Rev. Susan Gilbert Zencka
Frame Memorial Presbyterian Church

Text: John 4:5-42

The county of Derbyshire lies near the middle of England. In her book, Sacred Spaces, Margaret Silf tells the story of a time nearly 350 years ago, when there was a wave of bubonic plague swept through the region, and one village, Eyam, found itself with many sick residents. The community agreed on a course of selflessness to protect the surrounding communities. They quarantined themselves, and created a boundary of stones around the perimeter of the town; one of the markers being the town well. People from the surrounding villages would bring food, and medication and news to the boundary edge and leave them there, where the healthy folks in town would retrieve them. It is not hard to imagine what mixed feelings might accompany a walk to the well under these circumstances – knowing that some of your family members, as well as your neighbors, were dangerously ill, wondering whether you’d be the next one to get sick, hoping that the people you love could survive, wishing that you had more strength and hope to nourish your walk and the tasks that await you back at the house, and feeling so grateful to those people in neighboring towns who had left some bread, some cheese, and news of the outside world.

To this day, the wells are often decorated with flowers and pictures to celebrate the gratitude of those who survived, and to remember that in the midst of death and despair, there are also signs of life.

In many communities throughout the world, wells are a sign of life and hope and relationships, as women and children come to get safe water for their families, and greet one another. The wells are life-giving on many levels. And unfortunately, in all too many communities, there are no sources of safe water. One in eight people throughout the world lack clean water, and each year more than 2 million people (most of them children) die from waterborne diseases. None of us should take water for granted.

In our part of the world, for many people, water is easier to come by than community. In the United States, we have given up the tight knit web of relationships that in many parts of the world is necessary for life. It was one of the things I noticed most about my visits to both Africa and Colombia – relationships sustain life. I suspect there is not as much loneliness in those cultures as there is in ours. We don’t even know all our neighbors, and we wouldn’t feel comfortable just dropping by…and we don’t have many natural gathering places, like community wells. Wells are particularly interesting because they are a point of new life in a way – one comes, thirsty, and lowers the empty bucket into the darkness, beyond where you can see, and then near the bottom, comes refreshment, life-giving water, the bucket is full again, and upon being brought to the surface the water is carried back to be shared in the fabric of life with family. Coming empty, going deep into darkness and bringing back life.

In Samaria one hot and dusty day, Jesus rested by the well, and when a woman came to draw water, he spoke to her and asked for a drink. And she was stunned by this request, for in those days, a man would not speak to an unknown woman in public like that. But it went far beyond simple etiquette, because she was a Samaritan and Jesus was a Jew. We spoke a few weeks ago about the geography of region at the time of Jesus, but let me refresh your memories. The country of Israel had been divided into two countries after the death of Solomon the son of King David. There were then two countries carrying on the Hebrew heritage: Israel to the north and Judah to the south. Israel was eventually attacked by Assyria, while Judah was conquered by Babylon. We are familiar with the fate of Judah – when Babylon conquered Judah, they drove many of the people into exile and they destroyed the temple in Jerusalem. Eventually, the people came back and the temple was rebuilt. When Israel, the northern kingdom, was conquered in 722 BCE, the Assyrians replaced the local citizenry of the region called Samaria (up until then, part of Israel) with people from other conquered countries. This strategy was designed to minimize the risk of rebellion. As a consequence, the people of Samaria became a mixed culture, with a hodgepodge of religious customs. They worshiped the God of the Hebrews, yes, but many other gods as well. An account of this history, told in 2 Kings in the Hebrew Bible, describes the five countries whose residents had mixed with the Samaritans.

Two hundred years later, when the former exiles returned to Judah and wanted to rebuild the temple in Jerusalem, the Samaritans asked to join in the effort because, as they said, they worshiped the same god. But the people of Judah rejected their offer, claiming that their mixed heritage rendered them impure and not suitable for working on the temple.

An antipathy grew between the people of Samaria and the people of Judah, the kind of hostility that is particularly vicious between people who share much in common: think Protestants and Catholics in Northern Ireland, or Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda.

The Galilee region was north of Samaria, which was north of Judea, as Judah was called in the time of Jesus. So when Jews from Galilee wanted to travel to Jerusalem, one choice was to travel through Samaria, although it was more common to go around Samaria in order to avoid contact with the Samaritans.

So when Jesus asked the woman for a drink, she is appropriately stunned. As she points out, Jews and Samaritans do not even share utensils and dishes. But the conversation soon takes a strange turn. Let me share a portion of the story as Margaret Silf retells it in Sacred Spaces:

“If only you were able to see the truth of things below the visible surface,” he says to her. “If you could, you would know yourself, and you would know and recognize the real me, and you wouldn’t be shocked or afraid. You would find a well of life itself in my heart, and in your own.”

“I don’t understand,” she replies. “You have come to my ancestors’ well here, without even a bucket. Where is this well of life supposed to be? This well was given to us by Jacob, our ancestor. He and his sons and his flocks all drank from it. Are you saying you know some secret about it that he didn’t?”

The stranger is silent for a moment or two, before replying, “When we drink the water from this well, we know that we will become thirsty again before long. What I am saying is that there is a deeper well, inside our own hearts, from which we can draw spiritual strength and wisdom that will never leave us empty again. To drink from this deep fountain of wisdom and love opens up something eternal in us, and empowers us to given life to others.”

“Sir, give me that living water….”

The woman wants what Jesus describes. And then, the story turns to Jesus asking about her husband, and the discussion about how many husbands she’s had. And from there, the conversation continues about worship. At a minimum, it’s an odd conversation. The section about husbands doesn’t really connect to the rest of the conversation, at least on the face of things.

But Wes Howard-Brock, in his book Becoming Children of God: Johns Gospel and Radical Discipleship, tells us that we are mistaken if we look just on the surface of this conversation. He reminds us of the many times in the Bible when prophets used the image of marriage as a metaphor for human relationships with God. What if, Howard-Brock posits, Jesus isn’t really talking about marriage, but about Samaritan faith practices? Then the conversation makes a great deal more sense. Jesus is talking about living water, satisfying the woman’s deepest thirsts. He asks her about her husband, and she replies that she has no husband. He points out that she has had five husbands, and the one she is with now is not her husband. Remember, the passage from Kings had pointed out that the Samaritans had adopted customs from five different countries…and that was before the Roman conquest. If, in fact, Jesus is talking about faith practices of Samaria, then the conversation flows normally, without the apparent changes in subject that occur when we treat it literally.

To over simplify here, and borrow from Silf:

He says, may I have water. She says, what are you doing asking me for water, Jews don’t ask Samaritans for water. He replies, if you knew who I was and the water I have, you would be asking me for water. There is a deeper well inside of us that connects us to God.

She says I come here day after day, going through the motions, are you saying I have access to God through my own heart?

He says, how have you been trying to connect with God?

She says, my people aren’t really trying to connect with God as the people of Judea do.

He says, that’s right, you’ve picked up the habits of five different countries and worshipped their gods, and now you’re trying the Roman ways. You are right, you don’t know how to worship God anymore.

The woman realizes that he has described their plight clearly, and says, “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem. [Remember, the temple is in Jerusalem.]

Jesus responds, the time is coming when people will worship neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. True worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and in truth. And so on. This conversation is consistent with the criticism Jesus makes, in every Gospel, of the temple apparatus in Jerusalem. And this is consistent with his practices – of not just meeting people in the places that are considered holy, but of creating sacred space in the deep sharing between people that is part of the community Jesus creates wherever he goes. This conversation, which is consistent with the ways of Jesus, and with images in other places in the Bible, makes more sense than a literal understanding.

Imagine how this woman feels now – her deepest longings are for God, and for love, and instead of trying to figure out a path to God, she hears that God has created a path to her, that there is within her own self a well of life and love that will create the meaning she longs for in her life. Instead of trying to figure out how to earn God’s approval, she hears that she already is part of the people of God.

She came empty, but by being willing to enter into the uncharted territory of this conversation with Jesus, she finds herself welcomed into the very love of God, she has a new way of looking at herself and her life.

How many people in our own time are similarly excluding themselves from relating to God because they think that God’s way is one of self-righteousness, or exclusiveness, or judgment, or all about rules? Some folks are so frustrated by their sense that they are asked to worship a God who seems meaner and smaller than they are. How would it be to discover that God is indeed welcoming, and free, justice-seeking and gentle, passionate and peaceful, that God’s love and God’s vision are large? How would it be to find out that God isn’t about saying the right words or believing the right doctrine, but all about life and living it fully, about love and welcoming all people into communities of caring, about joy, and being at peace with each other and the world? How would it be to find ourselves truly loved, and free to truly love others? How would it be to find that our most tender hopes are part of God’s dream for the world? How would it be to learn that God isn’t waiting for us to measure up, but is hoping we will let ourselves be filled up? How would it be to let go of our fears, and let go of the dry dusty doctrine, and let ourselves believe in and be loved by that love which is Love itself, so that we can share in that life which is Being itself? We could drink deeply of such a God. Amen.


Benediction:

What if God isn’t religious?
What if Jesus came to throw out the rule book, and we’re really called to live a new way in the world?
Go in the grace of this Jesus; go in the love of this God the Creator; go in the joy and fellowship of this God the Holy Spirit. Go in peace, go in love. Amen.