Preaching

John 8:3-11And the scribes and Pharisees brought to him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the middle,… No thoughtful Christian can fail to have been struck by the fact that except these few words Christ wrote nothing. He did not bow down over a table piled with manuscripts, and in hours of meditative thought, during which He outwatched the stars, erect a monument which might be admired by a succession of sages and critics; He did not write out the complete text of an elaborate system of theology. He went out into the throng of men. He spoke by the highways and the lake side, in words which, if they were high as heaven and deep as the transparent lake, were in form broad and popular. When we consider the analogy of the "tables which were the work of God" and "the writing which was the writing of God" (Exodus 32:16), and the value of books in excluding error and securing permanence, we ask why He did not write. There is one reason derived from His nature. In great books the truest element of greatness is the conviction that we can trace the pathway of a superior mind in pursuit of truth. When he seems to have found it, the writer quivers with delight. With the Word made flesh, truth cannot be an effort and a conquest — the conclusion toilfully drawn from premises laboriously acquired. Rather the truth dwells in Him. He does not say: "After long communion with Divinely-inspired books, after long self-questioning, prompted sometimes by voices that seemed to come from the ancient hills, and the glory of the sunlit heaven, I gradually worked out My system." He does not say: "I have found the truth." He does say: "I am the Truth." We may answer the question why Christ did not write — His thought is preserved in a Diviner way. "I will put My law in their mind, and write it in their heart." (Bp. Alexander.)