"Close Encounters of the Christ Kind: Woman at the Well"
Lent 3A (3/23/14)
Sermon Texts: Exodus 17:1-7; John 4:5-42
Close Encounters of the Christ Kind: Woman at the Well
The sun beat down hot upon her as she carried the heavy jug to the well. She wiped her hand across her brow, sweeping away the sheen of sweat that had gathered there under the noonday heat. She knew the jug she carried was nowhere near as heavy as it would be on the journey back, but her arms already ached from the weight of the jar. Her biggest consolation was in knowing that once she reached Jacob’s well, she’d be able to take a deep, long drink from the water as she worked to fill her jug. It would be a small relief to her, but it would be enough to refresh her until she was nearly back to her home, where the promise of another drink of water from the jug she just filled would push her the last few steps back.
She lowered the bucket down into the well, beginning the tedious process of lowering, raising, emptying, and lowering again. She let her mind wander, thinking of the chores that still awaited her when she got home, the clothes that needed mending, the various things she still had yet to do before she could lay down, rest, and then repeat the process the next day. And in then, in the middle of her solitude, he broke through. He’d been sitting there the whole time, as tired and weary looking as she herself felt - she simply hadn’t seen him in the meandering of her own thoughts. He was looking at her, a strange flicker in his eye, as if he were considering her for a moment, but she didn’t feel threatened in the least. She knew enough about men to know when she should be concerned, and whoever this man was, he meant her no harm.
And then he spoke to her - “Give me a drink.” He said it as a command, as one who had authority… but he said it so gently that it sounded like an invitation to dance, rather than a demand for refreshment. And that’s when she noticed - the look of his face, the way he carried himself, the style of his clothing and his accent… he was Jewish. Puzzled, she took a dipper from the bucket she had just raised and passed it to him before she even realized that she had done so. He took it gratefully, raised it to his lips, and drank deeply. And then she yet again realized what was transpiring between them - she scratched her head, pondered how to proceed, and then, with no other way to go but straight forward, she asked the man: “How is it that you… a Jew… ask a drink of me… a woman… of Samaria?”
There’s no way it should have happened in the first place. He should have seen her coming from a mile away, known her for exactly what she was, and water or no water, sun or no sun, bolted away from her like she had the plague. She had everything going against her - she was Samaritan. She was a woman. She was not only an enemy of the Jewish people by merit of an age-old family feud, but she was also a second-class citizen running a household errand. There was no reason on earth that this man should have given her the time of day… let alone ask her to share the precious gift of water with him. And yet this is exactly what he has done. How?
He responds simply, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.” And now, she starts to wonder about this man and the things he says. Who does this man think he is, and what gives him such a sense of authority that he says he can give her a running stream, rather than this ages-old well? He doesn’t even have a bucket!
And so she asks him - “Where do you get that living water? Do you think that you are greater than the man who dug this well in the first place?”
And once more, he answers - but not in the way she might have expected. He says, “Everyone who drinks from this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”
And as she hears him offer her this kind of water, she’s still confused - this isn’t like any water she’s ever heard of before. She thinks that he must be pulling her leg, just a Jewish man trying to get the upper hand on a poor Samaritan woman… and yet, all the same, his offer is compelling - she wants this water; she can feel it deep within herself and she wants to have the very thing that Jesus offers her. But she’s also a realist - she knows that people can be cruel, that what Jesus offers seems too good to be true, and that this is probably a trick on his part to show her for a fool. And so it is with a healthy dose of cynicism, and yet an undertone of hope, in her voice, that the woman speaks again: “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”
She asks Jesus for a relief to her physical troubles in the here and now, but once again, the Savior sees through to her deeper spiritual needs and seeks to address them, instead. His invitation is simple - “Go, call your husband, and come back.” And yet, in that invitation, she hears a deeper nuance - she hears a subtle wisdom in his voice, in the way he invites her to get her husband, and she knows that anything now but the truth would be thin and flat, seen for exactly what it was. She hesitates, wrings her hands together, waiting for the scorn and condescension that she knows is due her, and answers Jesus plainly: “I have no husband.”
But there is no judgment, no condescension, no scornful look and tisk-tisk-tisking from the Christ. He acknowledges the truth and demonstrates a deep and personal knowledge of this woman, telling her the things that she holds closest to her, things that someone just passing through couldn’t possibly have known. He answers him as frankly as she has addressed him - “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband,’ for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!”
And with this revelation, the woman begins to understand and appreciate the mystery of this man’s words and the sacred space that has been created between them at this well of their common ancestor. She sees him to be a prophet, a man who speaks with authority and with the Spirit of God, and she decides to listen and to learn from him, to let their own individual identities become less important than the conversation that they share in this holy moment. She lets him teach her, and in receiving his teaching, Jesus repays her own truthfulness to him by making her one of the first in any of the Gospels to hear the plain truth of Jesus’ identity - that he is the Messiah. It is to this one, singular, broken and thirsty woman, this woman who worships something she doesn’t even know, that Jesus reveals himself - and in that revelation, Jesus opens the door to her salvation, transforming her and filling her with the living water which he promised. Suddenly, she no longer worships what she doesn’t know, but now she actually, personally, and intimately knows the One whom she worships. She’s looked into his face, held an intimate, person to person conversation with him, and actually knows him. He has “proclaimed all things to her” and through him, she has found salvation and fulfillment where nothing else would satisfy.
And like water bursting forth from a dusty stone, she is filled with joy, exuberance, and life abundant. The moment passes, as mystical and mysterious as it was fleeting, and the disciples return, full of their own questions, their own thirsts and needs, and their own stories to live. And this woman, full to overflowing, leaves her jar behind. She rushes back to the city like the rush of a flowing stream, bubbling and gushing with the amazing news of her encounter with the man who knew everything she had ever done, and like a wave crashing upon her town, she proclaims that good news to all who hear it, flooding her people with the same salvation that Jesus offered to her.
And as the people come flooding back to the well over the next two days, as they come to know and discover for themselves this man who is to be the Savior of the world… the abandoned jars multiply, the thirsty are quenched, and the streams of life flow freely out to a broken and parched world.
To God be the Glory. Amen.
Sermon Texts: Exodus 17:1-7; John 4:5-42
Close Encounters of the Christ Kind: Woman at the Well
The sun beat down hot upon her as she carried the heavy jug to the well. She wiped her hand across her brow, sweeping away the sheen of sweat that had gathered there under the noonday heat. She knew the jug she carried was nowhere near as heavy as it would be on the journey back, but her arms already ached from the weight of the jar. Her biggest consolation was in knowing that once she reached Jacob’s well, she’d be able to take a deep, long drink from the water as she worked to fill her jug. It would be a small relief to her, but it would be enough to refresh her until she was nearly back to her home, where the promise of another drink of water from the jug she just filled would push her the last few steps back.
She lowered the bucket down into the well, beginning the tedious process of lowering, raising, emptying, and lowering again. She let her mind wander, thinking of the chores that still awaited her when she got home, the clothes that needed mending, the various things she still had yet to do before she could lay down, rest, and then repeat the process the next day. And in then, in the middle of her solitude, he broke through. He’d been sitting there the whole time, as tired and weary looking as she herself felt - she simply hadn’t seen him in the meandering of her own thoughts. He was looking at her, a strange flicker in his eye, as if he were considering her for a moment, but she didn’t feel threatened in the least. She knew enough about men to know when she should be concerned, and whoever this man was, he meant her no harm.
And then he spoke to her - “Give me a drink.” He said it as a command, as one who had authority… but he said it so gently that it sounded like an invitation to dance, rather than a demand for refreshment. And that’s when she noticed - the look of his face, the way he carried himself, the style of his clothing and his accent… he was Jewish. Puzzled, she took a dipper from the bucket she had just raised and passed it to him before she even realized that she had done so. He took it gratefully, raised it to his lips, and drank deeply. And then she yet again realized what was transpiring between them - she scratched her head, pondered how to proceed, and then, with no other way to go but straight forward, she asked the man: “How is it that you… a Jew… ask a drink of me… a woman… of Samaria?”
There’s no way it should have happened in the first place. He should have seen her coming from a mile away, known her for exactly what she was, and water or no water, sun or no sun, bolted away from her like she had the plague. She had everything going against her - she was Samaritan. She was a woman. She was not only an enemy of the Jewish people by merit of an age-old family feud, but she was also a second-class citizen running a household errand. There was no reason on earth that this man should have given her the time of day… let alone ask her to share the precious gift of water with him. And yet this is exactly what he has done. How?
He responds simply, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.” And now, she starts to wonder about this man and the things he says. Who does this man think he is, and what gives him such a sense of authority that he says he can give her a running stream, rather than this ages-old well? He doesn’t even have a bucket!
And so she asks him - “Where do you get that living water? Do you think that you are greater than the man who dug this well in the first place?”
And once more, he answers - but not in the way she might have expected. He says, “Everyone who drinks from this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”
And as she hears him offer her this kind of water, she’s still confused - this isn’t like any water she’s ever heard of before. She thinks that he must be pulling her leg, just a Jewish man trying to get the upper hand on a poor Samaritan woman… and yet, all the same, his offer is compelling - she wants this water; she can feel it deep within herself and she wants to have the very thing that Jesus offers her. But she’s also a realist - she knows that people can be cruel, that what Jesus offers seems too good to be true, and that this is probably a trick on his part to show her for a fool. And so it is with a healthy dose of cynicism, and yet an undertone of hope, in her voice, that the woman speaks again: “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”
She asks Jesus for a relief to her physical troubles in the here and now, but once again, the Savior sees through to her deeper spiritual needs and seeks to address them, instead. His invitation is simple - “Go, call your husband, and come back.” And yet, in that invitation, she hears a deeper nuance - she hears a subtle wisdom in his voice, in the way he invites her to get her husband, and she knows that anything now but the truth would be thin and flat, seen for exactly what it was. She hesitates, wrings her hands together, waiting for the scorn and condescension that she knows is due her, and answers Jesus plainly: “I have no husband.”
But there is no judgment, no condescension, no scornful look and tisk-tisk-tisking from the Christ. He acknowledges the truth and demonstrates a deep and personal knowledge of this woman, telling her the things that she holds closest to her, things that someone just passing through couldn’t possibly have known. He answers him as frankly as she has addressed him - “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband,’ for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!”
And with this revelation, the woman begins to understand and appreciate the mystery of this man’s words and the sacred space that has been created between them at this well of their common ancestor. She sees him to be a prophet, a man who speaks with authority and with the Spirit of God, and she decides to listen and to learn from him, to let their own individual identities become less important than the conversation that they share in this holy moment. She lets him teach her, and in receiving his teaching, Jesus repays her own truthfulness to him by making her one of the first in any of the Gospels to hear the plain truth of Jesus’ identity - that he is the Messiah. It is to this one, singular, broken and thirsty woman, this woman who worships something she doesn’t even know, that Jesus reveals himself - and in that revelation, Jesus opens the door to her salvation, transforming her and filling her with the living water which he promised. Suddenly, she no longer worships what she doesn’t know, but now she actually, personally, and intimately knows the One whom she worships. She’s looked into his face, held an intimate, person to person conversation with him, and actually knows him. He has “proclaimed all things to her” and through him, she has found salvation and fulfillment where nothing else would satisfy.
And like water bursting forth from a dusty stone, she is filled with joy, exuberance, and life abundant. The moment passes, as mystical and mysterious as it was fleeting, and the disciples return, full of their own questions, their own thirsts and needs, and their own stories to live. And this woman, full to overflowing, leaves her jar behind. She rushes back to the city like the rush of a flowing stream, bubbling and gushing with the amazing news of her encounter with the man who knew everything she had ever done, and like a wave crashing upon her town, she proclaims that good news to all who hear it, flooding her people with the same salvation that Jesus offered to her.
And as the people come flooding back to the well over the next two days, as they come to know and discover for themselves this man who is to be the Savior of the world… the abandoned jars multiply, the thirsty are quenched, and the streams of life flow freely out to a broken and parched world.
To God be the Glory. Amen.
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