Posted by: Postordinandy | September 21, 2017

Freedom

[I wrote this about the story of the Woman caught in the act of adultery – I am always struck by the absence of her partner-in-crime, and by Jesus’ treatment of both her and the crowd who would condemn her]

 .

Dragged from a lover’s embrace I was

and into the bitter fury of the mob –

they who hoped my sin would mask their own,

their eyes full of jealous zeal,

with hearts broken like my own, if only they would admit so.

 .

My nakedness shamed me more

than the stones of shouted accusation thrown –

my skin still warm from his greedy touch,

my lips still tasting his kiss,

yet do I catch glimpse of his form in the crowd now?

 .

Propelled through walls of angry flesh

until I collapsed at His feet –

too tired now, too disorientated

to fully realise where, or whom I now was,

Straining with the crowd to hear His thoughts proclaimed.

 .

The Law declared, justice demanded,

yet he stoops to the ground, and –

our eyes locked on each other,

he sketches awhile in the sand,

and then calmly asks them to begin.

 .

But a caveat offered, a challenge laid,

“he without sin” invited to take pride of place –

the men, some ashamed, some confused,

wrestle with their inner demons,

until I am left, still crumpled into myself, alone.

 .

Forgiven, and given, and given…

I understand now, the depth of this act –

A cloak is found for my now shivering form,

water for my lips, shoes for my feet,

and I will try to sin no more.

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