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You’re in Jerusalem at the Temple. It’s the week of an important religious festival so the crowds are bigger than usual, especially here. To add to it, everyone is talking about Jesus, and he’s here teaching. The place is simply crowded.
Pressed in among the crowd, you’re aware of a commotion off to your right. People stepping aside, a loud mob passing through the middle, heading straight for Jesus. They surround a woman, almost dragging her along. A wave of tension ripples through the crowd.
You catch the word “adultery”. More whispers. You remember what the law says. “Take both of them to the gate of that town and stone them to death…purge the evil from among you.” (Deuteronomy 22:24). Both of them? But you only see the woman. Where is the man? Something seems off.
Bringing the woman to Jesus, her accusers were not looking for justice, but power. They were not trying to “purge the evil” of adultery from their community. If they had, they would have brought the man too, as the Jewish Law prescribed. On the contrary, they were trying to trap Jesus. If he told them to ignore the law, then the authorities could level one more accusation against him.
They didn’t care whether Jerusalem was a place of justice. They wanted a community that cowered in their presence. To them, the woman was a pawn.
They were not only abusing the woman, but they were also abusing God’s law, turning a tool of justice into a weapon of abuse. They pretended to be offended by her adultery when the greater evil was lurking in their own hearts.
The woman must have been terrified. In the dark of night, she’d been caught in her sin and then dragged away. They undoubtedly whispered violence in her ears, promising her that the dawn would expose her guilt and end her life.
Now, in the Temple courtyard, the crowds could only see the worst things about her. Not only that, but she was also now in front of Jesus, arguably the most well-known person in Jerusalem. Was there no end to her shame?
Would Jesus be any different than her accusers? Tossed to the ground in front of him, she was afraid to look up. Would she see the same anger and violence in his eyes? Would she find any face of mercy and love in the crowd? Or only more shame, fear, and guilt?
What was Jesus thinking? He saw an angry mob clutching their stones. The leaders were shouting, clutching their accusations, eyes red with anticipation.
Tears streaked down this woman’s powdered face. But when Jesus looked at her accusers, their eyes were not on her. They were on him, awaiting his judgment. Everything hung on his next few words.
Jesus understood the guilt that lurked among the crowd, whispering its condemnation. While guilt breathed its threats in everyone’s ears, Jesus spoke words, gentle and firm. He made no accusation but defused the terror with thoughtful reflection.
As for me, who am I when stories like this arise today? Am I one of the accusers? Do I secretly thirst for power, willing to use others, and even God, to get what I want?
Am I the woman crushed by condemnation? Are there other voices threatening to expose my guilt? Does my guilt keep me in bondage and isolate me from the people I love and need?
Am I Jesus seeking to love my enemies? Are others trying to convince me to take their side, vindicate their cause, and justify their sin?
“Let any one of you who is without sin…” (John 8:7) In his gentle way, Jesus calls us into this story, to examine our own hearts. It is easy to focus on the guilt of others, but Jesus turns our eyes inward—to see the evil in our own hearts and the pain it has caused. Guiltless himself, yet Jesus understands our guilt.
His words challenge us to drop our weapons and open our hands. In place of our shame, he says, “Then neither do I condemn you… Go now and leave your life of sin.” (John 8:11) In place of our fear, he gives us freedom. In place of our guilt, he gives us grace and a fresh start.