Scribbling in the sand

[An old blog entry: 7 Oct 2005]

Amidst a mob of madmen, she stood frightened and alone
As hate-filled voices hissed at Him that she should now be stoned
But in the air around Him hung a vast and wordless love
Who knows what luminous lesson He was in the middle of

At first He faced the fury of their self-righteous scorn
But then he stooped and at once became the calm eye of the storm
It was His wordless answer to their dark and cruel demand
A lifetime in a moment, as He scribbled in the sand

It was silence. It was music.
It was art. It was absurd.
He stooped and shouted volumes
Without saying a single word
The same finger of the strong hand
That had written ten commands
For now was simply scribbling in the sand.

Within the space of space and time He'd scribbled in the sand
They came to hear and see as much as they could understand
Now bound by cords of kindness they couldn't cast a single stone
And Jesus and the woman found that they were all alone

Could that same Finger come and trace my soul's sacred sand
And make some unexpected space where I could understand
That my own condemnation pierced and broke that gentle Hand
That scratched the words I'll never know
Written in the sand

- Michael Card "Scribbling in the Sand"
based on John 8:1-11