I’m thinking tonight about the woman known forever by her sin and not her name: The Woman Caught in Adultery. I think about her a lot, maybe because, other than the gender, I identify quite closely with her plight. You can read her story, if you need a refresher, In the first eleven verses of chapter 8 of John’s gospel (I know that’s a lot of prepositions, but I’m too tired to rewrite that sentence).
The long and short of it is this: this woman was caught in the act having sex with a man she wasn’t married to. The people who caught her (and likely set her up in an effort to trap Jesus) dragged her to Jesus, half-naked or worse, and demanded he decide whether not she should be stoned, as Moses commanded. Jesus wrote some stuff in the dirt and invited any innocent person there to go ahead and throw the first stone. No one did. Instead, all the accusers slipped away and Jesus turned to the woman and said he didn’t condemn her either. He sent her on her way with an admonition (Encouragement? Reminder?) to sin no more. It’s a great story, no doubt, and it’s taken it’s place in the Bible Story Hall of Fame. But I have questions:
1. Jesus told the woman to “sin no more.” Was there an implied or else added to the end of that command?
2. What if she did “sin more?” How many times could she return to or be dragged before Jesus before he would say, “That’s it! I’m done with you!”?
3. What does our response to that last question suggest about how feel we would be received by Jesus when we are dragged by our accusing conscience into his presence?
4. Are we expecting rocks or redemption? 5. How many failures will we allow ourselves before we decide we’ve used up all of Heaven’s mercy?
4. Who told you you were naked?
5. Is the arm of the Lord too short to save, or his ear too deaf to hear (Isaiah 59:1)?
I suppose I should provide answers whenever I pose questions like this, but “How should I presume”? If I’m being completely transparent, I must tell you I’m still struggling with the implications of what I know the answers to these questions must be. I’ve never quite grasped the scandal that is the Grace of God. I keep wanting to dress it up in appropriate church attire, but I can’t find anything in that closet that fits. So I’ll leave these questions here while I go and wrestle awhile with the angel. Oh, and one more question:
If you were to be identified forever by whatever was your most prominent trait, the way the Woman Caught in Adultery, or the Woman at the Well have been, what would you be called?
Peace . . .
