new chamber, the same wave of nausea mixed with a feeling of darkness encompassed her. And to think she had once thought of going to the church and asking for help...these religious zealots were only more than happy to "help" her now.
Suddenly, the pulling ceased and she was flung to the floor. Willfully opening her eyes, she glanced around. People stared from every angle. It seemed as though she was in the middle of some kind of circle. Had they all come just to see her? To point their fingers in scorn? She spat at them. The men began to talk to someone, a man drawing in the sand. She heard her sins listed one by one, then could hear nothing but the wracking of her own sobs within her throat. Oh God, just make it fast. Death would be better than this humiliation. The man in the sand glanced up and spoke to the group. A hush went throughout the crowd. What was it that he said? She winced, expecting to feel the blow of the stones the crowd had been collecting on their way to the meeting. Thump. Thump. What was happening? Afraid to open her eyes, she laid on the ground, her body tensed, waiting for the first rush of pain. It didn't come. Instead, a touch. Someone was helping her up. As she opened her eyes, she looked into the face of the man writing in the sand. Expecting to see condemnation, she instead felt something new: peace, love, compassion, grief for her trials. Who is this man?
He began to wipe the tears from her eyes. He spoke: "Woman, where are they? Did no one condemn you?" She glanced around, seeing stones discarded where angry men had stood moments before. She couldn't understand what had happened, but one thing she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt: this man was no ordinary man. No one had ever looked at her that way. Instead of desiring flesh, lust, pleasure, it seemed as though he desired to help her. To restore her. Feeling that she should respond, she muttered, "No one, Lord." A hand flew to her mouth. What had she just called him? Would the men come running back in, picking up their stones, screaming "blasphemy"? But for some reason, she could not take it back. The word had flown from her mouth naturally, out of her control.
He gazed at her lovingly, helping her onto her feet. "I do not condemn you, either. Go. From now on sin no more."
She stared intently into his eyes, searching for some explanation. But all she saw was forgiveness. Love. Mercy. She straightened her dress and turned away. Though she could not explain what had happened, she knew that her life would never be the same. Love had met her and changed her in a way that was incommunicable. A smile crossed her lips, and for a moment, she felt like the little girl once again. Clean.


May we all feel the touch of forgiveness, love, and restoration like the adulterous woman. May I be reminded every day that she and I are one and the same. And there is a Savior who has forgiven the both of us, and His blood has made us clean and set us free. May the mere thought of it overwhelm us.