Neither Do I Condemn You

Look down. The ground beneath your feet has a story. Sometimes, it’s a battlefield, where struggles rage and wounds are inflicted. Other times, it’s a courtroom, where people are put on trial, judged, condemned. And sometimes, it’s simply dust—silent, waiting.

In today’s Gospel, the ground is a place of mercy. A woman is thrown before Jesus. The law says she should die. The Pharisees stand above her, stones in hand. But Jesus? He bends down. He kneels in the dust. And He writes.

What does He write? We don’t know. But we do know where He writes—not on stone, where the Law was written, but on dust. Because sin is not written in stone; mercy is greater than the Law.

And one by one, the stones drop.

Now, look at the woman. She thought she was standing on the ground of condemnation. Instead, she finds herself on the ground of mercy. 

Maybe that’s where you are. Maybe you think your past is carved and set in stone, that your sins have the final word. But Jesus kneels in your dust. He writes a new story: Forgiven. Loved. Free.

Lent is the time to let go of our guilt, to let Jesus rewrite our dust. But mercy doesn’t stop there. It must be passed on. How often do we stand like the Pharisees—ready to throw stones at others? A harsh word, a cold judgment, a refusal to forgive.

This week, drop the stone. Instead of judging, stoop down. Be the ground of mercy for someone else. Because soon, we will see another stone—the one that sealed the tomb. But that stone, too, will fall. And mercy will rise.

Image: Rembrandt, Woman Caught in Adultery, 1644, Public Domain