Like a mat they beat her out,
dragged her sorry ass to the court
and called for Jesus. Jesus, Jesus.
He washed his hands, slipped his feet
into his sandals and went out.
He watched her, folded, the red dirt
combing the sides of her head,
blood running into the streets.
Angry men clanging,
He knelt beside her, his finger dragging
in the soil. Her eyes opened –
Then, she saw the marble throne of
God, the choir of angels in sunshine robes,
and the tables of braided loaves and honey
water. Her skin lavender,
and she a glow of sunlight beneath
She saw him stand but could not hear
the scuffing of feet, the falling of stones,
as they left her lying there.
She could only see what he had written,
a small seed planted beside her head.
Annalise Kort Radcliffe is a 2015 graduate of Western Theological Seminary.
Image: Cranach the Younger, Lucas – Christ and the adulteress, Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg, Russia. Public domain, from Wikimedia Commons.