Amidst a mob of madmen she stood frightened and alone
As hate-filled voices hissed at Him that she now she must 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 one single word
It was the finger of the hand
That had written ten commands
That 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 on my soul’s sacred sand
And make some unexpected space where I could understand
That my own condemnation pierced and broke the gentle Hand
That scratched the words I’ll never know
That scribbled in the sand