With Untooted Horns

With Untooted Horns--July 3, 2018

"The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery; and making her stand before all of them, they said to [Jesus], 'Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery. Now in the law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?' They said this to test him, so that they might have some charge to bring against him. Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger on the ground. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, 'Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first one to throw a stone at her.' And once again he bent down and wrote on the ground. When they heard it, they went away, one by one, beginning with the elders; and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him. Jesus straightened up and said to her, 'Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?' She said, 'No one, sir.' And Jesus said, 'Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again'." [John 8:3-11]

I am reminded again and again these days of the wisdom of that old line attributed to former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, who supposedly said that being powerful "is like being a lady: if you have to tell someone you are, you aren't."  The gist of Thatcher's maxim is that, much like the social grace and charisma of being a sophisticated "lady," power is one of those things that speaks for itself, and which doesn't have to be announced.  If you've got it, it is evident, and you don't have to call attention to yourself--people just know it, practically when you walk into the room.  And along those lines, if you do have to go around telling people you are powerful and important, chances are you are neither, just like people will doubt your refinement if you regularly enter rooms by shouting and honking, "Make way! Make way! Elegant lady comin' through here--beep beep beep, everybody!  Elegant lady comin' through!"  

On this point, Thatcher's line is exactly right: if you have to tell people you are "great" or "powerful" or "elite" (or for that matter, if you have to insist to people, "I am very smart!" or "I am very compassionate!" or the always-classic, "I am way more Christlike than you, dammit!"), it is likely that you are fooling nobody but yourself.  It has a way of making everyone around you roll their eyes and mutter under their breath, "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." And conversely, true power is often silent.  It doesn't need to say a word, cause drama, or get everybody worked up.  True power can be exercised without so much as a spoken word.

And that is precisely what is so downright compelling about Jesus and his kind of power.  Because in encounters like this one, Jesus is absolutely the one with the power and the authority, and you know it, not because he has to get red in the face waving his arms wildly and telling everyone around how they have to listen to him because he is so powerful, but simply because he can get the crowd to drop their killing stones without so much as raising his voice.  His silence breaks the wild fervor of the mob's angry momentum.  His calm refusal to get riled up when they are clamoring for someone's blood turns the tables on the whole scene.  And his way of writing nonchalantly in the dirt instead of giving the Respectable Religious Crowd any ammunition for their scheme to trap Jesus, well, it's just plain genius.  Jesus commands the attention of everyone there in that scene without so much as speaking a word.  And he does so intentionally--because as long as everyone's eyes are fixed on Jesus, they are not throwing rocks at this woman whom the religious people have turned into a prop and a pawn for their agenda.  Jesus draws the attention to himself, oddly enough, by not getting into a rage of bluster, but by silently writing in the ground, and by doing so, he takes the target sights off of this poor woman's back.

And it is utterly brilliant.  It is grace and power par excellence, all rolled up into one.  Jesus commands attention and authority without having to toot any horns, and at the same time, he uses that power entirely for saving someone from becoming the victim of a bunch of violent hypocrites.  Jesus doesn't have to step into the scene and start shouting, "You all have to listen to me, because I'm the Messiah!  Hold on, Messiah coming through!"  He doesn't pull the Son-of-God card, or threaten anybody with a smiting or a good, old-fashioned lightning bolt.  All he does is draw in the dirt, and then, when all eyes are on him, he offers the catch that disarms everybody in that angry mob: "Okay, you want to stone her to death, in the name of 'doing what the law says'? Is that it?  All of a sudden 'the Law' is so important to you all?  Well, then, the person who hasn't ever broken the Law or crossed a line on a commandment gets to be the first rock-thrower... and the rest of you will have to wait until that person's rock gets thrown." It is a masterful move--grace and power all woven into one. And Jesus doesn't have to say a word about his own authority or make a threat.  Real power never does.

It is funny--in that sad sort of way--how easily people will try to mask their own insecure needs to make themselves seem "better" than someone else by using, "But it's the Law!" in the attempt borrow the authority of "the law" to justify their own pet hostilities.  And it is beautiful--in a graceful and powerful sort of way--how Jesus just rises above all those calls for condemnation with a silent authority that doesn't need to puff itself up or call itself "great" first.  Jesus doesn't need to appeal to some other or higher authority, or look for some way to prop up his claims with some legal pretense.  He just says, almost casually, "Okay, fellas... you can get to hurling your rocks only after somebody without sin starts throwing stones... but oh, by the way, I'm the Sinless One, and I ain't gonna pick up so much as a pebble."  It is power used for mercy.  It is authority harnessed for grace.

And now here is a wondrous thing.  Even though Christians believe Jesus has a unique kind of power (he is, we confess, the eternal Son of God), this same Jesus is on the record lending his followers this same power for the purpose of mercy, too.  He sends his disciples out by the end of the Gospel saying, "As the Father has sent me, so I send you--if you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven!"  We don't have to go around reciting our resumes, rattling sabers, bragging, or puffing ourselves up.  We simply and quietly keep our calm when others are getting red in the face with condemnation.  And by not getting riled up back, by not getting into a defensive tizzy when someone starts shouting and pontificating, "But the Law!" or "But the rules!", WE can be the presence of Jesus' authoritative mercy, which doesn't need to shout or boast or threaten in order to convince anybody of its greatness.  Jesus' authority--Jesus' power--doesn't have to advertise. And as we use the same authority given us to speak grace into the lives of others, we don't have to get red in the face or toot our own horns, either.  Jesus' power speaks for itself.

Today, speak mercy for someone.

Today, let your silent presence standing with someone who has been left to fend for themselves give courage and strength.

Today, with quiet unspoken authority and with untooted horns, be grace for someone else.

Lord Jesus, use your power to bring grace for those who need it--without any pretense about who has earned or deserved it--and then lend us your power to speak grace into the lives of others, too.