John
4:5-42: an embarrassment of riches, with so many rich moments to explore. The setup verse (4:4) says Jesus “had to pass
through Samaria.” Hardly: this is the
hilly, rocky, more dangerous route – even today, situated as it is on the West
Bank. This Greek word, δει, is
pregnant with a sense of divine necessity.
He had to, as it his missional focus required him to go there.
Also, back then, it was Samaritan
country. They were actually Jewish, but
attached to Mt. Gerizim instead of Mt. Zion, and to the Torah but not the
Prophets (and not liking the prophets makes them like lots of people we preach
to!!!). So close to Judaism – and yet so
far. What is it in human nature that
makes us most hostile toward the people who are just barely different from
us? There’s the hilarious (and crass) scene
in The Life of Brian (not for the
sermon, just for the preacher’s fun) where the People’s Front of Judea explain “the
only people we hate more than the Romans are the Judea People’s Front”…
Joking aside, it is hard to be in any
minority group. Think of the pressure
African-Americans or Muslims feel in much of the United States – and I ponder
Amos Oz’s recollection of growing up Jewish: "The fear in every Jewish home, the fear we never talked about but were unintentionally injected with, like a poison, drop by drop, was the chilling fear that perhaps we really were not clean enough, that we really were too noisy and pushy... Perhaps we didn't have proper manners. There was a terror that we might, heaven forbid, make a bad impression on the Gentiles, and then they would be angry and do things too dreadful to think about. A thousand times it was hammered into the head of every Jewish child that we must behave nicely and politely with Gentiles even when they were rude or drunk, that whatever else we did we must not provoke them or argue or haggle with them, we must not irritate them, we must speak quietly... because even a single child with dirty hair could damage the reputation of the entire Jewish people. This constant drip-drip distorts all your feelings, it corrodes your human dignity like rust."
But this woman is despised even within her
own despised group! She comes to draw
water at noon; most women went in the morning.
She is quite alone, as in lonely, ostracized. Jesus encounters her – and he too is alone. He becomes what she is. He doesn’t judge, or teach a lesson, or even
give her water. He asks her to do
something for him. Jean Vanier, in his
wonderful Drawn Into the Mystery of Jesus
Through the Gospel of John, explains, “Jesus is showing us how to approach
people who are broken and wounded: not as someone superior, from ‘above,’ but
humbly, from ‘below,’ like a beggar.
Such people who are already ashamed of themselves do not need someone
who will make them even more ashamed, but someone who will give them hope and
reveal to them that they have value.”
Once there was a boy born
with an acute case of cerebral palsy who was treated terribly as a young child. He was sent to another home where his mother
noticed how he watched Mister Rogers’
Neighborhood. She believed Mister
Rogers was keeping her son alive. Some
big foundation worked it out for Mister Rogers to visit this boy, and when he
did, Mister Rogers asked, “Would you pray for me?” The boy was thunderstruck because nobody had
ever asked him for anything. He was the
object of prayer, not the one to pray for Mr. Rogers. But now he prays for Mister Rogers and he
doesn’t want to die anymore. Tom Junod
witnessed this and privately he congratulated Mister Rogers for being so
smart. But Mister Rogers didn’t know
what he meant. He really wanted the
boy’s prayers, saying, “I think that anyone who’s gone through challenges like
that must be very close to God.”
Those who are thirsty, and then drink
deeply from the water of life know how to be a fountain for others. They are not afraid of the pain and thirst of
others. Can we hear this woman’s
pain? “I have no husband.” She’s not lying, or covering up; it’s a lament,
one we all sense in the gut. How many negative
images has she been bombarded with, and how much self-recrimination does she
tote around in her head? The Bible doesn’t
tell us her name – par for the course.
She didn’t matter much to anybody else back then – except Jesus, who
surely did learn her name, even if John forgot to tell us.
Jesus invites this woman to explore her
past. This is a crucial piece of Pete
Scazzero’s Emotionally Healthy Spirituality. You chart your
genogram, you tell of brokenness in your past, and out of this candid
vulnerability you come to a healthy, healing relationship to God – and with
others.
As Vanier puts it, “Jesus invites her, and
each one of us, to revisit our past in truth: not just to analyze it or remain
trapped in it, but to be liberated from its hold.” And then to be filled, refreshed, washed with
this incredible living water that Jesus is.
The well in Samaria, from which I have personally drawn water, is 135
feet deep! This God business is deep,
and it is “out of the depths” (Psalm 130) that we cry to God, and where we find
him, and our healing.
In my newest book, Worshipful, I
explore some medieval notions of being hungry and thirsty for the Eucharist –
and then Jesus’ own hunger and thirst. Julian
of Norwich wrote that “Jesus will be thirsty until the last soul is saved and
joins him in his bliss; his thirst is to have us drawn into him.” And Bernard of Clairvaux: “My penitence, my salvation, are His food. I myself am His food. I
am chewed as I am reproved by Him; I am swallowed as I am taught; I am digested
as I am changed; I am assimilated as I am transformed; I am made one as I am
conformed to him.”
I appreciate considering Jesus asking something from this woman. She, who appears to have nothing, has something to offer Jesus. Jesus desires our wholeness. And...gotta love Mr. Rogers!
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