"In the very act..."

They say unto him,
"Master, this woman was taken in adultery,
in the very act....”
― John

she
clutches the
torn
robe around her
as
they drag her through the
village streets,
near-naked and
ashamed...

seeing her mother's
face turn in
pain,
she buckles
under
the weight
of what
she's done...

there will be no
husband now for this
gentle daughter,
and where will her mother,
a widow woman,
go when there is
no more flour in the pantry,
oil in the jar...

"she was
our only hope...

she could have made
it all better for
us...

if only she
hadn't...."

her brother's
hot tears
sting his smooth
cheeks,
as he watches
her try to
cover the parts of her
he'd never
seen...

the white skin,
loose hair,
wild eyes that
fear
the worst

with
no
champion to
shield her
from the angry
mob

"where is he..."
the boy
wonders...

his friends are gathering
stones with their
fathers...

stones they will
use to punctuate their
ugly words with
blood, and
pierce
the innocence of
this day
with
a maiden's agony...

"she is but a child
herself..."
her uncle thinks as he
wrestles with
his place in the village,

"do I
stand with her
and suffer her shame,
or take my place
among the
elders,
hold the moral
high ground,
and cast my vote
in stones
upon her soft skin..."

she feels her
dignity falling from her
like the petals of
a rose wilting in the heat of
a midsummer's day...

her heart is shredded,
more than
the tender flesh of her bare feet

"where is he..."
she sobs
in frightened
confusion

he said
he loved her,
he said, he would care for her always,
he said that.....

empty
promises

words that broke
her resolve,
words she trusted
were true

it is
this trust in
him...her trust
in his love,
more than her dignity --
she now knows
will die in the square today...

and she will
give it willingly...

"take my clothes,
take my skin and my shame...

i don't know who I am anymore,
or why my heart still
beats within me...

this shame is
unbearable...."

but wait,
who is he...

why have they brought me to
this quiet man
bending in the dust
drawing beauty in the sand?

their questions are drowned out
by the breadth of his stillness,
the depth of his grace,
the gentle kindness in his eyes...

he does not look at them,
but writes messages of love
with his finger
at their feet...

his compassion pierces their
judgment
with self-knowledge,
humility,
and love...

and one,
by
one,
they drop their
stones
and
leave...

then his eyes find
me
in the
dust, and lift me
from the
shame I taste
like bile
in
my soul

"where are those thine
accusers...
hath no man condemned thee,"
he asks

"no man"
I answer...

and in his eyes,
I find
a version of "man" I can trust,
I find a man so wedded to
Love, so
faithful to
His Truth,
that
loving him leads me to
my own fidelity,
a holy,
sacred
innocence...

in the eyes of
this man,
I am fully clothed in a purity
untouched by
shame,
seen
only as His
daughter...

again.


"Neither do I condemn thee:
go, and sin no more..”
― Jesus