The
woman at the well walks the journey, worships the Christ, and witnesses with
joy.
First, she walks the journey. The
particular details of the journey she walks remain a bit unclear, but we know
at some point it leads her to the well outside of her city. It is Jacob’s well,
a historical location that was important to both the Samaritan and Jewish
people because he was a common ancestor. Jacob actually met his future wife at
a well several centuries earlier, and although it may not have been this particular
well, it does calls to mind the fact that wells in the time of the Bible were
typically places where people could intermingle and gather. However, there
appears to be no one else here that day. This woman journeys alone. Maybe
because it’s noon and most of the water-fetching—a back-breaking, tiresome
daily task undertaken almost exclusively by women—is done in the morning before
it gets too hot.
From
the conversation she has with Jesus it emerges that her personal life’s journey
might be a bit complicated. However, Jesus doesn’t judge her and neither should
we, and we shouldn’t jump to conclusions about her or what decisions she’s made.
The fact that she has had five husbands and the man she is with now is not
legally her married partner does not mean that she has morally questionable
character. She may be a five-time widow, in fact, stuck in a type of Levirite
marriage, where she is obligated to marry her first husband’s brothers until
she produces an heir, which she hasn’t, so she feels useless. She may have been
dismissed unfairly by these men, left to fend for herself, and walk the lonely
and vulnerable journey of a woman who has no legal or social status in society.
No matter what the case is, her life has been a journey and it’s probably left
her with a lot to reflect on.
We all
are walking a journey, aren’t we? Maybe it involves some of the pain and
alienation that this woman experiences. Maybe, like water jugs that must be repeatedly
carted back and forth, the journey involves carrying burdens that no one else
knows about. On the other hand, perhaps it is a journey of relative privilege
and blessing one that hasn’t included too many times of loneliness or
disappointment. Whatever the case, this woman’s experience at the well goes to
show that our journeys may encounter God’s holiness at any time and in any
place. If God can hallow Jesus’ journey to the cross, then God can turn up in
our dark valleys too. The journeys we undertake—the ones we choose and the ones
forced upon us—are bound to intersect with the God who loves us. We do not
judge others’ journeys or the decisions that may have got them there. We view
them as fellow travelers who are seeking, learning, searching, waiting for a
Savior.
 |
| "Jesus and the Samaritan Woman at the Well" (Guercino) |
The
woman at the well worships the Christ. It certainly doesn’t start out that way
that day—as a chance to worship. It starts out as a request for water from a Jewish
man who should really know better than to speak in public to an unknown woman. It
starts out, then, as an admission of vulnerability, as request for help, not as
a demand for obedience. It starts out with a crossing of boundaries, with a
refusal to let ethnic or racial or social boundaries influence or deny the
formation of a relationship.
I
remember the lunch area in my high school and how although on the surface, to
an outside observer, it looked like everyone was mingling, the reality was that
everyone was sitting and eating in distinct groups that did not really mix. People
from one group could not just get up and go sit down and talk with another, unless
they wanted to risk being laughed at or looked at funny.
The
man she meets at the well doesn’t mind being laughed at or looked at funny. He
ventures into the hostile part of the high school cafeteria…the part of town no
one likes to drive through…the political rally that you don’t want to associate
with. It’s almost a habit of his, crossing borders, disregarding conventions. It’s
how he helps connect people. It’s how he helps draw people in closer to himself
and, therefore, to God.
For
this woman, worship begins in conversation. It doesn’t start out with a bright,
shining light or a voice booming from the heavens saying, “Worship me.” It
starts with a request for water and then questions, a discussion, a sharing of
ideas. Over the course of several minutes she comes to realize that the
Messiah—that is, the Christ—she and her people have been waiting fo is sitting
with her. No longer must she face Jerusalem to seek God, or Mt Gerezim, which
is what her people, the Samaritans, believed. God’s presence was with her in
this Jewish man who talks about living water.
Right
now our family is in search of the perfect sippy cup. We’ve tried about four
different kinds. A perfect sippy cup is one that will hold the water in, even
when it is slammed on the floor multiple times, but which will also freely
release enough water when someone puts it to their mouth. It’s one that will
always give running water—living water, if you will—not trap it inside somehow.
This woman will find in Jesus the perfect sippy cup, spring of life, a
nourishment that will dependably flow for her.
This
woman’s encounter with the living Lord shows us we have a God who takes our
questions, who leaves himself open, who honors our curiosity, who doesn’t force
the issue. This God desires our worship, desires our obedience, but this God
wants it to rise out of relationship, not out of compulsion. This Spirit and
truth so often comes carefully and gently, not at the tip of a sword.
I
don’t know about you, but I find this so difficult to remember this and to
model it for others. So often Christ-followers, especially religious authorities,
can come across so rigid, so doctrine-driven, so full of all the answers all
the time. We think people need a guidebook when really they want to hear a
story. We resort to issuing commands when God favors dialogue. The woman at the
well worships the Christ and we see how her life is changed by the living water
she discovers worship to be.
The
woman at the well witnesses with joy. She is so full of joy and excitement that
she actually leaves her jug at the well to go back to the city to tell the
people about Jesus. It sits there as a reminder of the change he has created. She’ll
need literal water again, for sure, but her searching for a word, a
relationship that truly satisfies is over. She won’t have to lug her hopes for
that around anymore. The source of new life has found her.
So
full of joy and amazement she is that she runs back to the very place that has
likely ostracized her, the very community that has let her fetch water alone. Jesus
has transformed her view of herself as well as her view of other people and the
world around her. She now sees herself as a person who has something to offer,
something to share. This living water is truly gushing up in her, the joy of
eternal life is so vibrant others can taste it, see it.
Her
message to them is very interesting, probably not what we would first guess a
missionary would use. She doesn’t run back and say, “You’re all wrong! Listen
to what I know!” or, “I’ve accepted the Lord and you need to, also.” Her
witness is contained in one simple line: “He told me everything I have ever
done.” It’s a very personal message, one that really can’t be argued with. To
be honest, I’m not really sure I know what her message means, or if my own
faith could be summed up in such a way, but I know if I were in that village I’d
want to hear more from her.
I
like the idea of a God who really knows people—even the parts they’ve hidden or
been ashamed of—and still claims them and wants to be in relationship with
them. When she comes back to the city and says, “He told me everything I’ve
ever done,” it’s like she says, “Here’s what the Messiah is like, people. He
knows our story. He knows the journey. He gets it.” Faith in Jesus helps us put
things in our own lives in their proper place. It may not happen all at once,
but it comes over time. We find our own story, with all of its ups and downs, wrapped
up in his. We find our own journeys with all their brokenness and beauty, contained
in his journey to the cross. And there we realize a well of life that can never
run dry, a fountain that will always runneth over, a grace that will never be
exhausted.
The
woman at the well walks the journey, worships the Christ, and witnesses with
joy. It is as if she is a member of Epiphany Lutheran Church and knows our
mission. And I believe she is. This woman is really any one of us: Curious.
Searching. Tired, but open. At any given point we can think we’re too lost or
too marginalized to matter, traveling to the well alone, and God will encounter
us once again.
We
can begin to think worship is all about knowing which direction to face, which
religious pieties to adopt and practice, and Christ will transform that again,
too, reminding us that faith is about trusting in him.
And
we can wonder about how to witness, how to share, how to find the right words
or the right strategy, but we learn it’s really just about sharing our story, talking
to others about our relationship with God, allowing questions and dialogue to
happen.
We’re
thirsty, Lord Jesus, and we thank you, for visiting that well and speaking with
that woman. And we praise you for the privilege to walk, worship, and witness
alongside her.
Amen.
The Reverend Phillip W.
Martin, Jr.
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