Living Water
THE THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT
Exodus 17:1-7 • Psalm 95 • Romans 5:1-11 • John 4:5-42
Being tired is a recurring theme I hear in our lessons today. The Israelites are tired of wandering in the wilderness. The Romans are tired of suffering. Jesus is tired at the well. Even from the psalm we might derive that God is tired of being tested. Did our lectionary writers know that today would be our Daylight Savings Time? Might we be tired, too?
In the gospel lesson, Jesus arrives at the well at noon: tired, hot, dusty, and presumably hungry because the disciples have gone to get something to eat. Jesus is so tired that he’s just going to stay at the well.
Another arrives at the well around noon, too. A woman. If we’re steeped in knowledge of our Jewish ancestry, our senses might go on alert for a potentially scandalous situation. Noon? At a well? My grandparents might have called the well a gettin’ place because when it came to finding your spouse in ancient times, a well was where you’d almost certainly get one. Isaac’s wife was found at a well (Genesis 24:10-61); Jacob and Rachel met at a well (Genesis 29:1-20); and Moses and Zipporah met at a well, also (Exodus 2:15-21).
But the situation is all wrong. It’s noon. Most women would go to the well at a reasonable hour together, not alone, and this woman is not supposed to be in the company of a man by herself, let alone a man who is not of her community. They’re not a match, at least not that way. We know Jesus is tired, and don’t we have reason to believe that this woman is tired, too? Whatever reason she has for having been married five times, chances are the circumstances were out of her control, but that didn’t change how others perceived her, how even we view her. Besides, this woman is already with another man. Why, then, are they at the well? Why is this beautiful, extended gospel lesson planted here in the midst of our Lenten journey?
The fatigue isn’t just physical.
The Israelites complained and quarreled in the wilderness because they needed water to drink for themselves, their children, their livestock. They were physically dehydrated, drained of energy, determined that Moses had brought them out of Egypt to die in the desert. It would have been better, they began to think, to remain in Egypt, enslaved, than to endure the journey. Their physical perseverance was in question, but what about their spiritual endurance? Would God provide for them? Did they trust God to see them to the Promised Land? Don’t they sound like a child on a road trip: “Are we there yet? I’m thirsty! Are we there yet? I’m dying!” And just like a well-cared-for child, they are provided for physically. It’s not the first time nor the last time they will thirst or be delivered. Each time, God provides for them. Their forgetfulness, their faithlessness, drains their spiritual depth and reveals their immaturity.
The woman at the well presents a contrast to her complaining ancestors. However oppressed and ostracized she is, she stands her ground alongside Jesus. Physically drained by the noon-day sun, emotionally battered by society, she banters with Jesus about what separates them—their place of origin and the gender roles they fill—and what unites them, their common ancestor Jacob. Jesus wastes no time in tapping into her spiritual longing, offering her living water, if she only “knew the gift of God and who it is” that is speaking to her. She persists as much as he does, speaking truth, affirming what she perceives, revealing what she believes until Jesus tells her “I AM.” In our biblical stories authored and translated by men, our canons selected by men, our commentary for centuries written by men…Jesus first fully reveals who he is (at least in this gospel) to an unlikely woman. Our premier evangelist hears his words, lets them tap into her mind, heart, and soul until the dam breaks, and she leaves with haste, without her jar, to share the news with others. Is it good news? Can he be the Messiah? He knew all she had ever done. He knew her, and still he offered her the living water. Perhaps the water was already there, only now spilling out of her, flooding those with whom she encountered, finding other parched places, wearied souls, leading them back to the source so that they might be filled for themselves.
In the presence of the source is where we want to be. We want to be at the rock freshly pouring forth water in the desert. We want to be in the presence of Christ, overflowing with the Spirit, unable to contain God’s love, sharing fruits of the Spirit with everyone we meet. We want to maintain the faithfulness we have at the beginning of a journey all the way to the destination. We never want to be thirsty; we never want to grow weary or doubt or wander.
The wants that we have and the reality we live don’t always match, if ever. There is suffering in this world, and we are hard-pressed to find anyone who would claim otherwise.
Paul throws us a line, perhaps in an effort to make sense of suffering, when he says, “suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us…” Is it really that simple, Paul? What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger? Just have faith? If we are Christian enough, hopeful enough, we won’t be disappointed? Is that what he’s saying? We could hear it that way, but the conditions become dependent upon ourselves, distancing us from the grace of God. Left to our own devices, we’re more likely to drift into despair and miss the crux of what Paul is actually reminding us: that we do produce hope out of suffering “...because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” It was never about what we could do on our own.
The rock broken open for our ancestors was not enough to reconcile us to God, to unite us to God in a way that would endure the tests of this life. We would always be looking to someone else to open the tap and fill our cup to quench our thirst, constantly calculating the conditions for our salvation, and seeking reasons for why bad things happen. We had to be given living water inwardly, given the opportunity to experience its abundance unconditionally. We have to know that there is plenty for everyone, that it can’t be contained in ourselves alone or others like us. Just as the suffering we face, the suffering of the world, is too much for any one of us to bear, so is the expanse of Spirit, of God’s love, too much for any one of us to contain. God’s love is for the world, to be shared.
If we are more than physically tired…if we are spiritually exhausted at this point in Lent or in life, I invite us to consider letting go of what is burdening us…or at least asking God to help us carry it. If we’re tired, why not rest? Imagine Jesus meeting us not at Jacob’s well but maybe at the baptismal font, at the well of our new birth, in broad daylight, without any pretense. What longing would he find? Do we seek God in spirit and truth? Do we believe that God is seeking us? The Samaritan woman wasn’t looking to find a husband at the well, but she was thirsty, longing for being fully known for who she was. She left the well with renewed energy, different questions in her heart and mind, a stirring in her soul, a proclamation to share. We, too, are so known, so loved. May the Spirit spring forth from our hearts, awash us in living water, and send us forth anew, renewed, as we continue on our way.
© 2023 The Rev. Sara Milford
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church – Fayetteville, Arkansas