Thought for the week - 6 April 2025

Today in the gospel we hear about standing together and showing solidarity, even when it might be costly to us, and that we can answer our question ‘how can we be more like Jesus’ by standing, or in this case sitting, with the most vulnerable. There is a certain solidarity in sin, as there is, we are told, honour amongst thieves, and equality among all Christian people. As sinners, we know we are in the same boat; we feel solidarity in our weakness and failure. ‘For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God’ (Rom 3:23). That’s why the raging accusers of this woman caught in adultery eventually wander off, unwilling to cast any stones, knowing themselves to be sinful too. The oldest depart first, because they see more clearly the commonality of human failure, they are wise enough to allow this dreadful, staged almost-execution to be called off because they see themselves in the fate of the woman about to be stoned.

The scribes and Pharisees are trying to isolate this woman to condemn her. They ‘place her in the midst’ (probably dishevelled and indecently dressed), under the glare of all and the glare of the noonday sun, but they have failed to bring her male partner who should be equally liable to judgement as Leviticus would have informed them (Lev 20:10).

Our Lord does not deny that the woman is guilty, but he refuses to go along with that diabolical logic of isolating this one woman as a test case. This is literally a ‘test case’, since he sees that the accusers are doing this ‘to test him’. So, he opposes their tactics with a show of solidarity: he gets down on the ground himself. I imagine the woman as having been thrown on the ground, not daring to raise her head from the dust. Jesus gets down to her level, to show us, also, how we can be like him.

In his Incarnation, Jesus had already showed his solidarity with all humanity: ‘the Word became flesh and dwelt among us’ (Jn 1:14). We remember, especially on Ash Wednesday, that we are likewise dust, and to dust we shall return (Gen 3:19). So, Jesus gets down in the dust, the same dust of which he is made – having received his human nature from the Blessed Virgin – and he starts to write. The coming of Jesus into our sinful world was precisely to save us, not to condemn us (see Jn 3:16-17). Jesus is the New Adam, who is at the same time the Heavenly Man, and in the union of his two natures (human and divine) Jesus opens a way for us to share in the life of God: ‘Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we shall also bear the image of the man of heaven’ (1 Cor 15:49).

The solidarity of Jesus with us goes all the way to the Cross. In his Passion, Jesus, though personally sinless, identifies with sinners: ‘God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us’ (Rom 5:8). So, the last words of Jesus to the woman caught in adultery are her lifeline: ‘Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.’ His solidarity with her is expressed by this call to new life, where sin is left behind and her humanity is healed, and not only that, the humanity of the onlookers is brought to their attention, warts and all, and only the Pharisees are unable to learn from this, because ultimately, they would have had her killed just to prove their point. Who is the greatest sinner here? Maybe for us, these Lenten veilings show us not a lack of an image, but somewhere to project our own image, a dynamic absence for us to fill with our discipleship, rather than gazing upon the impossibility of a perfect looking saint, frozen in time.

Our entire belief pivots on the joyful message – and this Gospel is clearly one of joy - that God stoops down low. He stoops so low as to take on our nature and redeem it. He stoops into suffering and death, being brought low because of our sins and is only raised high mockingly upon the cross. Despite the grace of our baptism, we stoop low in sinful ways. Perhaps we are quick to debase others, pass judgement, hold grudges, exact revenge. Perhaps we attract the scorn of others for our mistakes, or are exacting when it comes to sharing mercy. But we can always rejoice in the knowledge that, however low we stoop, that’s how low our merciful Saviour will go to write his law of mercy in the sand of our hearts. He sits with this woman and saves here in so many ways for one reason – he loves her, and maybe he is the only person in this awful scene who truly does love her, and he loves us, and wishes to save us too, so don’t ever think, even when you’re surrounded by hate, that you can’t be loved.

Jesus is not swept up in their phony outrage. He does not play their game, as he will evade every attempt throughout history to use him for political and ideological purposes. He is Lord, and he stands apart from our scheming. God wishes to gather us from exile into our home. If we wish to accept his invitation, then we must dare to join the accused woman at the centre of the circle, because that is where Jesus is to be found.