A sermon on the The Woman Caught in Adultery by the Rev. Dr. William Seth Adams, Professor of Liturgics and Anglican Studies, given on February 22, 2005, in Christ Chapel

Blessed be the Name of God

The gospel story we have just heard is wonderfully familiar. It stays in our minds without much work. It's attractive in its way, properly puzzling in the middle and has a nice finish, rather like an unannounced wine from some fresh quarter. How could the story miss, really, featuring, as it does, someone "caught in the very act of committing adultery"! Anyone familiar at all with authoritative literature like the Bible will know that "very" acts are bound to attract attention and, for the hearers of the tale, they are bound to stay in remembrance a good long time. [We note in passing that the partner of the woman in question seems to play no role in the story at all. Curiouser and curiouser!]

As I engaged this story in print, I noticed first of all that it appears in parenthesis in the Bible from which I work -- John, chapter 8, verses 1-11, in brackets. The note at the bottom of the page -- it is a study Bible after all -- the note reports: "This account, omitted in many ancient manuscripts, appears to be an authentic incident in Jesus' ministry, though not belonging originally to John's Gospel." [Note attendant to John 7.53-8.11] Often omitted but nonetheless authentic, though it doesn't belong here.

Often omitted but nonetheless authentic. How are we to read this? I take this to mean that in the transmission of the tradition that became Holy Writ, while there were some who wanted this story remembered, there were a number of purveyors of the tradition who did not. "Best leave that out," they would have advised their scribes, "no need to trouble folks with that one." But, though some wished it to go away, it persisted, showing up often enough, nagging sufficiently at the transmitters that it survived the last cut, though perhaps against the good counsel of the conventional wisdom. And of course, it went were it really didn't belong. All this being so, what's going on?

As I sat at my desk in our study at home, pondering this question, I began to feel the onset of the hermeneutics of suspicion. You know the feeling. The brow furrows, the corner of the mouth turns up, the eyes squint, "humpf," we hear ourselves say. What is going on here?

Liberation theologians and critics have taught us about the necessary role played by "subjugated knowledge," that is, insights offered from perspectives out of favor or previously neglected or ignored. "Subjugated knowledge" -- knowledge that the dominant culture doesn't want set loose but which they cannot, eventually, contain or suppress.

This all came to mind as I read that note at the bottom of the page -- "often omitted by authentic" -- and I began to wonder for whom the memory of this story would be important. In the emerging canon of Christian scripture, who would lobby in the courts of textual survival for the continuance of this account? Who benefits from the influence this story might have on the hearts and minds of the readers? What point is made here that would be lost, were this story not told?

This of course led me back to the text itself. Jesus is at the temple, where he sat and taught the people. The "bad guys," that is the scribes and Pharisees, brought to him a woman who was made to stand before all those in attendance -- Jesus and the people being taught. "They" -- as "they" are typically called -- "said to him, 'Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery.'" As if he were unfamiliar with the received tradition, "they" remind Jesus that in the Law of Moses, such activity invites, indeed requires stoning. Having reminded Jesus of this, they said to him, "Now what do you say?" That's the question "they" put forward.

In the face of this question, Jesus did a wonderfully curious thing. He bent down and began to write in the dust with his finger. "There was a young man in group therapy/Who imagined himself a proud Pharisee/…" Actually, we don't know what he wrote, just that instead of responding to his questioners, he wrote in the dust. "They" persisted in their inquisition and Jesus, straightening up, said, "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her." And having spoken, he went back to his rhymes in the dust, ignoring everything but his creativity.

In time, the assembled accusers drifted away. Jesus, awakening to their disappearance, straightened again and said to the woman, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?" When she reported that no one amongst the scribes and Pharisees condemned her, Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again."

Who would want this story to be kept? Who would want this story forgotten? Who would want this story to be rehearsed amongst the followers of Jesus? Who would discard it? Who would testify to its authenticity and the absolute necessity of its inclusion in the face of efforts to omit it?

My guess is that the inheritors of the tradition of authority personified by the scribes and Pharisees would not particularly want this story to survive -- given the fact that they come off rather badly here. They are the "very act" police and they get dismissed rather readily, like the ninnies such folks are, really. ["Ninny" is not a biblical term, though it should be.] Alongside this dismissal, it is important to remember, however, that in Matthew's gospel, Jesus is heard to say to his followers, "…unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." [Mt 5.20] Obviously, in Jesus' scheme of things, ninnies have their place!

Would the "adultery lobby" be especially desirous of salvaging our story? Given the really bad press that adultery gets throughout the pages of the Bible, my guess is, it would be sheer folly for this group even to try to mount a persuasive argument for the inclusion of this report. Adultery per se doesn't come off any better here than it does anywhere else.

A better case can likely be made for the "prodigal son" people, the ones who would value and cherish the stories that depict the radical generosity of Jesus in accepting and forgiving virtually anyone. You see, in point of fact, though the woman is clearly a central player in the story, and equally clearly, by the social standards of her time -- and ours -- her behavior warranted response, before Jesus and the morality police who "caught" her, she makes neither defense nor apology. Unlike the prodigal who asked forgiveness and spoke of his own unworthiness, when this woman is asked a question by Jesus, she simply reports that her accusers, the ones who had left the gathering without action, had not condemned her. No defense, no apology, and from every quarter, including Jesus, no condemnation. Grace, pure and simple, undiluted, unalloyed. Nothing asked for but everything given.

Now I thought I knew for certain who it was that wanted this story kept and simply would not have it otherwise. Lutherans, I thought, Lutherans for sure. But, in fact, the generosity of Jesus in this story runs even deeper than Lutheran spirituality. Sola fidei isn't the case here, since the woman makes no proposal of belief, offers no convictions or insights about the person of Jesus. The woman offers only the fact of her sin and that fact simply by her presence, standing before Jesus. No defense, no apology, no condemnation. Sola gratia. Grace, pure and simple, undiluted, unalloyed.

But that, of course, is not where the story ends. There is no condemnation but there is the requirement "from now on do not sin again." For those who want to keep the story because of Jesus' prodigality toward the woman there must also have been those who would see this prodigality, this generosity, counterweighted by the admonition to right living. And herein is the real power and beauty of this narrative. Unmerited grace, once accepted, requires a promised life.

It's quite a good story, really, graceful to the very end. I'm thankful to those who sought to keep the story in the canon. I think I would have been one of them, given the chance. I'm glad to be able to explore this story with you, to discover again in your presence this uncompromising acceptance which so characterizes our gracious Lord. You and I stand there with the woman, unable, really, to offer defense and disinclined to apologize, arrogant as we are-and, standing there in the company of Jesus, while he finishes his limerick in the dust, we too are struck by no stone, not one. And, as we've done before, we take up our promises and press on, hoping to follow the admonition of Jesus as gracefully as we possibly can.

Blessed be the Name of God