Tonight, I Choose to Not Throw Stones

Tonight, I’ve been meditating on a story of Jesus centered around a practice we thankfully no longer see in our culture, at least not in the literal sense.

While Jesus was about town, particularly in the social and religious mecca, teaching to any and all who stood by to listen to him, some of the most highly regarded religious folk approached him with quite a situation. In their clutches sunk a young woman, barely robed: tattered, distressed, unable to raise her head from the shame piled on. You see, this woman was caught in adultery; yes, the very act. The problem with this, the righteous pointed out, was that the law said to stone her. That is to pick up rocks and throw each one at the guilty adulteress until she breathed her last. Under the law, they had every right, and even obligation to do this. So they pointed out.

Jesus was notorious for debunking the law. He chose people over practice, and in their experience, never opted for violence against anyone. Knowing this full well, they hoped to use the plight of this woman to trap the teacher into rebelling against the law, or sending the woman to her death. But Jesus was a master at finding another way. The rabbi saw through the situation and into the heart of all those involved.

With one sentence, Jesus eradicated the situation set as a trap against him. With a glance, he looked up and stated “Stone her if you will, but let whoever has done no wrong throw the first rock.”

The text says the accusing crowd began to slink away, convicted in their own right.

Adapted from John 8:2-11

Tonight, I’m thinking about the times I’ve messed up under the eyes of God. The times I’ve hurt people. The times I’ve had to seek forgiveness, and the times I’ve been granted it. It’s a road we’ve all been down, in one way or another. The route or the sights along the way may differ, but the destination is always the same. Some make it further down the dark trail than others, but who are we to judge the length of one’s stride. No one is down the road too far, unable to stop in their path, turn around, and make the long, hard trek out of the thick, dark forest. I hope that my journey is one that exemplifies this.

In my experience, though, I can state that in those times when I’ve needed to seek forgiveness, when the forest’s branches seem so looming I fear they’ll swallow me and my depravity whole, what I’ve needed were not stones. No, but I’ve wanted stones. Hoped the forest to swallow me. Wishing not to see the sun. I wanted all that? Yes, and more. But what I needed was a voice who quiets the crowd and says “I don’t condemn you, go free and walk the path you were meant for.” The love, forgiveness, and mercy found in that one statement takes more courage to face than the stones I know I deserved. Tonight, I’m breathing in that statement, and asking how I can live it out and live it forward.

Tonight, a friend was “caught in the act.”

But tonight, I choose to not throw stones.