Neither do I condemn you. John 8-11 (NLT)
Light spilled onto the bed, where a woman thought she heard voices…
“It’s just a beggar…” A man whispered, pulling her face down to meet his.
But the voices grew louder and angrier…
Her heart, that was racing with passion, was now beating with fear.
Was it her husband?
The door flew open, anger entered, her lover dove seeking his own protection, leaving her naked, unprotected. She grabbed her garment just as arms closed around her dragging her from the bed.
“What do you want? Who are you?”
The woman struggled to break free, her cries hung ignored in the air. As the tangled group leaked onto the streets, so did her dignity.
She shouldn’t have listened to his pretty speech, responded to his tender touch, ventured through the morning twilight, knocked on his door…
She knew death awaited.
They saw everything… she couldn’t deny it.
They arrived at their destination and she was thrown before a familiar but unexpected man. They were not in court. The angry mob, some she recognised, had brought her before Jesus, the dangerous teacher.
She was thrown at his feet. Looking down at the ground, dust filling her nose, she could see what was happening. After all, where was her lover and partner in crime? Or her husband?
This was a set up and once again, she was a pawn in the schemes of men. Used up, thrown away.
Accusations circled around her, taunting… threatening.
The man who had grabbed her so tightly that blackness was already peeking through her skin yelled to Jesus:
“The law demands it. What do you say?”
Jesus knelt to the ground. The crowd had cleared and there was a space of earth before him where he began to write.
Despite the overwhelming fear, the woman suddenly thought of Moses, who had walked down Mt Zion with earthen stones carved upon by the hands of God.
Perhaps these hands.
Could these be new commands He authored in the ground?
Jesus rose and said “The sinless one among you, go first: Throw the stone.”
Silence.
Jesus returned to the dust right next to the quivering woman.
One by one, every accuser, every man, every member of that angry crowd, walked away.
Only Jesus and the tear stained, barely dressed, battered woman remained.
“Does no one condemn you?” Smiled Jesus.
Bewildered and mystified, she looked into eyes of hope.
“No.” She stammered.
“Neither do I condemn you.”
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