When you discover an affair, the first question is rarely theological — it's visceral: what do I do with this pain? But sooner or later the other question comes, the one that truly matters for your own soul: what does God expect of me now? I want to answer it calmly, starting with a story you already know, but may never have read all the way to the end.
"He that is without sin, let him cast the first stone"
The Pharisees brought Jesus a woman caught in adultery. The law of Moses was clear: she was to be stoned. They asked Jesus what to do, trying to set a trap for Him. It's curious — many people read only the part of the law that suits them. The same law required that those who carried out justice be upright people. And not one of those holding stones that morning qualified.
One by one, beginning with the eldest, they walked away. No one could throw the first stone.
Here is the first thing I want you to see: Jesus did not minimize the sin — He told her clearly, "sin no more." But He did not condemn her either. He held both things at once, something we almost always find hard to do.
The prophet God told to love his unfaithful wife
Hosea was one of the twelve minor prophets, in the northern kingdom of Israel, in the eighth century before Christ. God commanded him to do something anyone would struggle to obey: marry a promiscuous woman, Gomer, as a living symbol of Israel's unfaithfulness to God. In time, Gomer did betray him — she left with another man. And at that exact point, God speaks to Hosea again.
He didn't say "go and put her away." He said "go and love." That opens a world of answers for me when I place it next to what Jesus told the woman at the temple: the same clarity, the same certainty, centuries between the two stories and the same heart behind them.
The wounds we carry without knowing it
I need to be honest with you. I went through a period of very intense promiscuity in my own life. My father was promiscuous too, although I barely had a relationship with him — a few scattered conversations, until he died. For a while I thought: "I'm like this because my dad was like this — like father, like son." As if that explained everything, as if there were no other way out.
But the moment came when I understood something different: my earthly father is only a vessel. My Father in heaven is perfect. And although I didn't claim to be perfect — that's hard for anyone — I did understand that my nature was not made for promiscuity. It was made for holiness. And holiness is not that false image of someone who "doesn't even breathe so as not to sin" — holiness is simply being set apart for something different.
We all carry marks inherited from our families — scars that, without realizing it, we repeat or even magnify. Recognizing them is not making excuses. It is the first step to stop passing them on.
What God really expects of you
My wife cheated on me. What does God expect of me? Exactly what He does with me. God doesn't coerce, doesn't manipulate, doesn't push us toward good or hold us back from evil — He sets before us blessing and cursing, and asks us to choose. That choice is yours, every single day.
There is something else I want to tell you, as gently as I can: the restoration of the marriage itself — the two of you being together again — may not happen. But your attitude toward that wound can free the generations that come after you from repeating the same pattern. Your spouse not coming back is not the same as your grandchildren growing up divorcing again and again because they never saw a different example.
Machismo will tell you to go find someone else — and if you have the means, younger options will "rain down" on you, and eventually they'll play the same trick on you. The Word says instead: rejoice with the wife of thy youth.
Honor: the most powerful way to bless your spouse
After years of walking alongside marriages, there is something I've been writing with more and more conviction: one of the most important ways to bless your spouse is by giving them honor. And I know what you're thinking — "but she did this, but he's like that." The honor that truly matters is the honor given precisely to someone who, on the surface, doesn't deserve it. That is a form of evangelism. That is a way of healing hearts, starting with your own.
If you are in the middle of this right now and need support for your particular situation, I would gladly walk that stretch of the road with you.