Early one morning, Jesus was teaching in the temple courts when a group of religious leaders burst in, dragging a woman behind them. She had been caught in the act of adultery—a serious offense under Jewish law. They threw her before Jesus and posed a question, designed not just to judge the woman, but to trap Jesus:

“Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?”

They weren’t really asking. They were daring him to choose between justice and mercy. If Jesus let her go, he would appear to dismiss God’s law. If he condemned her, he would contradict his own teachings of love and forgiveness.

But Jesus didn’t answer right away. He bent down and began to write in the dirt with his finger. The crowd pressed him, demanding an answer. Finally, he stood and said:

“Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”

One by one, the accusers slipped away, until it was only Jesus and the woman. He looked at her and asked:

“Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”

“No one, sir,” she replied.

“Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.”

He offered her something no one else in that crowd would: dignity, mercy, and the freedom to begin again.

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Reflection from My Life:

I think of this story often when I reflect on moments I’ve been quick to judge—or felt judged myself. Our world is full of people carrying stones, ready to throw them at anyone who falls short. And the truth is, I’ve carried a few of my own.

There have been times in my life when I failed to live up to the standard. When I disappointed people. When I disappointed myself. And in those moments, what I needed most wasn’t someone to remind me how badly I’d messed up. I already knew.

What I needed was what Jesus gave that woman: a chance to be seen, to be forgiven, and to start over.

I also think of people I’ve encountered who were hurting—caught up in choices that led them to pain or shame. It’s easy to back away. To let them carry the weight alone. But I’ve learned that real love doesn’t pick up a stone. Real love stays. It listens. It says, “You are more than your worst moment.”

That’s what Jesus did.

Jesus was also making something else clear: none of us are perfect. Just as he taught in the Lord’s Prayer, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” If we withhold forgiveness from others, how can we ask for forgiveness ourselves? It’s a convicting reminder that mercy is not something we earn—it’s something we share.

It reminds me of something I wrote when reflecting on Heaven and Hell. I believe Heaven is a place of complete truth, where everything is known. In that light, our past isn’t hidden. The shameful parts are laid bare, not to humiliate us, but to free us from pretending. And if we haven’t come to terms with our own failures and learned to forgive others, then truth becomes torment. But if we have forgiven, and learned to live with humility, truth becomes peace.

Jesus showed us what that peace looks like.

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Takeaway:

Unconditional love means refusing to condemn someone—even when we have the right to. It means stepping into grace when judgment would be easier. It’s not about pretending sin doesn’t matter; it’s about believing that people matter more.

In a world that loves to shame, let’s choose to restore. Because one day, we may find ourselves in the dust too, needing someone to say, “Neither do I condemn you.”