As the lanterns of Jerusalem began to herald the end of another day, Jesus left the rest of us, as he often did, to spend some time alone.

He hadn't realized how tired and hungry he had become until the enticing pungency of savory, roasting meat invited him. As he neared the gate of the city, there were booths that sold food to weary travelers. He stopped at one and purchased a portion of flat bread, a special pocket baked into it, stuffed with roast lamb. Drippings of brown juices coated his fingers as he took the morsel from the merchant. While he licked the delicious substance from his fingers, the vendor remarked, "Fine dog you have there," casting an admiring glance at Abishag.

"Female," said Jesus. "She was a stray who found and adopted a solitary human--me. From the looks of her and the way she behaves, I'd say she once belonged to a shepherd. She is one special dog."

"I have some meat scraps and a bone she might enjoy." The merchant added two small raisin cakes and retrieving the stuffed bread from Jesus, bundled everything in grape leaves. A small wineskin filled with sweet wine completed the meal. It was fare for travelers, but Jesus would not travel far tonight. He made his way up to nearby Mount of Olives and found a comfortable spot to spread his cloak where he and Abishag enjoyed their dinner. Stars began to peek through the olive branches. In a few moments, he was fast asleep.

Birds announced the coming day from nearby trees. Jesus stretched, called the dog, who was still gnawing on last night's bone, then made his way down the hill and back to the Temple steps. Even at this hour people still milled about the streets, remnants of the celebrations the night before. They gathered around Jesus as he sat on the Temple steps. We assumed we'd find him there. We joined the group as he began to tell us more of intimacy with God. During this time, Jesus did not lecture. He chatted. He discussed. He dialogued. He responded to questions. His ideas about the Father were fresh and different from those heard from other rabbis. Honest seekers of truth, the curious and the skeptical were provoked to think, to consider.

Suddenly, there was a disturbance. The crowd parted to reveal a group of men dressed in temple garb signifying authority, jerking and dragging a woman along with them, her robes disheveled and torn, hardly covering her body. She looked as though someone else had dressed her without concern for anything but her shame. She had been accosted by these men when she had not expected it. They dragged her before Jesus and threw her roughly at his feet. Trembling and terrified, she wept, embarrassed, humiliated, disgraced.

"Teacher!" they declared with contemptuous aggression. Passion afire, they smelled blood. "This woman was caught in the very act of adultery. In the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women." Moses again. It is a frustrating perplexity and stupefaction that people so taken with structuralized religion were themselves practitioners of consummate evil. Here they wanted to murder this woman--execute, if it makes one feel better--because she had committed a sin. "But what do you say?" angrily challenging him. It was a question and an accusation at the same time.

These brutal men were steeped in false piety. Like peacocks, they arrayed their indignation, dripping with self-righteousness, their hypocrisy blatant and obvious. I scanned the crowd. Where was the male partner in this sordid spectacle? He was not present, or if he was, he was concealed. Perhaps he had fled. More likely, they chose to release him because he was one of their number--yet another religious bureaucrat. In any event, they brought only this terrified woman to Jesus and caused her to cower in public. It was clear that they intended to use this occasion as a transparent attempt to discredit Jesus. They cared nothing for this woman. They cared even less about the alleged adultery or her partner. Jesus was their target, and she the insignificant sacrifice to destroy him.

Jesus then did a peculiar thing. He was in no hurry to respond to their question. He merely stooped to the earth and began to write in the dirt with his finger--ignoring them. Curious at what he wrote, they jostled forward with craned necks to see.

Noadiah . . .

Hulda . . .

Anana . . .

To the profound embarrassment of those who saw, the names of women with whom each of these men, themselves, had illicit liaisons appeared in the dirt.

Sheba . . .

No one said a word.

Hanna . . .

None indicated that they recognized a name for fear of revealing their secret.

Jesus stood, erased his writings with his foot and brushed the dirt from his hands. "All right!" he said aggressively, "then let's do it!" He took command, "Each of you! Find a stone. Find a hefty rock, a serious rock, one that will do serious damage, one that if impelled with skill and accuracy, will kill. But not too quickly. We wish her to suffer, do we not? We wish her to die slow and beg for mercy. Quickly now! Find your piece!" Nervously, but confused at Jesus' enthusiasm, they each located a stone. There were plenty available. "Now, arrange yourselves in a large semicircle around this dangerous woman." Fools! They had no clue that he was baiting them. A clumsy circle began to form. "Let's see, how shall we determine who gets the honor of throwing the first rock?" There were some smiles of bloodlust anticipation, some looks of surprise from her captors. Anguished whimpering from the woman who had begun to consider a painful, untimely death. He paused only briefly. "I have it!" he said forcibly, so all could hear, "He who is without sin--let him be the first to cast his stone!"

Silence. No one spoke. No one moved.

It was as if he had thrown ice water on their throbbing excitement and lust for blood. Each man turned and looked at him, then looked quickly away, staring instead into their own condemnation. Again, he stooped down and wrote on the ground.

Sheninah . . .

Abigail . . .

Salome . . .

Names common to many women, but known to these men in intimate, hidden moments.

After what seemed an eternal silence, the dull sound of a stone thudded to earth. And then another and another. A vacancy in the circle. And then another. The semicircle began to resemble broken teeth. One at a time they left the scene--the older ones first (presumably, they had more sins to remember) down to the youngest. Only Jesus and the woman remained. Stilled stones lay scattered on the earth, deprived of their lethal force.