The more closely and prayerfully we study the four Gospels, the more clearly do we see the distinct design of the Holy Spirit in each, and the perfect way in which He has pursued and carried out that design even in the most minute details. The grand theme of each is Christ, but in no two of the Gospels is He presented in the same way. In Matthew we have Him as the Messiah, Son of Abraham, Son of David, a Jew, heir of the promises made to the fathers, heir of the throne of David, fulfiller of the prophecies, presented to Israel according to their own Scriptures and deliberately rejected.
Such is the distinct object of the Holy Spirit in Matthew — such is His marked design. This He pursues throughout with unswerving faithfulness. To this end everything is made subservient. With a view to this He culls, groups and arranges His materials. For this, chronological order is set aside without hesitation and without apology. Scenes and circumstances, separated by many months, are grouped together by the skillful hand of the Holy Spirit for the specific purpose of presenting His subject in perfect keeping with the scope and design of the entire Gospel, from which He never diverges the breadth of a hair. In a word, Matthew groups for dispensational ends what we may call the great dispensational Gospel.
In Mark we have our blessed Lord as the Servant, the perfect Workman, the divine Minister, the diligent Preacher and Teacher whose days were given to work and His nights to prayer. He could hardly find time to eat or sleep — the most laborious Worker who ever worked in God’s great harvest field. Mark tells us by the Holy Spirit what the Savior did and how He did it. His gospel is a marvelous record of work from first to last. We have no record of our Lord’s birth — no genealogical chain stretching back to David, to Abraham or to Adam. There was no need to trace the pedigree of One who came to serve, to work, to toil night and day. The question in Mark is not so much who He was as what He did. We are simply told He was “Jesus Christ the Son of God.” Then the inspired penman plunges into his subject and gives a rapid survey of a life of unparalleled labor — a path of service pursued with unflinching decision from the manger of Bethlehem to the cross of Calvary, and resumed in resurrection and carried on from the right hand of the Majesty in the heavens. See Mark 16:19-20.
Thus much as to Mark who observes throughout the strict historical order. It is important for the reader to note this, as it will enable him to see the instances in which both Matthew and Luke depart from strict chronological sequence.
Luke gives us “The Man Christ Jesus.” Such is preeminently his theme. Hence he gives us the pedigree traced up, not merely to David and Abraham, but to Adam and to God. It is not the Messiah nor the Jew nor the worker, but the Man. All that which is exquisitely human we have in Luke, just as we have all that is purely Jewish in Matthew and all that is directly ministerial in Mark. Luke groups for moral ends as Matthew for dispensational purposes. Mark does not group; he simply records in historic order the facts of our Lord’s marvelous ministry.
Now, before turning to that gospel from which the subject of this paper is selected, we would request the reader’s earnest attention to what we have stated in reference to the three synoptic Gospels as they have been called. We would ask him to study the Gospels for himself, to compare the passages diligently, to seek to understand why Matthew or Luke departs in any given case from the exact order of time, to ask God to teach him by His Holy Spirit the true reason for every such departure. In this way we feel persuaded he will reap a rich harvest of blessing. He will obtain a deeper insight into the infinite wisdom that dictated those peerless documents. He will rise from his study with a more profound faith in the complete inspiration of these wonderful narratives.
Furthermore, he will see that those very passages in which the rationalist, the skeptic or the infidel has sought to find flaws and discrepancies, present the most striking and exquisite proofs of divine wisdom and marked design. He will be convinced that there is no standing-ground between these two conclusions, that the evangelists were either divinely inspired or they were the most senseless narrators that ever put pen to paper. That they were divinely inspired is proved in every page, in every paragraph, in every line. The internal evidence is irresistible. Hence it follows that these inspired writers could no more clash one with another than two heavenly bodies while pursuing their divinely appointed orbits, could come into collision. If there seems to be a discrepancy, it is simply because of our ignorance. Let us devoutly own this and wait for further light.
We shall now proceed with our immediate theme.
The Gospel of John has a character uniquely its own. In it the Holy Spirit unfolds to our view the Person of the Son of God, the Word, the Eternal Life, the true God. It is not the Messiah as in Matthew — not the Minister as in Mark — not the social Man as in Luke, but the Son — what He was in Himself from all eternity; what He was though rejected by Israel and the world at large; what He was to any poor way-worn, heavy laden, sin-burdened creature who crossed His blessed path.
Such is the lofty theme of the divinely inspired John. And what is so uniquely touching is that while John gives us the very highest possible view of the Blessed One — the most glorious revelation of the Person of the Son — he nevertheless continually shows Him to us alone with the sinner. This surely is a fact full of sweetness, comfort and divine power for us.
Let us look at the opening paragraph of John 8, a paragraph that bears upon its every clause the stamp of divine inspiration. Our blessed Lord, having spent His night on the lonely mountain top, is found early in the morning at His post, teaching the people in the temple. Into His holy and gracious presence, the scribes and Pharisees bring a poor convicted sinner — one respecting whom there could be no possible mistake, one who had openly and flagrantly broken the law of Moses. They quote the law against her. “Moses in the law commanded us that such should be stoned, but what sayest Thou?”
Here then was a case. These men, no doubt, thought to involve our Lord in a dilemma. They wanted to bring Him into collision with Moses — to make it appear that He was throwing the law overboard. This might seem very clever, but what is cleverness in the presence of God? Still their purpose was obvious. If He had said, “Stone her,” they might pronounce Him no better than Moses. If He had said, “You must not stone her,” then He was making void the law. But He said neither. “The law was given by Moses,” and the Lord allows it to stand in all its majesty, in all its stringency, in all its force. He came not to destroy the law, but to magnify it in the very highest possible manner, both in His life and in His death.
It is a very grave error indeed to suppose the law is set aside. So far from this, the apostle in 1 Timothy declares that “The law is good if a man use it lawfully.” If the law were dead or set aside, it could not be said to be good for anything, for that which is dead is good for nothing. What then is the law good for? Not for justification, but for conviction — not as a rule of life, but as a rule of death.
It is thus our Lord uses it in the scene now before us. He turns the sharp edge of the law right back against the men who had quoted it against a poor fellow sinner. With those men He could have no sympathy whatever. They had conducted this woman into His presence to have judgment pronounced and executed upon her. But He had not come to judge, but to save. Yet, as He says at verse 16, if He judged, His judgment was true: oh! how true in the case of the scribes and Pharisees! They had accused the sinner and were eager to accuse the Savior, but He makes them accuse themselves. “Jesus stooped down and with his finger wrote on the ground.” There was the great Lawgiver Himself, the very One whose finger wrote on the ground. There was the great Lawgiver Himself, the very One whose finger had written the first set of tables. How little they knew this! They were quoting the law against a fellow sinner to find occasion against the Lawgiver. What a position for men to find themselves in! In the presence of the Lawgiver, quoting the law, themselves guilty before Him!
There is something very interesting here. Indeed there is not such a scene anywhere else in the sacred canon. It is unique! Little did these men know what they were doing for the poor convicted one and for untold millions besides, when they led her into the presence of Jesus. Her very best friends could not have done better for her. Let us pursue the marvelous narrative.
“So, when they continued asking Him, He lifted up Himself and said to them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” They were determined to have an answer, and truly He let them have one. If they would place Him, before the time, in the judgment seat, He must judge all. He could not give a partial judgment. He could not judge one and let another pass. In point of fact, He judged no man. The object of His blessed mission to a world of sinners was not judgment but salvation. He came not to cast a stone at a poor guilty sinner. They could never get Him to engage in such work, blessed forever be His glorious name. How could a divine Savior cast the stone of judgment at a lost convicted sinner? Impossible. If there was a sinless one among them, let him proceed to do the work of judgment. No doubt the sinner was guilty and the sentence of Moses was as distinct as possible, but where was the executioner? This was the puzzling question. Who would dare to lift the first stone?
What a complete turning of the tables! What becomes of all the cleverness! What an intensely interesting moment! What principle was at stake? There is the sinner; there is the law; there too is the Lawgiver; but who will presume in His presence to execute the sentence? This is the point. “And again He stopped down and wrote on the ground.” Does this remind us of the writing of the second set of tables that were enclosed in the ark and covered with the mercy seat? Is there anything significant, anything suggestive in these two writings on the ground? One thing is clear — conscience was set to work. “They which heard it, being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one, beginning at the eldest, to the last: and Jesus was left alone and the woman standing in the midst.”
Nothing can exceed the moral power of all this. These scribes and Pharisees are driven out by the intense power of the light that was shining upon them. They could not stand it. Neither human cleverness nor human righteousness can stand the test of the divine presence. These men were wrapped up in the cloak of their own fancied sanctity. Hence they could not endure the light. To be able to abide in the presence of God, we must take our true place as utterly lost, guilty and undone — no cloak, no righteousness, no holiness, no wisdom, not one jot or tittle of anything good in ourselves. But the scribes and Pharisees were not on this ground at all. They were men of character, men of weight, men of reputation in the world. But the light of what God is — God in Christ — was shining in full blaze upon them, and they dare not say they were without sin. All that remained was for them to make their escape as speedily as possible from the action of a light that was reading them through and through.
Why did they begin with the eldest? Why was he the first to retreat? Because he had the greatest reputation to maintain, the character of highest standing to support! No one who has a reputation to maintain — a name or a character to keep up among his fellows — can stand for a moment in the light of the presence of God. Such an one can do well enough in the presence of his fellows. He can get on in the world inasmuch as there, such are highly esteemed. A man of character is respected among men. But let us remember these solemn and salutary words, “That which is highly esteemed among men is abomination in the sight of God.” God values a broken heart, a contrite spirit, a lowly mind. “To this man will I look, even to him who is of a broken and contrite spirit, and trembles at My word.” Now the scribes and Pharisees were the direct opposite of all this. Hence they could find no place in the presence of Jesus.
“They went out,” not in a crowd, but “one by one.” Conscience is an individual thing. Had they remained, they must strip off their cloaks and cry out, “Just as I am without one plea.” For this they were not prepared. They were thoroughly confounded and went about their business. The Light of the world was shining in the full luster of His heavenly beams, and these muffled men could not endure His brightness. So they went out and left the poor sinner alone with Jesus.
Blessed moment for her! The whole scene cleared. No answer, no sentence, no executioner — not a single stone of judgment. How was this? Was she not a sinner? Yes, a flagrant one. Was not the law against her? No doubt. How was it then? Jesus was there — the divine embodiment of “grace and truth,” and He was not going to stone a poor convicted sinner. It was not for such an object that He had left that bright and blessed world above. Had it been only a question of stoning the sinner, Moses could have managed that. There was no need for Moses’ Master to come down into this world to do that.
But oh! there was grace in the heart of Jesus — yes, grace and truth and truth and grace. Both shine out with unique luster in this truly unequaled scene. “Truth” in its mighty moral force had driven the accusers from the scene. Now “grace” in all its sweetness and soothing power, rises with healing in its wings upon the soul of the poor trembling sinner and sounds in her ears these precious words, “Neither do I condemn thee.” Precious words! sweet, wonderfully sweet to a broken heart and contrite spirit! They are gladdening beyond expression to one who had, a moment before, been expecting the stones of judgment to fall thick upon her guilty head. Mercy rejoices over judgment and grace reigns through righteousness to eternal life by Jesus Christ our Lord.
Yes, that blessed One knew what it would cost Him to speak such words in the ear of a sinner. It was to cost Him His life. That woman deserved to die. There was no question about that. “The soul that sins shall die” was the stern sentence of God’s law, the solemn enactment of His government. Was Jesus going to reverse this sentence? No, but He was going to bear it in the sinner’s stead. He, the sinless One who alone had the right to cast the stone at the sinner, was to expose Himself to the stroke of justice and have the stone cast at Him.
Such is the solid basis on which the glorious ministry of reconciliation rests — the atoning death of Christ, His giving Himself the Just for the unjust. It will perhaps be said that there is nothing about atonement in John 8. True. The great subject of the entire Gospel of John is the Person, not the atoning work of the Son. But it is essential for us to know the ground on which our blessed Lord could speak those words of balm and consolation in a sinner’s ear, “Neither do I condemn thee.” That ground is His sacrificial atoning death. In no other way, on no other ground, could sin be passed, remitted or blotted out. “Without shedding of blood is no remission.” Solemn yet glorious words! Solemn, as letting us know what sin is; glorious, as letting us know what remission is.
But let us carefully mark the authority on which the woman knew she was not condemned. What was it? Simply the word of Jesus. She knew it because He said it. Blessed authority — nothing like it, none other but it. Christ’s work is the basis, His word the authority. How simple! How solid! How satisfactory! Nothing can touch it. All the powers of earth and hell, of men and demons, cannot shake this foundation — the foundation of a divine work, a divine word — a foundation on which the reader who needs and desires it, may rest this moment and forever.
The scribes and Pharisees knew nothing of this ground or this authority. If they had met the woman on her way out from the Lord’s presence and questioned her as to the outcome of her interview, how they would have scorned the idea of “no condemnation!” They would have sent her to a reformatory or a penitentiary, and after some years of moral reform they might begin to admit that there was some faint hope for such a wretched creature. But ah! what a sorry basis is moral reform! What a poor authority is a human certificate! No, reader, it will never do, never stand, never suit either for God or for your precious soul. It must be all divine. And so it is, blessed be God! Christ did the work, God speaks the word, faith believes and fills the heart with peace, and gives power over sin in all its workings. For let it never be forgotten that an indissoluble link binds together these two utterances, “No condemnation” and “Sin nor more.” Grace shines in the one, holiness breathes in the other.
Down to Earth But Heavenly Minded 
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