Dear #MeToo from #UsToo "Silenced No More" Episode 6 -Part 2 "The Woman Caught In Adultery"

In Part Two of Dear #MeToo from #UsToo: Silenced No More, Rev. Dr. Mary J. Fairley gives voice to the woman at the center of John 8 through a dramatic reading of her letter. After being dragged into public shame, exposed before a crowd, and used as a trap by religious leaders, this woman’s story is heard not through accusation, but through her own imagined voice.

This episode centers on the emotional weight of her experience—her guilt, her fear, her humiliation, her abandonment, and the mercy she received when Jesus refused to let condemnation have the final word. Through this letter, listeners are invited to move beyond the public scene of judgment and into the inner world of a woman who was almost executed, yet met by grace.

Part Two is a reflection on shame, selective accusation, mercy, and second chances. It is a reminder that even when a woman has sinned, she is still human, still worthy of dignity, and still seen by Jesus.

Content Note: This episode contains themes of sexual shame, public humiliation, gender injustice, and the threat of violence.

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 4:39

Dear hashtag me too. I was guilty. So was he. He had told me he loved me. He said that if I was not already married, I would have been his wife. He was a wealthy trader, a man of influence. And although not a religious man himself, he surrounded himself with many of the rulers of the temple who often visited his home. They would all sit around the table discussing business and the events of the day and the deals that they had made. And very often, after he and I had been together, these same religious leaders would arrive and make themselves comfortable reclining, eating. Even sometimes I would serve them the wine that they would drink. And then we would take leave of ourselves and be with one another some more. Sometimes before I left, I even helped set out the evening meal for when his wife would come home. She would think that the servants had done it, but I had put out the loaves of bread and figs and olives and roasted lamb that they too would eat. I was married, and although my husband and I did not attend the temple regularly, he went to pay the required temple tax and offer the required sacrifices because without them a man could be shut out of trading in the markets. Women were expected to be unseen and unheard in public, of course. To the temple leaders who visited with my lover, I was nothing and nobody. Which is why I can hardly believe what those very same men did to me. I saw them as often as I saw my lover almost. And on that day, that awful day began as usual. I arrived at his home in mid-morning after his wife and several servants had gone to the market. And after we had satisfied one another, unlike other days, though, when we hurried to dress, he seemed to be in no rush. He knew my husband was away and would not return for another month as he was traveling on business. So there was no reason for me to hurry either. But I soon learned he was lingering for another reason. As I rose to wash and refresh myself from a nearby pitcher of water, my gown barely covering my body, suddenly men rushed into the room and seized me from behind. One clamped his hand over my mouth, and the others wrapped me in my gown and the bed linens that lay on the floor. And they carried me off like a sack of barley. Soon after they threw me to the ground, disoriented and shaken. I didn't know where they were taking me or what I had done. But soon I found myself at the temple in the women's court. They had interrupted the teaching of a well-known rabbi. As they threw me on the ground and shouted that I had been caught in the very act of adultery, an act which, according to law, was punishable by death. I looked for my lover. He was married, he was just as guilty as I was, but they had not brought him. He had not been arrested. He had not been dragged through the streets. He had not been thrown to the ground to be stoned to death. He was left where the sin had taken place. Only I was taken. I had seen women stone before. And so I stayed on the ground, pulling the torn cloth around me as best I could. I whimpered like an abandoned animal, terrified for my life. The teacher, whom they had interrupted, whom I later learned to be known as Jesus, the great prophet. Some called him even the Son of God. He stooped down near me and began to write in the dirt. I never learned to read, so I didn't know what he wrote. But apparently some of the men did. Some of them understood what it all meant because they grew even more agitated. They shouted louder. They demanded an answer. Did I not deserve to be stoned? Had I not been caught in the very act? They screamed, where they're not witnesses. I should die. Their fists tightened around the stones as they waited for him to speak. But the teacher said nothing. Still bent down, still writing in the dirt. He surrounded the moment with an unexpected calm. And my accusers leaned in closer. The bystanders fell silent. Even the very air seemed to hold its breath. Then he stood up and looked directly at the men who held the stones. Jesus' voice was not angry, it was not loud, but it stopped them where they stood. He who is worth out sin among you, let him throw the first stone, he said. And then he bent down again and kept riding. And I heard a stone hit the ground. I flinched, thinking the first blow had come, but it had not touched me. Then I heard another stone fall and another, and one by one the rocks dropped to the ground. Then came the sound of footsteps, sandals scraping slowly across the temple court. The men who had brought me there began to leave one by one. I kept my head covered, but through a tear in my garment, I looked. The men who had come to kill me were gone. Only Jesus and the onlookers remained. Then he helped me to my beat. Is there no one here to accuse you? No, my Lord, I answered. Neither do I condemn you, he said gently. Go now and sin no more. Still trembling, still ashamed, still stunned that I was alive, I gathered the torn remains of my clothing around me and began to walk home. I did not run. And as I left, I turned to look back at him once more. Yours faithfully, the woman accused of adultery. Hashtag UsToo. P.S. I truly was the temple leader's scapegoat. They did not care about my sin or my lover's sin. They had known about our relationship for some time. Their real goal was to trap Jesus and bring charges against him. They hoped he would either reject the law and discredit himself before the Jews who followed him, or endorse my execution and place himself in conflict with the Roman authorities, who no longer allowed the Jews to carry out death sentences. But that day opened my eyes to more than their hypocrisy. Jesus' words to me, Go and sin no more, taught me that even sinners are offered mercy, truth, and a second chance. What are we to make of a story like this? Well, first we must tell the truth. This woman was guilty, but she was not the only one guilty. She alone was dragged into public shame. She alone was placed in the center of the temple courts. She alone was made to carry the full weight of accusation. And even before a stone was thrown, injustice, I said injustice was to be her portion. She was a weapon, a case, a theological test. Her life was secondary to their agenda. And this is part of the tragedy when religion loses its soul and people become props. Human pain becomes strategy, and sin becomes spectacle. Mercy is pushed aside in service of maintaining power. But Jesus refused to play their game. He does not rush to join the mob. He does not deny that sin matters. He does not excuse wrongdoing. But neither does he allow condemnation to proceed without truth. His response is as piercing as it is simple. He who is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone. And with those words, Jesus exposes more than the woman's sin. He exposes theirs. He unmasks hypocrisy. He breaks the false moral superiority of men who are ready to punish in others what they refuse to confront in themselves. And then something remarkable happens. The men begin to leave. One by one, stone by stone, accuser by accuser. What the law-threatening crowd could not produce was a single sinless hand. And when the accusers are gone, Jesus speaks to the woman, not as an object, but as a person. He sees her. He does not pretend that sin is harmless. But he also does not reduce her entire existence to the worst thing she has done. And that, my beloved, is grace. Grace is not pretending sin does not exist. Grace is not refusing to let condemnation have the final word. Grace tells the truth and still leaves room for transformation. Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more. Those words are neither indulgence nor cruelty. They are mercy with moral clarity. Jesus neither crushes her nor coddles her, but he releases her from public condemnation and calls her to a different life. And this matters deeply for us, especially for women who have been shamed, exposed, discarded, or used. This story reminds us that even when a woman has sinned, she is still human. She is still worthy of being addressed with dignity. She is still more than the label placed upon her. And for those who have been publicly judged, misused, or made into examples, this story also reminds us that not every accusation is clean. Not every moral performance is holy. Not every religious crowd is righteous. Jesus stands between a woman and the machinery of condemnation. He does not erase accountability, but he interrupts humiliation. He does not baptize hypocrisy. He does not allow violent self-righteousness to masquerade as justice. And so we have read this story not to romanticize sin, but to witness mercy. We read it not to excuse wrongdoing, but to expose hypocrisy. We read it because in this text, Jesus shows us a holiness that dehumanized, dehumanize. A righteousness that delights in destroying women. And that matters. Because too many women have been dragged into the center of the court, have been named by their failures, have been abandoned by the men beside them and judged by communities eager to stone them with words, with silence, with gossip, and with shame. But Jesus does something different. He makes the accusers face themselves. He gives the woman room to stand, and he proves that truth and mercy can belong in the same sentence. I pray that our time together has been of benefit, of insight, of revelation, of confirmation, of healing. I invite you to join us again for our next episode of Dear Hashtag MeToo from Hashtag UsTo Silence No More. Thank you for joining me. Shalom