Dust
I have often wondered what You wrote in the dust, when they dragged out that woman to play games with her life, to put her to death to put You to the test, with stones in their hands and stones in their chests, and souls sharpened thin like a knife.
When the Word made flesh wrote words in the dust, like the dust which His word had called “man”, when the men all around had ground themselves down into so many missiles just waiting to pound Your image, by the work of their hands,
what did you write?
What words did you place – were they comfort and grace? – into Earth, as you rested and waited? We know what You said, but what thoughts from your head, did your fingers work into the sandy dustbed before You spoke, and raised from the near-dead the woman they just knew that God hated?
To be paired with John 8:1-11