One Sunday, at 14 years of age, I went to a Pentecostal church.
One Sunday, a young woman came to the altar crying. She had something to tell us. She stood beside the pastors, the deacons and elders, and confessed to committing a mortal sin. She had engaged in premarital sex, and was now pregnant. She was ashamed. She begged the congregation to forgive her. Every one was moaning in prayer and speaking in tongues. This was not the place for her to be.
One Sunday, I cringed for her. Where was the father of this unborn child? Why didn’t he have to get up in front of the congregation to confess his “sin”?
One Sunday, the shame, the mongering, the male dominance of the pastors, elders, and deacons all telling her what she did was so wrong. I wonder today how she ended up, if she received support or the ongoing humiliation.
One Sunday, my heart aches for women who fall under some churches’ rule and condemnation.
One Sunday, will we ever be free from the shackles of their interpretation of womanhood?
And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst,
They say unto him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act.
Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?
This they said, tempting him, that they might have to accuse him. But Jesus stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he heard them not.
So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her. ~ King James Bible, John 8:3-7
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