Thirst

 Selections from John 4
She was so thirsty.  Her water had run out the night before, after dinner had been prepared and the bowls had been washed.  When she woke up that next morning, her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth.  She was disappointed for she had really wanted to make a nice cup of tea that morning.  She had it all planned:  after waking up, she would cook his breakfast, send the man on to his work, wash the few dishes, and then… then,  just sit in the silence, feeling the heat on her fingers as she held a cup of tea that she brewed just for herself.  A few stolen moments, bathed in silence and sunlight… Just the thought of it brought tears to her eyes and made her mouth water.  But with an empty water jar, it was not to be.  Oh well, she thought, there is always tomorrow. 

 As the sun began to rise, she sat at the window and tried to ignore her growing thirst.  She heard the voices of the other women as they made their way down the path to Jacob’s well.  Their voices, their laughter, their footsteps—it all filled her ears and she tried to block it out.  She shut her eyes in disgust and in anger.  She would just have to wait.  For though she may have only needed a few drops of that water to quench her thirst, she did not dare go to get it now.  Not while all the others were there, talking and laughing.  It would hurt too much and she simply did not have the stamina for it anymore.

 The years of stares and silence had taken their toll.  The slicing words of condescension and the coolness of dismissal had created wounds too deep for easy healing.  They all thought they knew everything about her.  She had been through five husbands for goodness’ sake.  And she was not even married to the man with whom she now lived.  What else did they need to know?  She was clearly a woman of ill repute, to put it politely—all she was missing were the short skirts, too much mascara, and ruby red lipstick.  They thought they knew all about her.  But in truth, she knew they did not know her at all.

 They did not know how her heart had broken each time a husband had died and each time she had been required by custom to marry yet another brother.  They did not know how she dreaded wedding after wedding, growing so thirsty for real love, yet never having her thirst quenched.  The men all married her purely out of family obligation and treated her simply as part of the household property.  This last brother had not even bothered to marry her at all.  Why should he?  There was certainly no love lost between them.  But all those women at the well thought they knew everything about her.  They did not know anything at all.

 But still, the stares, the gossip, the hateful comments—all of it kept her from going to the well early in the morning with the others.  It did not matter how thirsty she was, she was not about to put herself through that again.  So each morning she would sit in her thirst and wait.  She would wait until the sun was straight above her home, its rays bearing down on the ground, the air standing still with its heat.  Finally, when she could barely stand it any longer, she knew it would be safe to go and try to quench her thirst at the well. 

 Like going to Ingles at midnight, she knew that going to the well at noon would keep her from running into anyone she knew.  It would keep her from running into anyone at all.  So you can imagine her shock and horror in seeing Jesus sitting there as she arrived.  For not only was there someone else at the well, but it was a man.  And, not only was it a man, but it was a Jewish man. 

 Jews and Samaritans had been estranged for centuries.  Jews thought Samaritans were unclean because after the Assyrian invasion 750 years earlier, Samaritans had intermarried with non-Israelite groups.  But there was no love lost on the Samaritan side of things either.  The Samaritans were convinced the Jews had it all wrong in regard to the proper place to worship.  The Jews said it was at the Temple in Jerusalem.  But the Samaritans countered it was on Mt Gerezim.  The tension between the two groups had grown to the point that interaction was deemed impossible.  So when she arrived at noon, desperate to quench her thirst, and saw him there...

 She almost turned around and left with her water jar still empty.  But, she was just too thirsty.  She could not imagine going any longer without something to drink.  So she squared her shoulders and kept walking.  She decided to simply look down and avoid all eye contact.  But she could not help but glance at him a few times.  He looked like he was resting.  His eyes were closed and his posture looked relaxed. She wondered where he had been, why he was so tired, and what on earth he was doing in Samaria.  Jews avoided Samaria like the plague.  They would walk around it, going from Judea to Galilee, or vice versa.  No one went through it.  So why had he?  All those thoughts ran through her head as she quietly tried to lower the bucket into the well, not wanting to wake him up.  But then, his voice broke her silence. 

 “Give me a drink,” he said.  She was not sure what she was supposed to do.  She knew that a Jewish man talking to a Samaritan woman in public was a no-no.  Surely he knew too.  She kept her eyes downcast and tried gently to remind him.  “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?”  Maybe that would stop the conversation.  Plus, she was the one who was thirsty.  She was the one whose mouth and soul were dried out and brittle.  She was the one who needed a drink, who needed the water.  He could wait his turn.  Yet, to her chagrin, the conversation did not stop. 

 Instead, he switched gears.  He told her that instead of him asking her for a drink of well water, she should be asking him for a drink of living water.  Living water?  For a moment, she forgot her thirst.  She did not understand what he was talking about.  She finally looked up into his face.  When she did, she actually felt a small surge of courage so she asked if he was greater than even their shared ancestor Jacob. 

 As she spoke, her dry mouth caught and she had to run her tongue over her teeth just to be able to finish her question.  Her physical thirst was obvious.  So before answering her question, he helped pull in the bucket full of the well’s water.  She eagerly took a quick sip, not wanting this odd conversation to stop.  Frankly it had been years since anyone had included her in a real conversation.  It had been years since anyone had looked her in the eyes without disapproval.  Goodness, it had been years since anyone had actually seen her at all.  Quenching her physical thirst could wait another minute because she suddenly felt overtaken by a soul thirst that caught her completely by surprise.  She realized she was thirsty for this kind of interaction.  She was thirsty to be seen.  She was thirsty to be really and truly known. 

 He continued talking with her, never taking his eyes off of her face.  It was like he knew how dried out and thirsty her soul was, maybe even more than she knew.  He kept talking to her about this living water, this water that would become a spring in her soul, gushing eternally.  She did not understand what he meant but it did not matter.  She just knew she no longer noticed the hot sun.  She no longer noticed the dust in her mouth.  She no longer noticed the fact that she, a Samaritan woman, was talking to him, a Jewish man.  She only noticed that for the first time in years, she was feeling worthy.  And she did not want that feeling to end. 

 “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”  Again, she did not know exactly what he meant by this living water, but she figured it was something that would change her.  Maybe it would even be powerful enough to restore her.  To restore her back to her community. To restore her to a fullness of life she had long ago forgotten. To restore her back to herself.  She was suddenly desperately thirsty for this living water. 

 “Go, call your husband and come back.”  Those words fell on her as heavy as stone.  She should have known it sounded too good to be true.  She should have known that she would never been able to move beyond her past, that she was incapable of being a new creation, getting a new start.  She again became aware of her dry mouth and took another sip from the jar.  Oh well.  Back to reality.  “I have no husband,” she said, eyes down.  “You are right,” he responded, “you have had five and the one you have now is not your husband.  What you have said is true.” 

 She was so stunned by his knowledge of her that she looked up again.  But she was equally as stunned by what she saw in his face.  Even though he clearly knew her situation, she did not see the sneer she had grown accustomed to seeing.  She did not see anger in his eyes.  She did not see cool dismissal.  The only thing she saw reflected was a genuine, honest interest in her.  And even as dry as she felt at that moment, tears flooded her eyes.  Even though he knew everything that she had ever done, he still received her for who she was.  So who was he?  He was obviously holy.  Obviously special.  Was he a prophet? 

 If he was a prophet, then she decided she might as well ask him that centuries-old worship question just to see what he would say.  So she did.  And he took her up on it, talking not just about where to worship, but how—with a posture of openness to the freeing winds of the Spirit and God’s always-inbreaking truth.  It was an amazing moment of theological give-and-take.  But even though she was thirsty for that kind of interaction, she also struggled to concentrate on it because she realized she was just simply feeling so alive!  Her spirit was breaking free.  Hopefulness was surging through her system.  It gave her this burst of courage and she could not contain herself.  “I know that the Messiah is coming,” she testified, “And when he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.”

 She was so sure of herself and her testimony.  And he saw the change that she felt—the change from the downcast, thirsty woman into this self-confident and courageous woman of faith.  And though he, too, was tired from all his ministry, he could not help but grin slightly at the transformation.  So he decided right then and there to tell her something he had not told anyone else yet.  He saw her for who she really was and it made him want to tell her who he really was.  “I am.  I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”  And there they stood—face to face—in a moment of full disclosure, each with no pretense about who they were.  And she felt fuller and more whole and more worthy than she had ever felt in her entire life. 

 She was just about to respond to his self-disclosure when they heard footsteps and voices.  The disciples were back.  They came upon Jesus and this woman and were stunned to see them together at the well, talking.  They looked at her the way everyone always looked at her, well, everyone but Jesus.  This time, though, she did not care as much.  She was breaking free from that.  It did not matter as much to her what they thought of her or said about her.  She purposefully did not cast down her eyes.  Rather, she drew herself up, standing straight and tall.  Her soul bubbled with joy and hope. 

 And right then and there she began to write her testimony in her heart.  She had been fully seen.  She had been fully known.  And she had been fully received by I Am, the Messiah.  And because of all that, she knew her soul would never thirst again.  Like Hagar in the wilderness, God had seen her in her distress and had sent her what, rather, who, she needed.  She felt so free from the chains that had long bound her that she actually smiled at those disciples, turned one more time to look at Jesus, and ran off, leaving her water jar behind.  Thirst?  What thirst. 

 And do you know where she went?  She ran right into the town square—into the middle of all the people and all the activity.  And all of the sudden, it struck her just how long it had been since she had been this public.  But she was not afraid.  Rather, she was so full of that living water, so full of that encounter with pure grace, that she started shouting out her testimony.  “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!  He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” she said laughing. 

 The people around her were stunned.  They barely recognized her.  She was looking at them in the face, clearly not just unafraid, but actually bold.  Who on earth had this woman met?  Something, someone, had changed her.  So they all left the city and went to see for themselves.  And when they met Jesus, they, too, were just as struck by him.  They found their own souls bubbling with joy and hope.  They felt seen and known and fully received.  And in the middle of all of it, as they gathered around that well, a shower of restoration fell down on that community.  This woman, invisible for so long, became their Gospel preacher.  And not only did they see her, but they heard her.  And not only did they hear her, they received her.  And the broken body of that community was made whole.  And the souls of the thirsty Samaritans were quenched.  And Jesus stayed with them all for two days and invited everybody to the feast that he had prepared. 

 “I am the bread of life.  Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”  May it be so for you and for me.  May her story become our story.  Amen.