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The Third Sunday of LentTo many of us, the story we have just heard is familiar: the woman at the well. Usually, we focus on Jesus in this story. He broke custom by speaking publicly with a woman, a hated Samaritan at that. He offered her living water, that is, himself. He pointed out her 5 marriages and current live-in boyfriend, and in doing so held her accountable and also completely accepted her. He identified himself as the Messiah.
But this year when I read the story I saw it from the point of view of the woman at the well. Who was she? What was her response to Jesus, and why? How did he affect her? What might that say about our response to Jesus?
First of all, she was one of the Samaritans, Jews who had broken off from mainstream Judaism some 400 years before Jesus. The schism was partly about whether the temple should be in Jerusalem or on Mount Gerazim, where today, the 700 remaining Jewish Samaritans still live.
In Jesus’ day, there was widespread prejudice against the Samaritans, which is why his story about the Good Samaritan is so surprising. And so Jesus and his disciples were in unfriendly territory that day; they were among traditional enemies.
The woman had also been married 5 times. We don’t know if every husband died, whether they left her, or anything else. But we do know that she was living with another man at the time. So in the village, she probably had a reputation.
She also was very outspoken. She boldly questioned this itinerant rabbi, asking him first why she spoke to him and asked her for water, since they were enemies. She went on, making strong declarative statements: “Give me this living water you’re talking about. I see that you’re a prophet. I know the Messiah is coming.”
And then she went and spoke boldly to her own people: “Come see a man who told me everything I have ever done.” This was no shrinking violet.
But what is really interesting to me is what happened to her in this conversation. She was open to what Jesus was saying, and far more perceptive than Jesus’ own disciples. After all, they came back later to the scene and when Jesus told them he had food that they didn’t know about, they thought someone had slipped him a sandwich. He was speaking metaphorically. The woman at the well, by contrast, was drawn in to this business of living water. She recognized that he might be the Messiah, and told everyone so.
The villagers came to see, and because they believed in her convincing testimony, they asked Jesus to stay with them a few days and teach them. The woman at the well is the first person in the gospel of John who really gets Jesus. She is the first real apostle, bringing other people to faith in Christ. Imagine that - the first apostle was a woman, and a Samaritan, no less!
Because of this woman’s testimony, something remarkable happened. Hostilities between traditional Jews and Samaritan Jews that had simmered for 400 years were overcome that day. Jesus and his disciples went into the enemy village and stayed a few days, talking with them about God. They ate together, probably healed some people, and shared in the gift of God’s love.
As Jesus pointed out to her, worship isn’t about place – Jerusalem or Mount Gerazim – it’s about spirit and truth, for God is spirit. They became one in spirit and truth, and it was all because a bold woman opened her heart to this stranger.
This little story is a microcosm of what the whole gospel of John is about. We’re studying John’s gospel at the 10:15 Sunday class now, and we’re seeing how the main message of this gospel is Jesus coming to the world in order to bring about unity.
Some receive him and become children of God – they find unity with God and one another. Others reject him, with the result of conflict and violence. At the end of this gospel, Jesus’ last words to his disciples are in the form of a farewell prayer: As you, Father, are in me and I in you, may they also be in us...so that they may be one, as we are one…so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them.
Yesterday I went to see a film about the partition of India and Pakistan in 1947, at the time of Indian independence. Communities were ripped apart as Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs all slaughtered one another. A million people died in the carnage as irrational prejudice and hatred spilled over. Many more millions fled for their lives, going to places where they could be safely a part of the majority.
As we left the theatre, my friends and I asked ourselves why is this so typical of us the humans? Why do Sunnis and Shiites project so much evil on to one another, Jews and Palestinians, Serbians and Albanians, or for that matter, Anglos and Hispanics, Americans and suspected terrorists? Why haven’t we learned our lesson?
Why must we go on hating, assuming the worst, excluding people whom we don’t like, and killing? Why do we ever think this will actually work? Why are so many followers of Jesus Christ perfectly okay with waging war against other human beings? How is it that we’re even debating what levels of torture we can legally employ? The whole damn thing is so primitive, so tribal, so opposite of what Jesus lived and asked us to do.
It’s easy enough to say “well, ‘twas ever thus and ever shall be; we live in the real world, and must be practical” and go on with the ancient violence. But Jesus came to show us another way. Blessed are the peacemakers, he said. Love your enemy. Do good to those who persecute you. Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing.
Jesus did all this in times just as dangerous as our own, but he didn’t use that as an excuse. He could have said “well, ‘twas ever thus,” but he didn’t. He came to help us understand that we are already one with God and we are one with one another, and therefore the only force that will work, in the long run, is love and reconciliation.
You can’t destroy darkness with more darkness; one can only shine light into it. To prove that this is practical in the real world, Jesus took his disciples into a Samaritan village and lived there for two days with their enemies. To prove that this is costly, he gave his own life.
This hits home when we begin to examine our own attitudes about our enemies. It comes down to this: Who is a Samaritan for you? Who are you afraid of? We all carry some prejudices; what are yours?
Who, in your mind, should be kicked out, shut up, locked down, done away with? Whose point of view is not worth even considering? Is it Christians who say that Jesus would approve of torture and war in some circumstances? Is it Republicans? Evangelicals? Liberals? So-called “orthodox” Anglicans? Undocumented workers? Militant Muslims? Someone at the office? Someone in your own family?
When we open the eyes of faith, as did that bold woman at the well, we see God in everything, in everyone. We understand that we are never apart from God, for God is always everywhere. We know that we can never really have enemies, for all are united in the same Spirit, all are infused with the love of God – whether they know it or not; everyone is our sister, our brother. As we promise several times a year in the baptismal covenant, we will respect the dignity of every person, loving our neighbor as ourselves.
John’s gospel tells us that Jesus came as light into a dark world. Those who have eyes to see him for who he is, like the Samaritan woman, are given abundant life. Living with Christ, we wake up in him and experience the underlying unity of God and all creation, and treat everyone as if this is really so. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.
Wars will continue. People calling themselves friends of God will still kill and torture. Prejudice will persevere. The darkness will always be with us. But so will the light.
So the question is, are you going to contribute to the darkness or the light? Are you going to really be open to hear what Jesus says, and then do the radical thing that he asks, to live in spirit and in truth, whether or not it seems practical, whether or not there is a cost in doing so?
That bold woman at the well is offered to us as the first example of faithful discipleship, someone who opened her mind and heart to Jesus, and then let him lead her and her whole community into reconciliation. This Lent, as we call to mind our own need for reconciliation, we give thanks for this nameless woman and pray for the grace to be so bold.
End Document — St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church