She wasn’t on trial. The woman stood in the midst of the crowd already condemned by the powers that be. She had been caught in the act of adultery, or so the leaders said. These leaders, judges over the Jewish people in all things pertaining to the law, presented her, in all her shame, before Jesus. Though her guilt had been decided, her fate seemed cast into the hands of a “rebel-rouser” from Galilee. At this point, she was merely a pawn in a plot to catch Jesus in some evasion of the law. Jesus, not the woman, was on trial. If he were to pick up a stone along with them, he would justify the religious leaders, making their claim of authority valid. Or, maybe they hoped his unwarranted compassion would move him to push aside the law a bit and call them to make an exception in her case. After all, he was known for his compassion and his indiscriminate association with ne’er-do-wells and generally unclean, common folks.
I can’t help but think that as the condemned woman stood before him, Jesus saw his own bride.
The Old Testament tells us that the nation of Israel was a people chosen by God, much as a man chooses a woman to be his bride. He brought her into a binding covenant by her own agreement. But time and again, she violated this covenant union to seek protection, wealth, power and glory from everyone else but God. She traded the riches of God’s blessing for what her eyes and heart desired from the nations.
Before the law, Israel’s sin was clear, and she stood not only guilty, but but abused. As she searched high and low to gain for herself what she feared she might not have in God, she was mistreated, scorned, and mocked. These nations merely used her as a pawn in a game as they clamored after their own power, protection, wealth, and glory. Sadly, Israel spent generations moving from abuser to abuser in willing submission, blindly chasing after all she had been promised within a covenant relationship with God, her husband.
It was for this nation, this adulterous bride, that Jesus had come.
After silently writing who-knows-what in the sand, Jesus gave room for the law to run its course. He said, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”
This was a moment of exposure, of clarity; an apocalyptic moment, when the veil was pulled back from the eyes of all present that they might see the truth of the situation. This revelation was a moment of grace.
As the story continues, the religious leaders who saw it their duty to judge others according to the law began to drop their stones. In this moment, they had miraculously displayed the clarity to judge themselves, and they left empty-handed. Jesus asked the woman if there were any left to condemn her.
Perhaps she looked around, and in her surprise answered, “No.”
“Then neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on, sin no more,” he replies.
Yes, she had been faithless. Serving her own fears and passions, she was played as a pawn in the game of both unrighteous and righteous men, and rightly found herself under the condemnation of the law.
But the God of Israel, in Christ, stepped into the seat of judgment that rightly belonged to him alone. Stunningly, the only one who had the right to condemn her did not. In refraining from condemnation, He prophetically stayed the hand of wrath and hinted at his great work of forgiveness and redemption.
The Lord came for this adulterous bride. He came for prostitutes, adulterers, tax-collectors, lepers. He would bear her guilt and shame and take the stones of the law upon Himself in the form of a cross. In return, He would offer his adulterous bride life, and instead of bearing reproach and guilt, she would bear His name.
We are adulterous people. All of us. What’s worse, we jump at the chance to throw stones at those who get caught in their sin. We want to judge and pronounce condemnation in order to justify ourselves. I see it all the time. I have read many books and blogs, listened to many sermons and podcasts, all by Christians, and so many of them have been lobbed into the public sphere like stones against the church. “The church doesn’t do _____.” “The church has lost this_____.” “The church has failed to_____.” Fill in the blank. It’s so easy to pick up stones against her and gather gawking crowds hoping for a spectacle, perhaps crowds who have been carrying stones in their pockets for such a time as this.
Yes, she has been faithless. She has served her own fears and passions, she has been played as a pawn in the game of both unrighteous and righteous men, and rightly found herself under the condemnation of the law.
But the church is Jesus’ bride. He died for her. Maybe it’s time we put down our stones and pick up our towels and wash basins. Maybe we should get off judgment seats and stoop down, disrobed in the dust.
While there are so many themes to follow in this gripping story, I want to point out that it shows us Jesus also came for the angry, the judgmental, and the merciless. He came to show us that not one of us has a right to stand in judgment over others. Because one day, at the judgment seat, the church will stand before the throne, not bruised and broken by stones, but whole and clothed in a righteousness generously provided for her by her faithful Husband. In that moment, I hope I will find myself in her place instead of the place of her accusers.
In light of this stunning story, I hope that we all, myself included, will put down our stones and cry out for mercy for the sake of Jesus’ beloved church. Perhaps he will hear us and invite us to leave both the judgment seat and the place of condemnation to walk as a restored people, yet again blessed and sent to sin no more.
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