Title: From Stones to Salvation
Intro: It invites us to see ourselves in this unnamed woman and to recognize the gift of mercy that costs our Savior everything.
Scriptures:
Isaiah 43:16-21,
Philippians 3:8-14,
John 8:1-11.
Reflection
Dear Sisters and Brothers,
The stones lay scattered on the ground. Moments earlier, they had been clutched tightly in fists, ready to be hurled at the woman who stood trembling before Jesus. Now those same hands were empty, as one by one, her accusers walked away.
"Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?" Jesus asked gently.
"No one, sir," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again." (John 8:11)
In these simple words, we witness a profound moment where justice gives way to mercy. Where death surrenders to life. Where condemnation transforms into liberation.
Today, as we stand at the threshold of Holy Week, this story invites us to witness the heart of Jesus—a heart that would soon be pierced for our sins. It invites us to see ourselves in this unnamed woman and to recognize the gift of mercy that costs our Savior everything.
The morning was like any other in Jerusalem. The temple courts were filling with people coming to pray, to learn, to connect with God. Jesus had arrived early and was teaching those who gathered around him. The scene was peaceful until it was suddenly disrupted by commotion. A group of scribes and Pharisees pushed their way through the crowd, dragging a disheveled woman with them.
"Teacher," they announced loudly, ensuring everyone could hear, "this woman was caught in the very act of adultery. In the law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?" (John 8:4-5)
Their question seemed straightforward, but their intentions were not. Scripture tells us they asked this to test him, hoping to trap him into saying something they could use against him. If Jesus said, "Let her go," they would accuse him of contradicting Moses' law. If he said, "Stone her," they could report him to the Roman authorities, who alone held the power to execute.
The trap was set. The woman was merely their bait.
Have you ever been reduced to your worst moment? Ever been defined by your greatest mistake? Ever been used as a pawn in someone else's game? This woman knows how it feels. Caught in the very act of adultery—her privacy violated, her dignity stripped away, her life now hanging in the balance while religious leaders use her shame as a weapon against Jesus.
But notice what Jesus does. He does not immediately answer. Instead, "Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger on the ground" (John 8:6). We do not know what he wrote. Perhaps he traced the words of Jeremiah 17:13: "Those who turn away from you will be written in the dust because they have forsaken the Lord, the spring of living water." Or maybe he wrote the sins of her accusers. Scripture leaves this detail a mystery.
What is not mysterious is how Jesus responds when they keep pressing him for an answer. He straightens up and delivers words that have echoed through the centuries: "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her" (John 8:7).
With this simple statement, Jesus turned their trap inside out. He upheld the law—yes, the punishment was stoning—but he added a qualification that came from the heart of God's justice. Only the sinless have the right to execute judgment.
And one by one, from the oldest to the youngest, they walked away.
The prophet Isaiah reminds us that God says, "I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert" (Isaiah 43:19). In this moment with the accused woman, Jesus was indeed doing something new. He was demonstrating that the path forward was not through punishment but through transformation. Not through condemnation but through redemption.
God had once made a way through the sea, dividing the waters and leading Israel to freedom. Now Jesus was making a way through the wilderness of human judgment and creating rivers of mercy in the desert of condemnation.
But this new way comes at a cost. The apostle Paul understood this when he wrote to the Philippians, "I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord" (Philippians 3:8). Paul, who had once been like those Pharisees—zealous for the law, persecuting those he deemed unfaithful—had encountered the transforming mercy of Jesus on the road to Damascus. And that encounter changed everything.
Like Paul, we are invited to count everything as loss compared to the privilege of knowing Christ—not just knowing about him, but truly knowing him in the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings.
The story of the woman caught in adultery almost did not make it into our Bibles. Some early Christian communities removed it, perhaps uncomfortable with Jesus' seemingly cavalier attitude toward sin. When later Christians attempted to restore it, they were not sure where it belonged. Some placed it in Luke's Gospel, recognizing its themes of compassion for sinners and attention to women's stories. Others put it in different parts of John's Gospel.
Why would anyone want to remove such a powerful story of grace? Perhaps because grace is scandalous. It does not play by our rules. It does not conform to our ideas of fairness.
There are still people today who struggle with Jesus' compassion toward the woman. After all, does not the law clearly state that adulterers should be put to death? Is not Jesus obstructing justice? Should not the punishment fit the crime?
When we align ourselves with the Pharisees in the story, we tend to focus on how to handle those who break the rules. We become concerned with maintaining order, with ensuring justice runs its course. We cling to our stones, convinced of our right to throw them.
But Jesus invites us to see ourselves not in the Pharisees but in the woman—exposed, ashamed, and guilty, yet standing in the presence of mercy itself.
The truth is, all of us have sinned and fall short of God's glory (Romans 3:23). All of us deserve death, for the wages of sin is death (Romans 6:23). We are all like this woman, caught in our transgressions, with no defense to offer.
But then Jesus steps into the picture and overturns our death sentence. He speaks words of absolution: "Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again" (John 8:11).
Notice that Jesus does not deny her sin. He does not minimize it or excuse it. But he refuses to define her by it. He sees beyond her failure to her future. Beyond her sin to her potential for transformation.
This is the good news of the gospel—not that sin does not matter, but that grace matters more. Not that justice is abandoned, but that mercy triumphs over judgment.
As we prepare to enter Holy Week, this story takes on even deeper significance. When Jesus stood up for this sinful woman, he drew upon himself the hostility of those religious leaders. Their anger at his subversion of their authority, his challenge to their interpretation of the law, his compassion for those they deemed unworthy—all this would eventually lead to his arrest, trial, and crucifixion.
Jesus' words to the woman, "Neither do I condemn you," would cost him everything. The judgment she deserved would fall on him instead. The stones meant for her would become the nails and spear that pierced his flesh.
This is what Paul meant when he wrote about "becoming like him in his death" (Philippians 3:10). Jesus took our place. He stood where we should have stood. He received the punishment that was rightfully ours.
Isaiah foretold this when he wrote, "He was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed" (Isaiah 53:5).
I think of a judge in Florida who once had a traffic violator come before his court. The evidence was clear—the woman had been speeding. The law required a fine. Justice demanded payment.
But as the judge was about to pronounce the sentence, he recognized the defendant as his own daughter. What would he do? If he dismissed the case, he would violate his oath as a judge. If he reduced the penalty, he would show favoritism.
So he pronounced the full fine as required by law. But then he did something unexpected. He removed his judicial robe, walked down from the bench, stood beside his daughter, took out his wallet, and paid her fine in full. As a judge, he upheld justice. As a father, he extended mercy.
This is what God has done for us in Christ. The just requirements of the law were not set aside; they were fulfilled in Jesus. "For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God" (2 Corinthians 5:21).
The woman caught in adultery experienced this reality before it was accomplished on the cross. She received a foretaste of what Jesus would soon secure for all who believe in him—freedom from condemnation.
This story also challenges how we treat others who have fallen short. How quick are we to pick up stones? How ready are we to condemn? How eager are we to define people by their worst moments?
If Jesus, who was truly without sin, chose not to cast a stone, who are we to do otherwise? If Jesus, who had every right to condemn, chose to offer a new beginning, should not we do the same?
This does not mean we ignore sin or pretend it does not matter. Jesus clearly told the woman to "sin no more." Grace does not eliminate the call to holiness; it empowers it. But it does mean we approach others with humility, recognizing that we too stand in need of mercy.
James reminds us that "mercy triumphs over judgment" (James 2:13). And Jesus himself said, "Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy" (Matthew 5:7).
As we prepare for Holy Week, let us see ourselves in this woman who stood trembling before Jesus. Let us acknowledge our guilt and our need for grace. And let us receive with gratitude the words of Jesus: "Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again."
But let us not stop there. Let us also commit to extending this same mercy to others. Let us drop our stones and open our hands in forgiveness. Let us be agents of the grace we have received.
In Philippians 3, Paul writes, "Forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:13-14). Like Paul, we are called to leave behind both our sins and our self-righteousness, pressing forward into the life of grace that Jesus offers.
The same Jesus who wrote in the dust that day will one day wipe away every tear from our eyes. The same voice that said, "Neither do I condemn you," will welcome us into his eternal kingdom. The same hand that prevented stones from being thrown will place a crown of righteousness on our heads.
This is our hope as we journey toward the cross this Holy Week—that through the suffering and death of Jesus, justice has given way to mercy. That through his resurrection, we too might walk in newness of life.
Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need (Hebrews 4:16). And let us go forth, freed from condemnation, empowered to sin no more, and committed to showing others the same mercy we have received.
In the words of Isaiah, God is doing a new thing. Do you not perceive it? He is making a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert (Isaiah 43:19). Through Christ, stones of judgment have become stepping stones to salvation. Through his sacrifice, justice has given way to mercy.
May the heart of Jesus live in the hearts of all…Amen.
