Jesus forgives a woman while she is judged by a merciless crowd and foresees his own judgement to come.
A guilty one is dragged before the man,
who stands, surrounded by the baying crowd.
Their loathing is a stench which joins their sweat.
Excited in their vengeance. Righteous, loud.
She gathers tattered linen round her form.
She seeks to hide where hiding has no chance.
Her terror, his acceptance, rouse the men,
their hatred leaps between, a vicious dance.
‘What one among you, standing tall and proud,
have not once done a thing which proves you frail?
If none, then throw your stone and be the judge.
But think where mercy stands in your own tale.’
He waits, he hopes, he prays, he loves but sees
far further than this scuffed and trampled sand.
For as the stones thud down and then the quiet,
they echo hammered nails and bloodied hand.
Fr Mark Skelton is a priest of the Plymouth Diocese, a poet and has always had a keen interest in the interface between Literature and Theology.
