I love Max Lucado.

I love the way he writes, the way he tells a story, and the way he creates images that forever linger in your mind.  A gifted writer who nourishes your soul is a rare commodity these days.  But calling Lucado a gifted writer is like saying Niagara has a nice Fall.  It’s a bit of an understatement.

I read fiction fast, non-fiction a little slower.  I read every word of a Lucado book as if I am savoring a tasty morsel for the last time.

Case in point.

My morning devotional usually includes a brief reading of inspirational writing, followed by prayer.  Occasionally, I feast on a Lucado book, one chapter each morning. Two chapters is overeating. Today, it was Chapter 9 of Jesus – The God Who Knows Your Name.   Lucado uses the Gospel of John Chapter 8 and the story of the woman caught in adultery, to illustrate his point of a God who stoops.

As Jesus sat teaching in the Temple, the accused adulteress is thrust before him by the Pharisees.  Hoping to trap him, they ask, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery.  The law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say?”

Most people recall how Jesus surprised the accusers with his response — let him who has never sinned cast the first stone. Do you remember what Jesus did before he uttered that indelible line?  Jesus “stooped down and wrote in the dust.”

Thanks to Lucado, it is now an image forever imprinted on my mind.

Lucado writes,

No one would speak for her.  But someone would stoop for her.  ‘Jesus stooped down and wrote in the dust.’  He’s prone to stoop.  He stooped to wash feet, to embrace children.  Stooped to pull Peter out of the sea, to pray in the garden.  He stooped before the Roman whipping post.  Stooped to carry the cross.  Grace is a God who stoops.  Here he stooped to write in the sand…

He stooped.  Low enough to sleep in a manger, work in a carpentry shop, sleep in a fishing boat.  Low enough to rub shoulders with crooks and lepers.  Low enough to be spat upon, slapped, nailed, and speared.  Low.  Low enough to be buried.  And then he stood up.

He stooped for the woman caught in adultery.  And He stoops for me.

Thank you, Max Lucado, for reminding me I worship a God who stoops.