Say Her Name is a movement that emerged
from the stories of women
affected by institutional violence,
particularly women from marginalized communities—
women with no power,
no voice,
no easy path to justice.
Say her name.
It invites us to remove the distance
between “her”
and “us”,
to move beyond “otherness”,
remove privilege,
level the field,
place someone in the context of relationship and community.
Say her name.
She is somebody’s daughter.
Sister.
Lover.
Friend.
Say her name.
Naming someone lifts her story
from the anonymous and impersonal
to the concrete.
The visible.
The real.
Say her name.
The very title of this Bible story,
“A Woman Caught in Adultery,”
found in the heading for John 8: 1-11,
primes the pump in all the wrong ways.
It tells us to focus our gaze upon the accused—
(and presumed guilty)
woman.
On her sins,
her failures,
her shame.
Yet, the story unfolds quite differently.
It is the end of the week-long Festival of Tabernacles,
a time when those who are able
are commanded to make a pilgrimage to the Temple
to celebrate the gathering of the harvest
and the exodus from Egypt.
“For seven days, live in temporary shelters,
so your descendants will know that I had the Israelites
live in temporary shelters when I brought them out of Egypt” (Lev 23:42-43)
During this celebration,
Jerusalem is packed with joyous crowds
filling the streets,
crowding the marketplace,
jamming the roads leading to the Temple.
Tents and temporary booths dot the landscape.
Merchants and pickpockets
scan the crowds for strangers with heavy wallets
and a taste for adventure.
In this chaos,
a group of scribes and Pharisees
drag a woman into the temple area where Jesus is teaching
and thrust her
into the center of the crowd.
“Teacher, this woman was caught
in the very act of committing adultery”
Disheveled,
perhaps half dressed,
terrified,
shamed,
she stands silent and alone before a crowd of men
eager to throw stone after stone
until her body breaks open.
We hear no backstory—
no explanation of who she is
and how they found her.
Where was she when they caught her “in the very act?”
Who are the witnesses?
Where is her equally guilty partner?
Was she set up?
Betrayed
by a man she loved?
Used
by one of her accusers for this very purpose?
Was it simply bad luck,
or was it careful planning
by men intent on silencing Jesus?
In the eyes of the accusers,
she is not a person at all.
She is simply the means to an end,
a useful but disposable commodity--
a Molotov cocktail
about to be lit and tossed.
She is bait,
and the trap is set.
Say her name.
Jesus refuses to be drawn into their game.
He writes in the sand
while the mob shifts heavy stones from hand to hand,
ready to punish,
hoping to finish what they started.
If Jesus agrees she should be stoned,
his reputation for mercy is in ruins,
and his standing with his followers,
diminished.
The Romans might accuse him
of taking the law into his own hands
and inciting violence.
If he argues she should be spared,
he is repudiating the Law of Moses
and undermining the social order of his people.
Perhaps what this Gospel story really needs
is another title—
a title not written by those in power.
A title that more closely captures its heart.
Maybe something like,
“The Hypocritical Leaders,”
“Dangerous Double Standards,”
“Caught in Their Own Trap,”
“Throwing Stones in Glass Houses”
Or even,
“Woman, Has No One Condemned You?”
This encounter
is not at all about the woman’s alleged adultery,
her guilt,
her innocence,
her past associations.
This encounter is not about the “right” or “wrong” answer
to an impossible question.
It is about seeing our lives more clearly,
and embracing a future of mercy and possibility.
“Let the one among you who is without sin
be the first to throw a stone at her.
And hearing that, they went away,
one by one,
beginning with the elders.
Did she feel the thud of a dozen stones
dropping to the ground?
Could she hear the voice of Jesus
over the pounding of her heart?
How long did it take for her fists to unclench
and her body to stop trembling?
Woman, where are they?
Has no one condemned you?”
Woman.
Jesus stands,
and for the first time in the story,
she is addressed directly.
Given a name of dignity.
A name of honor.
Woman.
The same title Jesus used to address Mary at Cana.
The same name he used to commend his mother
to the Beloved Disciple as he hung upon the cross.
Woman,
is there no one left to accuse you?
Some scholars argue that this story
doesn’t even belong in the Gospel of John.
It’s not found in the earliest manuscripts,
and appears in a variety of places in later ones.
But I wonder if that matters.
Whatever its origin,
this story captures something
true
about Jesus
and also about us.
It invites us to look deep into a mirror
any time we have the urge to pick up a rock,
or use someone else as a pawn
in a game of privilege and power.
This story reminds us
that despite choices,
despite sin,
despite injustice,
despite forces that would deny our humanity,
we are—all of us—
invited into an encounter with Christ
that offers us dignity and freedom.
We are invited into a relationship
rooted in forgiveness, justice, love and hope.
I do not condemn you.
Go, and live a life free of sin.
Be free of whatever binds you.
Be free of whatever caught you.
Be free of the need to use and discard others.
Be free of those powers that threaten to bury you
under the weight of a thousand stones.
Woman, I do not condemn you.
Go, and sin no more.
Say your name!
Child of God.