Quiet settled over the gathered congregation as the words of the letter hit their mark like icy pellets of guilt aimed directly at their souls. They had done all of those things. Every. Single. One. At some point, all of them had actively participated in one or more of those shameful activities. They had engaged in immoral practices. They had worshipped something other than God. They had stolen, been greedy, excessively imbibed. They had committed everything on Paul’s list. And more. Their sins were many. They knew it. They had been those people. In the past. They weren’t those people now. Not anymore. It was simply who they used to be.
The people of the Corinthian church were keenly aware of who they were before the gospel of Jesus Christ found them. Idolaters and adulterers. Immoral and unethical. Swindlers and sidewinders. They weren’t proud of it. They weren’t flashing their colorful past around, bragging about the things they used to do. They weren’t hoping to identify with sinners. But they did. They identified with the stories passed down through generations of men and women, all extravagant sinners, who found redemption through encounters with Jesus. They understood the greed that inhabited Zaccheus’ heart as he scammed and stole his way through the populace. They identified with the rich young man who chose his possessions over Jesus. They knew all about idolatry. Both types. The tangible idols of wood and stone, as well as the intangible things people put before God in their lives. Possessions, power, prestige. They were embarrassingly familiar with the adulterous woman standing alone between Jesus and her accusers, waiting for the burst of pain from the first launched stone. Some of them had been just like her. She was just like them. (Luke 19:1-10; Mark 10:17-27; Colossians 3:5; Exodus 20:3-5; John 8:2-11; I Corinthians 6:9-11)
Dragged from the place of her tryst to the temple, the woman was roughly deposited before Jesus. Her accusers, all men, took up stations around her, effectively thwarting any chance of escape. They were obviously on a mission. To what end, she wasn’t certain, but she knew it to be true. Sinner or not, she was simply a pawn in the game they were playing. Useless. Expendable. They didn’t care if she lived or died. Not really. But the law said she should die for her sin. By stoning. That would be her fate. She knew it. These men would ensure it. Even without a proper trial or the presence of the man who was with her, the testimony of the men dragging her to the temple would be enough. She would die that day. She knew it. She deserved it. She knew that, too. (Leviticus 20:10; Deuteronomy 22:22-24)
Fixing her gaze on the dirt at her feet, she steeled her emotions as the ugly allegations began to fly around her. Not that they weren’t true. They were. Mostly. They simply seemed more shocking when spoken publicly. Even to her. The ramifications of her selfish choices lined up before her in vivid color. How they affected others. How they affected her. Unable to avoid the truth or soft-sell her sin any longer, the woman had to admit who she was. An adulteress. She hadn’t set out to be one, yet here she was, caught in the web of her own sin, facing the stark truth. Sin deserved punishment, and it looked like today was her day. The moment her sin caught up with her, the hour her sentence was handed down, the day she would be handed over to eternal death because of her sin. She could barely stomach the thought, but couldn’t allow herself to hope that mercy would reach clear down to where she was. Not with how far she had fallen. As she stood there waiting for Jesus to announce His decision, her heart pounded in her chest, her stomach churned, her knees felt weak, her head spun, and she found herself wondering how it would feel to be struck with stones until she died.
Muddled as her mind was, she couldn’t claim to have tracked the entire conversation between Jesus and those men. How could she? Panic and fear had such a hold on her that she had to strictly focus on staying vertical. Her brain played an endless loop of what her future could have looked like had she made better decisions. Bone-deep sadness at all the family milestones she would miss and the experiences she would never have, had tears clouding her vision. Her heart mourned their loss. She wished she could simply repent, change, be someone different. But it was too late. Or was it?
Snapping her attention back to the present, the woman realized Jesus hadn’t answered them yet. He hadn’t stated His opinion or even acknowledged their questions. He almost seemed not to have heard. At all. He literally made no response to their demands for her instant judgment. Not to them. Not to her. He didn’t open a discussion on their allegations. He didn’t start quoting the law. He didn’t immediately doom her to stoning. No. Jesus simply bent down and silently started drawing in the dirt. She had to stretch to see what it was. It looked like words. Not that she could read. She couldn’t. Pictures would have been better. She had no idea what it said. Apparently, the men couldn’t read either. Or they weren’t interested. Either way, they ignored Jesus’ actions and kept banging on, seeking permission to enact the law, to make an example of her, to execute her right there on the spot.
As if finally tired of hearing their repeated questions and haranguing, Jesus stood up and dropped her in it. Completely. She supposed He didn’t have a choice. The law was the law. He had to comply. He was going to let them do it. Stone her. He said so. “Whoever of you is sinless, whoever has never had an irresponsible moment, an errant thought, a fractious word, or committed a sinful act, that person can throw the first stone.” Then He went back to playing in the dirt. Heart sinking like lead in her chest, she bowed her head as low as possible and waited for the first lobbed rock to land.
Seconds stretched to minutes. Nothing happened. She wanted to look around, see what was going on, but didn’t dare move. Finally, a soft thump sounded. Someone dropped their stone. Not threw it. Dropped it. On the ground. Footsteps crunched the dry dirt as one man walked away. Then another. And another. Not one stone came in her direction. Not one person was willing to declare himself sinless. Still she stood there, barely daring to breathe, until Jesus stood back up from his sand art and looked around her, noting her accusers were no longer there. Where were they? Had they left? Did no one stay to offer accusations and condemnation? Was no one there happy to heave a stone? Carefully turning first one direction, then the other, the woman realized every single man had gone. No one had stayed to tell their story or throw their stone. No one except Jesus.
Raising her eyes to His, she waited for the lecture that was sure to come. It was the least that would happen. Except it didn’t. Instead, offering her absolution for her sins, Jesus commanded her to go on her way and stop sinning. He didn’t call it another name. He didn’t act like it never happened. He didn’t say it didn’t matter or offer excuses for her behavior. Jesus called her actions what they were–sin–and told her to stop it. She was different now. Her sins were washed away. She was forgiven. Sanctified. Justified. Changed. Adultery may have been her past, but it didn’t define her now, and it certainly wasn’t her future. (John 8:2-11)
Paul’s message said exactly the same. Your past doesn’t define you. You might have been a lot of things back in the day. Terrible things. Ugly things. Sinful things. Maybe you were those things as recently as yesterday, but today you are different. Today, through grace, you have been given the gift of forgiveness. Today your soul has been cleansed from sin. Today, through the blood and power of Jesus Christ, you have been set apart for God to do His work and spread His gospel. Today you are different. You have been changed. Your past no longer bears weight in your life. At all. Although there is no denying who you used to be, there is only one definition for who you are now. Forgiven. Sanctified. Justified. Changed. A lot of things may need to happen before you discover who you will become, but the only thing you need to know today is how God defines you right now. Cleansed. Redeemed. Reformed. Redirected. Who you were is not who you are. Not anymore.
Centuries after the ink dried on the very first draft of the 66 books we call the Bible, we are still remembering people by who they were. Their sins mostly. David’s victory over Goliath is overshadowed by his affair with Bathsheba. Jonah’s great obedience is eclipsed by his extraordinary disobedience. Peter’s discipleship is dwarfed by his denial. The woman caught in adultery is still referred to as just that–an adulteress. Because, in our humanity, we define others by their faults rather than their forgiveness. Even ourselves. We have no trouble remembering who we were before Jesus rescued us, but we struggle to see who we are now that He has. Washed. Sanctified. Justified. Changed. Children of God. Residents of Heaven. Called to be saints on earth. It’s not who you used to be. It’s who you are now. (I Samuel 17; II Samuel 11-12; Jonah 1,3; Luke 22:54-62; John 8:2-11; I Corinthians 1:2; Philippians 3:20; Romans 8:16)
I get it, though, sometimes the condemnation of the past is so heavy that you question who you are in Christ. Are you really saved? Is your sin really covered? Is it really possible that God forgot all your sins when you came to Him in repentance and faith? Yes, friend! Yes! There is no current or coming condemnation for those who have placed their lives in the care of Christ Jesus and spend every day resting in the shade of His shadow. Even if your heart questions and worries and wonders, God is bigger than those doubts and fears. He knows the truth–about you and your heart–and His word is final. To everyone who is in Christ Jesus, who has been washed in His blood, who has been sanctified, justified, cleansed, He speaks new words over you. Words that say you are His. You belong to God. You are His child. You are His precious treasure. You are loved and beloved by Him. That is who you are. Right now. At this moment. And nothing can take that away from you. Not life or death, authorities or powers, things of earth or things under the earth. Not one thing can change who you are in Christ or separate you from the infinite love He has for all of His children. You belong to Him. You are His. That is who you are. Forgiven. Washed. Sanctified. Justified. Changed. Not stuck in the past, but looking forward to a glorious future. Child of God, that is who you are! (I John 3:1-3, 20; Micah 7:19; Jeremiah 31:34; Romans 8:1-2, 15, 38-39; Isaiah 43:1; Song of Solomon 7:10; Hebrews 8:12; II Corinthians 5:17; Proverbs 23:18; John 1:12; Galatians 3:26)