.shame.

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is that of the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4. This story has come up a lot this year and every time I hear it I find something new to love about it. For a while now I have wanted to write a post from the perspective of an obscure character in the Bible. I started about five different posts this month, but never finished them. I have finally chosen to write from the viewpoint of the Samaritan woman about her encounter with Jesus. So here it is……

 

 

Hot. That is the only word that can describe my daily walk to the well. I don’t get to enjoy the luxury of going to the well early in the morning with the other women. I don’t get to catch up on the latest gossip or see those girls I used to call my friends. I get to go during the middle of the day when the sun is the hottest and the brightest. This is the time of day that everyone can easily see me; the stares are just another part of the dreaded journey. I can only dream about what it is like to go to the well and have no worry other than getting your water before you begin to break a sweat. But I deserve this treatment; like the other women whisper, I brought it upon myself.

My life has not been the most upright. In a small community such as this one, word gets around faster than you really would like it to. After five failed marriages people begin to speculate thinking that there is no way you could possibly ever hear what they say about you. I used to be that way too; I was the one who used to initiate the gossip with my friends about the “bad” girls. I never thought the tables would turn.

I don’t really know how I have become so unlucky in love. You’d think after the third marriage I would have just given up. But every marriage filled that gap in my heart for just a little while. Honestly it felt good to know that there was someone who was willing to call me his. I guess that’s why I finally gave up on marriage and moved in with this new guy. Some days I wake up and can’t even remember his name. Most nights I cry myself to sleep trying to figure out why I continually allow myself to go down this disappointing road.

As I got closer to the well this afternoon I saw a man sitting beside it. It was very obvious that he was Jewish… and alone. I know I don’t know much, but one thing I do know is that Jews and Samaritans don’t mix. I quickly decided that I would just try to avoid eye contact and stay as far away from him as possible. Before I even let down my bucket, he talked to me. “Please give me a drink.”

I think I jumped a little at first mainly because I was scared at what he might say next. After staring at him in a state of almost disbelief for a few seconds, I finally got the nerve to ask him a very obvious question. “You are a Jew, and I am a Samaritan woman. Why are you asking me for a drink?” I couldn’t get the idea out of my head that this man must not be the sharpest in the bunch if he couldn’t grasp the fact that I was a Samaritan, much less a Samaritan woman.

He looked me straight in the eye and simply replied, “If you only knew the gift God has for you and who I am, you would ask me, and I would give you living water.”

At this point I began to get scared. This man was not making logical sense and said that he had living water. What could living water possibly be? They definitely didn’t sell any of that in the market. “But sir, you don’t have a rope or a bucket and this is a very deep well. Where would you get this living water? And besides, are you greater than our ancestor Jacob who gave us this well? How can you offer better water than he and his sons and his cattle enjoyed?” I wanted to know who this man thought he was trying to place himself higher than Jacob.

I began to draw up water and he again looked me in the eye. “People soon become thirsty again after drinking this water. But the water I give them takes away thirst altogether. It becomes a perpetual spring within them, giving them eternal life.”

Takes away thirst altogether? Gives them eternal life? Something within me desired to know more. No longer did I think he was simply delirious from the heat, I was beginning to really hear him. “Please, sir, give me some of that water! Then I’ll never be thirsty again, and I won’t have to come here to haul water.” I wouldn’t have to feel the shame of my past follow me every step of the way each afternoon. I could finally be free.

“Go and get your husband.” That was it. The moment of joy quickly turned into disappointment as I realized that this water could never be mine if my husband was involved.

I lowered my eyes and informed him that I didn’t have a husband.

“You’re right! You don’t have a husband–for you have had five husbands, and you aren’t even married to the man you’re living with now.” How could this man possibly know that? I didn’t even tell him my name and I know that I have never met him before today. There must be a reason behind this, but if he knew about my husbands, then he must be able to answer some of my questions.

“Sir, you must be a prophet. So tell me, why is it that you Jews insist that Jerusalem is the only place of worship, while we Samaritans claim it is here at Mount Gerizim, where our ancestors worshiped?”

For a short moment I could see a smile on his face. I wasn’t sure if I had surprised him or amused him with my questions that didn’t really seem to connect to the living water. “Believe me, the time is coming when it will no longer matter whether you worship the Father here or in Jerusalem. You Samaritans know so little about the one you worship, while we Jews know all about him, for salvation comes through the Jews. But the time is coming and is already here when true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and in truth. The Father is looking for anyone who will worship him that way. For God is Spirit, so those who worship him must worship in spirit and in truth.”

I didn’t understand a lot of what he had said, but I had heard every word perfectly clear. I’m not sure what it was, but there was something about this man that caused me to stop and really listen. “I know the Messiah will come–the one who is called Christ. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.” I had been told about the Messiah all my life, but I also had been told that he would come to the Jews. This couldn’t possibly be him could it?

Then he told me with all sincerity in his eyes, “I am the Messiah!”

In that moment, I knew that he was telling me the truth. He knew things about me that no stranger could ever know and he had a peace about him that I desired for my life. I dropped my water bucket and ran. Faster and faster I ran, hoping that they wouldn’t think I was crazy. And while I was racing through the streets I realized that I was smiling. Smiling! How many years had passed since I smiled willingly? I was finally happy because I had met the Messiah. Me, the one who nobody wanted to be around. The Messiah desired to talk to me! If he was able to show this kindness to me, I needed to share this with everyone I knew. That short and simple conversation changed my entire life. The nagging desire to have just one person call me theirs was gone. I had met the Messiah and I knew I would never ever be the same again. And it all happened because of my shame…