In my post called, “For the Days I Don’t Feel Black Enough”, I described how I try to overcome shame and identity crisis from childhood bullying by taking an Oreo Eucharist. The response from that post was ridiculously humbling. Some of my favorite messages were from women who could relate to my story and would actually go out to buy Oreos, to take very own Oreo Eucharist! The stories they shared with me of how they struggled with shame, fear, or sense of worthlessness were gifts to me. Truly. I invited you all to come and share your stories while we take of the cookies and milk together and some of y’all called my bluff. THANK YOU!
So today we’re going to go back to that blanket where I take my Eucharist for my FMF.
Today’s Five Minute Friday falls during my Thirty-One Day Challenge. For the month of October, I’m writing for thirty-one days on one topic: Finding My Tribe. I promised that I’ll take the word Lisa-Jo puts out and find a way to make it work for this month’s theme.
Today’s word is: Write .
Why not some low hanging fruit like, “love?”
How am I going to work that in? But, I think I’m up for the challenge. So I got the prompt last night and all day long I’ve been waiting for inspiration to hi.
I played with a few ideas on my walk with my husband this morning, but it finally came to me!
I’m going to try to write for five minutes on one of the most well known story in the Bible of Jesus writing. I’m going to write on the woman caught in the act of adultery—from the perspective of the woman.
This is in line with the “finding my tribe theme” because the picture of God as our loving ally, not a judgmental deity, as described in this account is the foundation for every theological belief and conviction I hold… my tribe is made of women who see God as reflected in Jesus.
On Monday, I’ll share how this story helped me reframe my picture of God as “for me and not against me”.
But for today, I’m going to write for five minutes as if I invited the woman to come sit on my blanket, share her Jesus story, and share in an Oreo Eucharist—and she actually took me up on it. It’s longer than most of my five minutes because I had ALL DAY LONG to craft this post in my head. So it’s a bit of a departure from the rules. 🙂
So here we go:
Oreos with the Adulteress.
I had just pulled out a sleeve of cookies when she approached my blanket. With her long braid tumbling over her shoulder, graceful fingers cupping a ancient-looking pitcher, a serene smile on her lips, and eyes shining a bit of mischief, she knelt down and asked, “Is this where we tell our Jesus stories?”
Schooching over to make room for my new friend, I nod, “Yes, yes, this is. Please tell me your story!”
She gingerly sits next to me and pours milk into my amber cup.
“Are you sure, it’s pretty shameful?”
“Honey, shame used to be my middle name”, I say as I arrange the cookies on the plate.
She chuckles lightly and begins her story:
“He was in on it, I think. When the teachers of the Law wanted to trick Jesus and they I think he offered me up. It was obvious they needed a scapegoat.
I knew something was up when he came to me in the near dawn and not for our usual middle of the night meeting. He was a little bit more anxious, he looked over his shoulder a few to many times, and he wanted to get right to it.
I didn’t delude myself that there was any love between us, he needed to use my youthful body for release and I needed to feel something…anything, even if it was a fleeting desire.
I knew it was wrong. I knew it was against the law, but when has the law ever made me feel known, loved, or seen? Never.
So he came to me and we began our hopeless transaction. At first, it was just him and me. His desire and my need. Tangled up together in our sin. And then there were the men.
Loud and posturing, they rushed at us and grabbed me. Naked and unprotected, I was dragged away from the bed. “What is this!” they demanded as if they didn’t know. They knew! They planned it all. The giddy gleams of self-righteousness in their eyes told me…they knew.
They threw me to the ground in front of Jesus, as he taught early in the day with so many people gathered all around him.
And if my nakedness, my dirtiness, my shame wasn’t enough—they asked for my life.
“Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women, Now what do you say.”
I waited for the inevitable. His stone-faced judgment. The screams of disgust. The unrelenting blows of heavy rocks.
But, he didn’t do that. Jesus looked at me, looked at them, and then he knelt down to write in the sand. Mere inches away, I could have looked up to see what he was writing, but I didn’t‑I was too afraid of making eye contact. ‘He’ll pass judgment soon. It’ll all be over when he stands up’, I thought.
As my accusers persisted he stood up and said, “Let anyone who is without sin be the first to thrown a stone at her”
Then he stooped again to write in the sand, so close to me I could reach out and touch the Messiah.
Soon I heard feet shuffling away and as quickly as I was dragged to face my shame, I was left alone with the Savoir and his writing in the sand.
“Woman, where are you accusers?” he gently asked.
“They have all gone” I stammered, nearly hopeful that this was all behind me.
“There’s no one left to condemn you, then?”
I nodded stiffly.
“Neither do I condemn you. ” He declared.
“Go now and leave your life of sin”
I shook my head in amazement at her story. “He really does love us, doesn’t he?” I say. “I mean, he could have totally blasted you with the law, but that’s not our Jesus is it? He fulfills the law with love, right?”
She nods and offers me a little smile, “that he does.”
She picks up an Oreo and twirls it around in her finger, “You know, it seems to me, this would be much more fun if we twisted and pulled the cookie apart to see which side the cream lands?”
“Yep, I say…super fun” with a little smirk and a wink
So she hold up one side and I take the other and we twist. The cream lands on her side, go figure.
“Go” we say to one another, “and leave your life of sin”
Tomorrow and Sunday I’ll post prayers, liturgical readings, or poems that I love.
Until tomorrow, Lovelies,