John 4:5-30 - Show us Your Living Water

I wrote the following sermon to share with my church community on March 15, 2020. And then COVID. So I am sharing it here :)

I love a story about a woman at a well. Maybe because I’m named after another woman, whose biblical story begins much the same way as our Samaritan woman, with a strange man asking her for water at a well. I imagine this Samaritan woman and my Old Testament namesake, Rebekah, very similarly. Wearing loose, hopefully light clothing, carrying a large clay pot, with a veil or scarf thrown over her head to protect her from the heat of the sun. Going about a daily task, about to have her life changed by a causal interaction with a strange man at the well she has visited every day of her life.

You know the story of Rebekah - the wife of Isaak - who found her future husband and made her mark on history by answering Abraham’s servant’s request for water - and also offering to water his camels - on her daily trek to the town well one morning.

Maybe the Samaritan woman also made the connection to  her ancestor Rebekah as she approached the well to be asked for water by a stranger, perhaps she noted the differences more than the similarities. Rebekah a beautiful virgin about to be married, herself with 5 previous husbands. Rebekah a respected member of her community, mother to be to the nation of Israel, herself ostracized by her village and belonging to the outcast minority community of Samaritans. I wonder if John thought of Rebekah when he wrote about this other woman by the well.. But I am getting ahead of myself. 

John sets the scene “about noon.” Our Samaritan woman is coming to the well at the heat of the day - not in the cool of dawn or dusk when other woman might gather at the well to draw water, to share the latest gossip and the communion of daily tasks done together. 

I imagine she is ostracized and excluded from her community, not welcome - or not feeling welcome - to share her daily tasks with the other woman, maybe because of her status as an unmarried woman with 5 previous husbands, whether a widow 5 times over or a multiple divorcee. 

I picture her exhausted from the day that is only half over, from the manual task of drawing water from the deep well that is yet ahead of her, from the judgement of her community, and from the deep exhaustion of living as a minority people, as a Samaritan, surrounded by Jews. 

And as she approaches the well Jesus asks her for water. 

She responds “ You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?”

And thus begins a conversation that will change her life. As her conversation with Jesus begins, I see her exhaustion turned to strength. When I read John’s description of their exchange, I find myself imagining all of her responses as snarky comebacks, full of challenges and sarcasm. I see a woman fully aware of where she falls short and all of the labels that the world can use to judge her. I see a woman who knows every single way in which she is different from Rebekah, the common ancestor for her and this Jewish man, who was also asked to draw water from a well for a strange man. I see her as someone who is not gonna to take anything from anybody, especially not some Jewish man who thinks he’s all that.

Jesus asks her for water and she throws back at him the labels and categories that keep them apart - she is a woman and a Samaritan, who does he think he is to cross the cultural and societal barriers that keep them apart to ask her for some free labor? 

Jesus isn’t thrown by the comeback - he’s got one of his own: “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.” If you’d been paying attention and recognized God’s gift in me, you could have asked for something more than water.  

Instead of asking about this living water, she challenges him again: “Sir, you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water?” And “Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?” 

She points out the obvious - he doesn’t have a bucket -how is he going to draw water?, and challenges his ego - is he greater than their common ancestor Jacob who dug the well? 

I love this comeback, not only because the reference to Jacob makes me think of his mother, Rebekah, that other woman at the well. In this single response, Not only is the Samaritan woman challenging the practicality of what Jesus is offering, but she is claiming shared heritage with him, a Jew, and maybe with a bit of extra pride pointing out that she knows the history of her land and her community - maybe better than he does. 

Again, Jesus isn’t phased. He goes on about his special water, noting that instead of regular water which only satisfies you for a time, after drinking from the water he gives people will never be thirsty again and the water will “become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

I imagine the Samaritan woman’ response just dripping with sarcasm: “Give me some of that so I won’t ever be thirsty again and  wont don’t have to come back here to the well -- and deal with people like you ever again”. 

Now this is just one interpretation, and there are other ways to read this passage, but in these comebacks and snark I see a strong woman, used to adversity with a thick skin developed over a lifetime of judgment. Yes she is defensive, she is expecting judgement, and so owns it and throws it right back. She is a very different woman than my name sake Rebekah who eagerly gives water to the demanding stranger at the well, along with his camels. 

But somewhere in this conversation there is a shift. Something about the exchange doesn’t meet this Samaritan woman’s expectations. Jesus keeps engaging, keeps the conversation going, keeps offering her this living water. When she responds to Jesus’ request that she go and get her husband, with a quick “but i don’t have a husband,” Jesus unarms her by sharing with her that he knows her deepest shame, her one final reason for expecting judgment from the world around her. 

Jesus shares that he knows about the 5 previous marriages, he knows that because she is not currently married she has no status in her community. Jesus knows exactly who she is and everything that she has ever done. Not only is she a woman, and a Samaritan, but she is not even a respectable member of her community. He knows all of the ways in which she is different from that other woman at the well, their shared ancestor Rebekah - all the ways in which she falls short of the ideal. 

And he talks to her anyway - shocking both her and his disciples when they return. 

He accepts her, in full knowledge of all the ways in which he could, and maybe should, judge her. He engages in a mutual exchange - first asking for and then offering her water. And after he shares this little tidpit, he goes on to have a theological discussion with her about where to worship and the nature of God. She is also the first person in the Gospel of John to whom he reveals himself as the messiah. 

In all of this, what sticks out most for the woman from her interaction with Jesus is that she was known. This is what she shares with her community - “come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!” He can’t be the messiah can he? 

One of the commentaries I read noted that it is what is left unsaid here that is significant. Everything she ever did, particularly her 5 previous husbands, could easily have been common knowledge, and at least something she would have been always aware of in the judgemental expressions of her neighbors. It might not have been so surprising for her community that Jesus had heard about her shame, but for  him to know her past and still chose to interact with her, and in that interaction to treat her as an equal, to show her acceptance, maybe even love and forgiveness - that is miraculous. Maybe even messiah worthy? 

I volunteer each week with a group of people who carry a label that they are constantly aware of. Like the Samaritan woman, they are judged and expect judgement from all sides. Their defenses are always up. They talk about the fear that others will find out. In every unexpected interaction - a cold remark from a coworker, a question unlooked for - they wonder if it because the other knows and judges them. They guard their conversations and what they share, never being fully themselves incase they might unintentionally let slip something that will make someone curious enough to ask the wrong questions or do some digging. Like the Samaritan woman their story is known by too many, and the gossip mill or a detailed google search could easily reveal their label to the world. 

And yet, each week they come together in a group where they don’t have to hide. They can be seen as fully themselves by a group of people who “know everything they have ever done” - or at least enough about one of the hardest things in their lives, about the thing for which they fear the most judgment. They thirst for a space where they can simply be fully themselves - where they can be seen without judgment. 

And in this space of vulnerability and openness, where they are seen for all of themselves - I have witnessed miraculous healing take place. I have watched people process trauma, shame, self-judgment, and leave fulfilled, regrounded, and renewed. 

Like the disciples who returned to find Jesus talking with the Samaritan woman, I find myself speechless with awe when I witness spaces of such profound acceptance and love. Like the Samaritan villagers, I am intrigued and want to learn more about how to receive and share this acceptance with others. 

I wonder if this is living water of which Jesus spoke. The water that means never thirsting again. 

I resonate with the thirst of the Samaritan woman - with the desire to be seen, known, accepted, and loved. Where my greatest challenges, my deepest shames, my failures and the metaphorical 5 previous husbands hiding in the closet don’t have to be hidden or be the labels that define me - they can simply be a part of who I am. Where even though I don’t live up to my namesake, the Old Testament Rebekah, and graciously provide water to strangers and offer to water their camels too, I am still worth engaging in conversation with as fully myself - flaws, secrets, successes, strengths, weaknesses, and all.  And in those moments of recognition, I find myself fully alive. 

Like the Samaritan woman at the well, we are all fully aware of the labels we carry, the barriers we face, the ways in which we are “not enough.” We thirst for recognition and acceptance, but approach the world with our defenses up, expecting, and often receiving judgement for who we are or what we have done or failed to do.

 In her interaction with Jesus, the woman at the well experiences the uniqueness of being seen and known for all of who she is - without judgement.

But to be truly seen requires vulnerability. It requires a willingness to let down our barriers, to acknowledge the labels we carry that we worry will define us.  To ask for living water. 

I wonder where Jesus shows up at the wells in our own lives, in the spaces where we come, thirsty, expecting judgment from all around us, feeling defined by our deepest failures and shame. 

I wonder how Jesus unarms us, challenges us to put down our walls, to be be vulnerable, to be seen, and to be refreshed. 

I wonder how Jesus challenges us to offer waters of acceptance to others in our lives. 

Jesus, show us your living water.