A sermon on John 8: 1 – 11, The Woman Caught in Adultery
Introduction
On second thought, giving everyone rocks before a sermon might not be the best idea. I was thinking that instead of throwing them at me, you would let them symbols of the grudges, judgments, and pains we’ve carried. My hope is that by the end of this service, we can let go of what burdens us. And if you’re not ready yet, that’s okay. Maybe you will be inspired to make a plan to move toward that goal.
As we dive into this story from John 8, you might notice an asterisk in your Bibles. That’s because this passage may not have been part of John’s original Gospel. The earliest manuscripts don’t have it and someone who knew this story added it later. It feels true to Jesus’ character and it’s consistent with the rest of the gospel.
The Trap: A Setup with Stones
Picture this: Jesus is in the temple, teaching. The crowd is overflowing, drawn to this man who turns water into wine, feeds 5,000, and heals the sick. He’s the talk of Jerusalem. But not everyone is thrilled. Enter the Pharisees and their scribes. They’re not there to listen or learn—they’re there to trap Jesus.
They burst onto the scene, dragging a woman caught in adultery. Now let’s pause for a moment: where is the man? The law in Leviticus and Deuteronomy requires both parties to be brought forward, but he’s conspicuously absent. The Pharisees aren’t interested in justice; they’re using this woman as a pawn to corner Jesus. It’s dehumanizing and wrong to use someone’s pain for your agenda, and yet we see it all the time—in politics, in the media, social circles and middle school.
Imagine the woman’s terror. She’s been dragged from a private moment into public shame. Every eye is on her. What must that feel like?
How did they catch her? They were peeping in windows instead of feeding the poor or helping widows. Instead of addressing the oppression of their people, they were more concerned with who was in whose bed. Sound familiar? Too often, Christians act like Pharisees, more focused on judging personal lives than doing God’s work of justice and compassion.
Jesus’ Response: Writing in the Dirt
So, the Pharisees throw the woman before Jesus, demanding, “What do you say? The law says to stone her.” They think they’ve trapped him. If he condemns her, he loses the crowd’s favor. If he shows mercy, they can accuse him of breaking the law.
But Jesus doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he stoops and writes in the dirt. Scholars have debated for centuries about what he wrote. Maybe he was listing the sins of the Pharisees. Maybe he was doodling to disengage from their antics. Personally, I like to think he wrote, “Where’s the man?” Whatever he wrote, it made them squirm. And when they press him again, he stands and delivers that famous line: “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone.”
The old joke says Jesus’ mother threw a stone, and he turned to her, saying, “Mom, you’re not helping.” (Just a joke!)
Imagine the tension in that moment. Stones are gripped tighter. The crowd is silent. And then, one by one, the stones thud to the ground.
Self-Righteousness vs. Righteousness
Diana Butler Bass offers an important distinction here. Self-righteousness separates us from others, while righteousness connects us to God and each other. The Pharisees embodied self-righteousness, using scripture as binoculars to scrutinize others, rather than as a mirror to reflect on themselves. As Walter Brueggemann puts it, “The Word of God is a mirror, not a magnifying glass.”
To read the Bible as a mirror is to place ourselves in the story. Let me give you an example. One day, I was reading that terrible moment in the Gospels when Jesus announces, “One of you who breaks bread with me will betray me.” From a window approach, I feel safe. I know exactly who Jesus means: Judas. But the mirror approach places me at that table. I can smell the fresh bread and the scent of wine. I’m looking around at the disciples, and suddenly, I’m part of the story. I’m no longer detached, thinking about how someone else failed. Instead, I’m asking, “Is it I?”
When I was an associate pastor, I was asked to preside at the funerals of two men whose funerals, one was on a Friday and the other the day after. I didn’t know either of the men, neither of them went to church. One owned a stripper bar. The other was a hardcore biker with a criminal record.
To this point in my career, I had only buried saints, or at least people who had decent(ish) reputations. I was unsure about how to handle the situation so I went to my senior pastor, Rev. Bill Cotton who had a similar thing happen to him when he was a young pastor. He was supposed to do the service of a cowboy who had “broken at least twelve of the ten commandments.” He asked a mentor what he should do and the mentor simply asked, “Did they ask you to judge him or bury him?” Suddenly, my anxiety washed away, and I knew what to do. The focus isn’t about our shortcomings, but about the abundant grace of God.
One of the great tragedies is how the church has come to represent being judgmental and moralistic.
Imagine this story in John 8. You’re standing there, stone in hand. The woman is on the ground, humiliated and scared. You feel the rough surface of the stone in your palm, its weight familiar and heavy. Jesus looks at you. His eyes meet yours, and you can’t tell whether they’re filled with sadness or understanding. What does he see? What does he know about the weight of the stone you’re carrying?
This shift is profound. Rather than putting others on trial, the mirror approach theologizes the text and makes us active participants. It challenges us to see ourselves as the Pharisees, holding stones in our hands. It makes us ask, “Where am I clinging to judgment instead of offering grace?”
The Power of Grace
When the Pharisees slink away, Jesus turns to the woman. “Where are your accusers? Has no one condemned you?” She replies, “No one, Lord.” And Jesus says, “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.”
This moment is transformative, both for the woman and for us. It reminds me of Les Misérables, when Jean Valjean steals silver from a bishop, and instead of condemning him, the bishop gives him more. That single act of grace changes Valjean’s life forever. Grace has that power—to restore and transform. Jesus doesn’t ignore the woman’s sin, but he offers her a new path forward. He sees her not as a sinner to condemn but as a person to restore.
Think about how grace transforms our own lives. Maybe there was a time when someone forgave you when you didn’t deserve it. Or maybe you’ve seen the healing that comes when you choose to forgive. Grace doesn’t erase what happened, but it opens the door to what can be.
What Stones Are You Holding?
Now, let’s bring it back to us. What stones are we holding? Maybe it’s a grudge against someone who wronged you. Maybe it’s judgment against someone whose choices you don’t agree with. Maybe it’s a hurt you can’t seem to let go of. Whatever it is, that stone is heavy. It’s weighing you down.
Feel the weight of the stone in your hand. Imagine it carrying every grudge, every judgment, every hurt you’ve struggled to release. I’ll never forget the woman who came to me after I preached on this passage in 2018. She told me, “I’m not ready to put down my stone, but I’ll try.” A couple of years ago, she came back and said, “I finally laid it down.” Forgiveness is a process. Healing takes time. And that’s okay. If you’re not ready to let go of your stone today, keep holding it as a reminder of your journey.
The Invitation
In a moment, I’m going to invite you to come forward and lay your stone at the altar. If you’re ready, let this be your act of letting go—of grudges, judgment, pain. If you’re not ready, that’s okay. Take your stone home. Let it remind you of Jesus’ call to grace and growth.
As you lay it down, listen for the sound it makes. Let that sound remind you that grace is shattering chains and creating space for healing—for yourself and for others.
Before we begin, let’s have a moment of silence. Think about what this stone represents for you. Picture it. Feel its weight. What would it mean to let it go? And if you’re not ready, offer it as a prayer: “God, help me to release this in your time.” I did something similar to this once and a woman told me that she wasn’t yet ready to drop her stone. I said that was okay. She gave me progress reports every year. “I still have it.” But after a few years, she told me that she had let it go and put it in her garden—a symbol of new life.
Conclusion
Friends, the stones we carry don’t just hurt others; they hurt us. Their weight drags us down. Jesus invites us to put them down, to lay aside judgment and embrace grace. Imagine walking out of here lighter, freer. No stones in your hands, only open arms ready to embrace the grace that God freely gives. That’s the invitation: to trade judgment for joy, condemnation for compassion, and burdens for blessing.
Think of the possibilities. What might your relationships look like without the weight of judgment? How might your heart feel without the burden of grudges? Jesus shows us a path forward: “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.” Let’s take that path together.