Rev Michael Docherty's sermon 28-03-2004

What's going through her mind as she's dragged through the streets: death looms close to her - what else can she expect from the angry mob that surround her, stones in the hands - their hearts full of hatred and scorn, not hearts of flesh but hearts of stone. The pain in her arms from the hostile hands that crush the muscle against the bone, her hands dangling lifeless, as her circulation is cut off by the anger, the hatred in their hands. Clenched fists paraded in front of her. Jeering voices screaming in her ear, screams of hatred, scorn, full of contempt. The shame of it, the scandal of it: caught in the act, guilty as charged, guilty. Her shame, the shame of a daughter of Jerusalem, forsaken as the crowd close in, the accusing crowd, the mob, going along for the spectacle, the scent of blood egging them on, the prospect of death, the death of the guilty, the sinner - it's only what she deserves, only what she can expect.

They stop, her head hangs lifeless in shame, tears run down her cheeks, the blood from her wounds mingling with the soil on which she stands: the jeers, the insults, die down and then silence: is this the end for her, the end of her pain, her humiliation, the end of her shame.

Then she sees the man - a man who has come not to condemn the world but who has come so that the world might be saved. She stands in silence before this man as he becomes the accused, the one being questioned, the one being judged: she can hear it in the tone of their voices, they have contempt for him as much as they have contempt for her. But she is guilty - what has he done: he is innocent.

She stands guilty before him who will be labelled guilty, who will be taken roughly in hand - given over into the hands of men to suffer and to die. He too would face the jeers of the crowd full of insults, a mob full of hatred - their cheers of hosanna turning to crucify him - facing the prospect of death as she now faces death. His hands and feet will be torn - his blood will mingle with the soil in which he now writes, taking upon himself her shame, her guilt, her sin. For the guilty woman he will die, for us men and women - for our salvation, he will die - out of love for her, he will endure death, death on the cross - out of love for humanity he will stretch out his arms and breath his last.

Despite this - he doesn't condemn her, he doesn't even accuse her. He turns to the mob - turns on them instead of her, accuses them, challenges the way they are acting: who is free from sin let him be first to throw the stone: Silence - stones are dropped, grips released - the crowd turns away.

And she stands alone in the face her salvation, her redeemer, the one who saves. 'Neither do I condemn you - go away, and don't sin any more'. It was she who deserved to die, she is the guilty one - yet for her he. the innocent, will go to his death, for love of her the innocent one will endure his passion.

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