Sunday we heard a sermon about Jesus’ encounter with the woman at the well, recorded in the fourth chapter of John’s gospel. We heard that she was a woman of bad character, or at the very least a woman who had made bad choices, who was not respected by the community, who was coming to the well in the heat of the day to avoid the scorn of gossiping neighbors. We were challenged to think about her response to Jesus; it was suggested that she wondered why He (a Jew, a man, a stranger, a rabbi) was speaking to her (a Samaritan, a woman). But what if . . .
What if she was a woman who had been married five times and
was now living with a man who was not her husband, and she was getting water in
the middle of the day (all we’re told about her, really), but . . .
What if she did know why He was speaking to her? What if
she’d always been looking, always seeing the flaws in the solutions she found
for life’s challenges, but never giving up the search? What if she had sought
and been disappointed so many times that she should have been dead by her own
hand by this time or so dulled by her own choice that she was only going
through the motions of living until she could finally find rest in the grave?
What if instead of choosing death or dullness she still had a tiny flame, a
spark that only showed red when she breathed on it, a coal of fire in her
breast that she kept hidden from all view but her own in the rare moments when
she could dare to draw away from the responsibilities of living long enough to
hope for life? What if she knew there was more (as we sang this morning), if
she had repeatedly hoped for more than an existence controlled by a man who
could not see, could not understand, could not hope as she could? What if these
many husbands had died of natural causes, accidents of the hard work and danger
of life, honorable men who had done their best as required by their culture, even
godly men who had sought and followed Yahweh? What if because of the
limitations of her time in history this woman had to have a husband to protect
and provide for her, but battle-worn and weary, torn by repeated grief and
loss, she had let herself enter a marriage relationship without the endorsement
of the established authorities?
What if the reason she came in the middle of the day was not
because she dreaded the sharp tongues of the scolding harpies in town, but
rather because she was weary of the emptiness of women’s talk? What if she
simply wanted some time alone with her own thoughts, so much deeper than
theirs, time to reflect and to breathe, even in the heat of the day, and to
refresh herself with water to slake at least the body’s thirst for life, even
though her existence did not offer refreshment for her soul? What if this daily
walk was a ritual she had developed to remind her that there was a refreshment,
a hope, a life beyond what she was living, and this walk through heat and
aridity to the Well of Jacob – Israel – was her way of remembering that God’s
promises to Israel were to all His children, and despite her current
circumstances He would refresh and renew her one day?
What if instead of being confused by Jesus’ remark about
living water, this woman sensed exactly what He was offering, and her question
back to him was rather a challenge for him to prove the truth of the offer?
What if all her life she had been waiting for this moment and she knew when she
heard His first remark that this was the One she’d been waiting for?
I’ve studied the woman at the well. I’ve thought of her
story from different angles. Today, as I thought of her, these questions came
to me, and I thought perhaps if the story were read that way . . .
what if I am that woman?
I think a lot of us are. A lot of us know there is more,
determinedly refuse to give up that hope, and know without a doubt when we find
it.
Or I should say, when He finds us.
Thank you, Lord.
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