The Big Ten: Adultery

In the ancient world, adultery was more than a private moral failure. It was breaking the trust that held families and communities together. ​

Last week, when we looked at the sixth commandment, don’t murder,
 
I asked for a show of hands to see who had killed anyone that week. It was a risk-free question, unlike today’s commandment. But rest assured I’m not going to ask for a confession right now.
 
I know how easily it can be to stumble. Earlier this year, I accidentally referred to a couple in church as Tom and Joanna, instead of Tom and Patricia. An innocent mistake considering both couples were neighbors. 

Needless to say, Patricia was not thrilled that her husband had apparently taken up a new relationship with another woman. ​I was mortified. And Patricia forgave me as quickly as I had apologized. But the incident remains one of those inside jokes that keeps me humble.
 
Like the commandment against murder; you might be thinking, “Well, at least I haven’t broken this one.” But as we’ve been learning, these commandments always mean more than what’s written down:

You shall not commit adultery. 
​                        Exodus 20:14

acred Let me begin by saying, I’m the best person to preach on this one. Just ask my ex-wife. Or the others who came before her. Fidelity wasn’t my thing.
 
Then my first marriage ended. And I made the conscious decision to no longer be “that guy.” I think I struggled writing this message because of that. So, I buried myself in research hoping Holly would surprise me. And once again, she didn’t let me down or let me off the hook.
 
For example, I learned the Hebrew word na’af doesn’t just mean “sex outside of marriage.” In fact, it literally means betray a covenant. That could mean a marriage vow, or a communal promise, or the divine covenant between us and God.
 
In the ancient world, adultery was more than a private moral failure. It was breaking the trust that held families and communities together.

​When Israel chased other gods, the prophet Isaiah didn’t call it “exploring options.”  He called it na’af —adultery. A spiritual infidelity.
 
The rabbis took this to mean that anytime you betray a person, you’re betraying the God whose image they bear. Again, it’s not just about keeping wedding vows.  It’s about being faithful to God, to each other, to love itself.
 
So maybe the question Patricia should ask Tom isn’t “Who’s Joanna.” But “Are you faithful?” Are you faithful to your word, your neighbor, your God, your truest self?”
 
But then Jesus goes on to say, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’  But I say to you, that everyone who looks with lust has already committed adultery in the heart.”
 
Jesus is showing us how our idea of love gets distorted the moment we turn a person into an object for our use or fantasy. He knows we can’t build God’s kingdom while objectifying its citizens.

Jesus invites us to see others the way God sees us—whole, radiant, made in the divine image.
 
But when we stop seeing people as sacred and holy when we only see them for what they can offer (like status, comfort, validation, a vote) we break this commandment by betraying the divine image that binds us together. And we commit a quiet kind of adultery against the fidelity of love itself.
 
As I mentioned last week, one year I gave up murder for Lent. Well, the following year I took a stab at fasting from this one. I thought it should be a no brainer. I was madly in love with Kathleen and determined not to repeat the patterns that had wrecked relationships before her.
 
But then, I turned up the heat and approached this commandment the way Jesus did —beyond the obvious. I fasted from objectification and feasted on seeing every person, especially women, as beloved children of God.
 
There’s a Hasidic saying, “In every human encounter, there is a spark of the Divine waiting to be discovered.” So, I put imaginary halos over people’s heads to keep me grounded. It sounds simple but requires getting it over some people’s horns.
 
Another part of my spiritual practice was looking people in the eye when they spoke. This simple task also proved to be challenging. It required me to be intentionally present, to listen not for what I could get, but for what I could give. But as the days worn on, I slowly began to notice a change. I began truly see others for who they were, understanding their worth and value, as well as my own.
 
These were just a few of the exercises that helped me realized this commandment isn’t just about moral policing—it’s about presence, showing up with intention reflecting God’s love, grace, and forgiveness in real time, with real people, in real situations.
 
True fidelity is love incarnate embodied and made real in how we live out our faith together. This is the kind of fidelity Jesus shows. It’s the kind that builds a community of love in the space between where small, steady acts of faithfulness can heal the world and expand the kingdom of God.
 
Funny how the Church keeps losing its balance right where love was meant to keep us standing. Maybe it’s because it’s easier to preach fidelity than to practice it. Easier to talk about love than to let it cost us something.
 
If we’re honest, we’ve weaponized this commandment—turning fidelity into fear, and purity into punishment. We shame those who are divorced. We shun our LGBTQ+ siblings. We marginalize anyone whose story doesn’t fit our tiny understanding.

But the commandments were never meant to shame us; they were given to protect the sacred space where love can take root and grow.
 
So how do we live them faithfully? How do we stop the quiet adultery of the heart and imagination? Let me offer three simple practices I learned in my Lenten journey.
 
First, feast on presence.
 
When you’re with someone, be with them—not half-scrolling, half-listening, rehearsing  what you’ll say next. Just be there, heart and all, like Jesus does. He notices the woman at the well, the tax collector in the tree, the bleeding woman in the crowd. Jesus sees their halos and stops to offer each one the transformative, divine power of a compassionate heart.
 
Second, feast on commitment.
 
Don’t just show up, reach out. Renew a relationship you’ve neglected, a task you’ve grown tired of, a prayer you’ve stopped praying. Faithfulness in the small things builds faithfulness in the big ones.
 
Third, feast on God’s fidelity.
 
Re-center your heart on the One who has never broken the covenant, who has always been faithful to us no matter how unfaithful we’ve been. A God who stays—who loves, who forgives, … and who keeps showing up with grace upon grace. Jesus calls us to do the same for each other. To be the incarnate presence of God’s fidelity in the world.
 
Victor Hugo wrote, “To love another person is to see the face of God.”  When we live that way, love stops being something we feel and becomes something we do.
 
This is the way of Jesus who stays when others scatter. Who forgives when others condemn. Who loves so deeply it carries him through death and beyond. Every time we live like that—with open hands and a Christlike heart, we show the world what God’s love looks like.
 
So, this week, let’s give up adultery, the quick judgments that reduce someone to a category. Let’s give up the restless eye that keeps chasing what’s next instead of tending what’s here. And let’s give up the spiritual flirting with comfort or control that keeps us from trusting God’s love.
 
In its place, let’s choose fidelity to the promise God offers us through Christ. Let us stay faithful to love itself—the love that saves, redeems, and holds us together.
 
May we never lose sight of the halo over our own heads, as we learn to see the sacred image of God in every face before us. And as we do, may our faithfulness bear witness to the one truth written into every commandment, every word, every act: God is love. And thanks be to God…so are we.