Rooke Chapel, 10.5.2020
The 31st Sunday in COVID Time, and the 8th of the Fall Semester
John 8: 2-11
If we were to go up on the sidewalk,
and ask passers-by,
what quotes they know from Jesus,
it’s fair to think today’s would register.
“Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”
Or something like it
If we were on family feud:
“One hundred people surveyed,
“Things Jesus said.”
We might not hit the buzzer and say it first,
it would be on the board, don’t you think?
I am the way the truth the light
Love one another as I have loved you.
Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.
Let anyone among you.
A reasonable guess, at least.
This is one of the stories we know, I think,
about Jesus.
One of the stories we love, perhaps.
And rightly so.
It’s great.
Jesus is subversive,
disruptive,
and, I think, lovable.
I imagine him standing in the middle,
of this whirlwind,
of anger and violence,
this plot and ploy to undermine his credibility
This mingling mob of power and gender and judgment and law,
and division.
And he says,
look at this woman,
and look at yourselves,
see her as flawed and beloved.
just like you.
and choose another path.
And they did.
This is the Jesus I know and love.
As we descend further into the chaos of election season,
and see entrenchment and shouting,
and demeaning and interruption,
I couldn’t help but think of this Jesus,
this week.
And how much he might mean to us in this moment.
It’s worth noting,
that if you have a bible (other than the KJV)
it’s likely that this story is presented in brackets.
And down at the bottom of the page,
you’ll see a note in tiny print,
that says something like:
“The most ancient authorities lack 7.53—8.11; other authorities add the passage here or after 7.36 or after 21.25 or after Luke 21.38, with variations of text; some mark the passage as doubtful.”
I won’t bore you with a long history of how our scriptures came together,
[NOTE: This is a surprisingly good accounting if you wish for a starting place.]
but I will say this:
There are hundreds and hundreds of ancient copies.
mostly in Greek.
And then at a certain point, they were condensed
translated them into Latin,
given as a cohesive and authoritative library of texts.
Then at another certain point,
a bunch of people (protestants, woop woop.)
were like,
wait a minute,
why are we reading this in Latin,
if it was originally in Greek.
So they started to look again,
and realized that some questionable choices were made
And one of those was to include this story,
which doesn’t entirely fit.
So, most scholars say,
this probably wasn’t in the original Gospel of John.
it seems most likely, instead.
that this was a story,
people just knew about Jesus.
It might not have been written down early,
but people knew and loved and shared this story,
and eventually, probably, a scribe added it in.
And we might wonder,
if something is scripture because it was determined to be long ago.
Or if something is scripture because God ordained it so.
Or is something scripture because it’s meaningful,
because it points us to God and grace and hope.
This is a story which has resonated with Christian communities for millennia.
But questions, arise, don’t they.
as you think about this woman,
and this scene for a moment?
Doesn’t it take two to commit adultery?
Where was the partner,
if she was indeed, “caught in the act.”
was she entrapped?
And why, we can’t help but wonder,
are they bringing her to Jesus?
If the punishment for adultery is stoning,
and you catch someone in adultery,
do you know what you do?
You stone them.
Do you know what you don’t do?
Bring them to the local heretic,
who’s whipping up the poor and marginal members of your community,
causing unrest by telling everyone,
that they are equally loved and cherished and valuable,
regardless of their standing or their purity.
Which tells us, says biblical scholar Amy Jill Levine, two things:
first, they weren’t actually stoning women for adultery,
in the first century (and thank God for that.)
and second,
that this isn’t about her,
really.
It’s about him.
And their willingness to use her,
to entrap him into either being “soft on adultery.”
or responsible for a woman’s death.
Maybe it’s the genius,
and sticking power of this text.
That it forces us to ask some big questions,
without any easy answers.
It just…moves on.
with that seemingly impossible punchline:
Go and sin no more,
and we’re off on another speech.
Which, you know, seems like a tough one.
]]
there are a couple things about this text,
that I think are unequivocally clear:
we tell this, often, as a forgiveness story.
but it’s not really.
we feel like the punchline of this story should be,
“judge not lest ye be judged.”
Jesus says that,
but not now.
He doesn’t condemn the woman,
but he also tells her not to sin again.
Tells her to turn it around.
I don’t think there’s any question,
in the text,
ever,
that she’s guilty of something,
and that that something is pretty important.
And even more clear:
Jesus looked at the woman,
dragged before a crowd,
terrified, guilty, outcast.
And he saw her.
And he said,
“she’s no different than the rest of you.”
She too is beloved.
She too is valuable.
She too is worthy.
And that was enough,
to stop the train,
the mob,
the violence,
for a moment.
We don’t know what happened to her,
we don’t know what was happening,
that brought her forward.
All we know,
is in that one moment,
she was seen.
And that it changed everything.
And I believe way down deep in my bones,
that that voice is still with us.
Trying to get us to see,
that the same is true still.
It won’t solve all our problems.
But I believe our willingness,
to see people primarily as categories,
as political parties or operatives,
as races or genders or places,
rather than as people –
beloved and singular and complicated –
is at the root of so many of our problems.
When we see,
and are seen,
We start then to ask all those important questions,
this text makes us ask.
And hopefully at some point
we know and believe,
that we are seen by God.
In that moment, it freed the woman from condemnation,
and it also freed all those stone-carrying Pharisees,
from the burden of thinking or doing violence to another human being.
And that freedom,
we call grace.
grace is being released from the bondage of guilt and shame.
and grace is being released from the need to condemn and harm.
And, of course, grace calls us to a higher standard.
we don’t much care for the word, “sin.”
it’s certainly not my favorite thing to talk about.
But we also know, I think,
that we’re living in a tough world.
and that in that tough world,
there are some unjust systems.
And in those unjust systems,
we make – from time to time –
some poor choices.
And we could call it separation or alienation
trespasses or sins.
But all of it’s to say,
something ain’t right.
Out there, and in here.
And so, I think,
the Jesus of this text,
comes to us with a question, the question.
amidst the swirling chaos,
of election, and debates,
of COVID and racism:
how do we love our enemies?
how do we see them as fully human,
as flawed and beloved?
And how do we reject evil at the same time?
how do we hold fast to our convictions,
and let go the proverbial stones we’ve clenched in our fists.
How do we reject the sin of white supremacy unequivocally,
and make space still for learning and repentance and change,
from those who profess it and benefit from it?
How do we encourage,
faithful, thoughtful, value-driven voting,
and political engagement,
without on the one hand, demonizing the other side,
or – on the other – staying silent on the issues of moral concern,
that matter most to us?
how do we demand,
that we take racism and this pandemic seriously,
without falling prey to dehumanizing,
those who don’t?
There is, I think,
not easy answer,
but we can say unequivocally,
that our lord and savior,
our ethical example and friend,
is telling us to ask the question.
And wonder where and how we will stand in this whirlwind,
just as he stood in that one.