Winds carried away the words that Jesus, the Word made flesh, wrote in the dust, while sitting near a trembling woman, who was the accused, who was bait in a trap. “Adultery! Law! Stone! Death!” Harsh words hurled by vigilantes, hushed by the breath of a single sentence, “Let the person who is without sin hurl the first stone.” Words from the only one who was without sin, and the only one who did not condemn.
As accusers slunk away, he wrote more in the dust. What were those ephemeral words, mysteries lost to history? A list of the accusers’ hypocrisies? Words of justice and mercy? Ashes to ashes. Words to dust. In our dustbins of history, what do we ourselves write? What will sum up our lives’ words before they are lost to the world? Words of division, judgment, and hate? Words of healing, mercy, and grace? Will our words hurled into the world, resemble swords to wound or salve to heal? Will our words, blown by the wind, be words written without sin?