John 4:5-42
Last Sunday we heard a story of a man who came to Jesus in the dark of night, a seeker who was not yet ready to risk aligning himself publicly with Jesus’s controversial ministry. Jesus met him where he was, there in the dark and the early moments of conversion, walking with him as if they were the only two people in the world. By contrast, the conversation that takes place in our Gospel passage today takes place in a public place, in the stark light and oppressive heat of high noon. Jesus is again alone with an unexpected conversation partner, and this time there are no shadows or walls to provide protection from the eyes of the world. Jesus meets the unnamed woman where she is, at Jacob’s well in Samaria, thirsting in the heat of the day. We have the good fortune of overhearing in this moment the longest run of dialogue between Jesus and an individual in all of the Gospels. I wonder what we might learn from their conversation?
Our Gospel writer tells us that Jesus rests by the well because he is tired from a long journey. He doesn’t have a bucket or a jar or any way to draw water from the well. He is in Samaria, whose people are at cultural and religious odds with the Jewish people. Any Jewish person who was unhappy enough to find themselves in Samaria would still avoid contact with its people, only communicating with fellow Jews or other non-Samaritan travelers. The enmity between the two groups was such that, when Jesus asks for a sign of hospitality from the woman at the well, she is awestruck. Her first question to Jesus echoes the confusion of Nicodemus; how can these things be? She points out the obvious differences between them- a Jewish man and a Samaritan woman, divided by religion, culture, and gender norms. They shouldn’t even be sharing words; but drinking from a common vessel? Unimaginable.
Nevertheless, Jesus persists. He offers up small clues, breadcrumbs leading her to ask more questions, be more curious. The woman at the well plays along, readying her vessel for the plunge into the cool depths of the well as she banters with Jesus. But his next words stop her in her tracks. “Go and call your husband here.” And just like that, she is Other once again. She is a woman in a man’s world, a Samaritan put on the spot by a Jewish stranger. Any answer she gives leaves her vulnerable, and all she came here to do was relieve her thirst in peace. No one was even supposed to be at the well in this heat.
We should not immediately assume dubious morality is the reason for the woman’s family situation. There are many possible reasons behind her having had five husbands and being currently unmarried. She may be caught up in the custom of levirate marriage, which required that after the death of a married man, the man’s brothers were responsible for marrying his wife and fathering children on his behalf. She may have endured multiple dismissals or divorces after being unable to provide heirs. She may have been married very young and survived the deaths of significantly older husbands. We do not know, neither does the Gospel author give us much to go on. What we do know is that Jesus is unconcerned with both her status and her reasons. What he is concerned about is her. Not once does he rebuke her. Not once does he utter a word of judgment, or question her on her choices. He affirms her as someone who tells the truth, and he listens to her questions.
The woman at the well engages in a deeply theological conversation with Jesus. She recognizes that he speaks as a prophet of God, and while she’s got the prophet’s ear she wastes no time being embarrassed or confused. She asks Jesus the central question that divides their peoples, the theological question that makes their conversation so unbelievable from the start, and they talk about the promised Messiah. They talk until Jesus’s astonished disciples come back from grocery shopping, dumbfounded that Jesus would dare speak in public with an unaccompanied woman. Obviously they still have a lot to learn about Jesus if that’s all it takes to shock them.
After resting from a long journey, Jesus greeted to the woman at the well, and he gave her the Gospel. He told her “I am he, the Messiah, the one who is speaking to you.” He heard her, and he saw her, and he let her see him for who he really is. Their conversation was honest. It began with a basic need, a thirst. It continued with naming their differences, the things that were meant to divide them. It was deepened by honesty and vulnerability, by acceptance and hard questions. And it was transformed by a confession of belief by the woman and a revelation of truth by Jesus. What the woman found at the well was living water, so rejuvenating and energizing that she even left her water jar behind entirely. I like to imagine Jesus and the disciples turning back toward her, only to find her place empty as her figure recedes at full speed in the distance, her water vessel still rattling from the force of her departure. She must not have needed it anymore.
In that one encounter with Jesus, where no healings or miracles were performed and no sermons were preached, the woman at the well became an evangelist, a messenger of the Good News of Christ. She ran through her city, telling any and all who would listen about the prophet who saw her entire life and did not turn away from her. Even still, transformed as she was, there was doubt muddled in with joyous conversion. He cannot be the Messiah, can he? Breathless disbelief even in the voice shouting from the rooftops and street corners- that’s an evangelism we could use a little more of, I think. Overwhelm at the mere possibility that such a God would exist, let alone love us this much, is an understandable response to the deep well Jesus shows us. The woman did not need to convince anyone to believe in the living water- all she did was point them in the direction of the well. And they went. Samaritans came to him, and hosted him in their homes, and believed in him because of his words and the words spoken about him.
This is the evangelism of the unnamed woman at the well, a messenger of the Good News as much as John or Andrew or Peter or Paul. An evangelism that has nothing to do with theological training, or social status, or economic standing, or being from the right sort of place. An evangelism that is born out of relationship, and conversation, and honest struggles with the hard stuff of faith. Maybe it’s the kind of evangelism that led you to Jesus, or to the Church, or to a deeper faith. Maybe you asked someone a tough question once, and they stuck with you through the answer and the next question and the next and the next. Maybe someone has questions for you about why you spend your Sunday mornings here instead of in bed, or why you spend your money how you do, or why you pray. Maybe you’ll meet them at the well, or the gas station, or the doctor’s office. Maybe it’ll be midday, or maybe like Nicodemus they’ll require a late night. There’s an awful lot of thirsty people in this world. Most days I know I’m one of them. But a woman once told me where to find water. I’m headed there now. Come and see.
Mother A Writes 