N
ot long after they had taken their first steps along a centuries old Roman road, they came upon Wady Farah, where they paused for refreshment. Breakfast consisted of biscuits, dried fish, grapes and water from the wady. It was early spring in the month of May. The stream gurgled with rushing water. In a few months, the stream would recede and by late August, it would be dry again and remain so until the rains of winter and spring came again. The terrain became one hill after another and rocks on the road made traveling by foot difficult. In the distance, they could see the mountains of Samaria. Afternoon sun poured its heat on the countryside and still they kept on. At length they came to a town in Samaria called Sychar; near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from walking altogether about twenty miles through hot, rocky hill and vale, sat down by the well.
A focal point of the surrounding countryside, the well enjoyed constant activity. Sychar was only a half-mile away and the women of the town came and went bringing empty pots, letting the bucket down into the 150 foot blackness and carrying the cool water back the entire distance to their homes. There were other travelers, for the ancient well was now the crossroads of several Roman roads. It wasn’t the only well in the vicinity and there were many springs from which water could be taken. But Jacob’s well was a place where friends met and passed a few minutes or hours talking. Jesus perched himself on the parapet surrounding the well. Had someone given him a push, he would have tumbled into the abyss. No one did. Instead, his companions, leaving John behind to remain with Jesus, left to go into the town to buy food.
An attractive woman approached the well to draw water. As she filled her pots, thirsty Jesus, his mouth dry from dust said to her, “Will you please give me a drink?” John stared at him. What is this?
The woman also stared at Jesus in mock surprise. She was not unaccustomed to men approaching her. She had heard more than a few opening lines at this well. She replied with an affected boredom, “You are a Jew.” How had she known? One is left to surmise. Perhaps it was clear that they had just arrived via the road that led to Judea. Perhaps there was something in the clothing or appearance of the men that marked them. Something thought ‘typical of Jews’ by Samaritans. The two peoples were disaffectioned toward one another. “How is it that you ask a Samaritan woman for a drink?”
Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”
The gift of God? Who is he? Incredulous, the woman said with a suspicious smile, “You have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water?” She said the words, “living water” with a lilt in her voice as though it were a delightful fancy. “Who are you? Perhaps you are greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself?” This with condescension.
Jesus smiled back, “Is it not true,” he responded, “that everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again?” Without waiting for a reply he continued, “Whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst again.” The woman’s eyes widened. She determined that she would not be impressed by these wild irresponsible exaggerations. She had seen this sort of thing in many men. This fool was obviously desperate. “Indeed,” Jesus went on, “the water I give him will become in him a spring of water bubbling up to eternal life.”
“Eternal life? Of course! Discovered the fountain of youth have you?” Playing along with what she thought was obvious flirtatious repartee, the woman said invitingly, “Then give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water. Give me this water,” she laughed, “so that I may remain young and pretty.” She was in control. She was enjoying this.
“Go, call your husband and ask him to join us.” The conversation took an arresting turn.
“I have no husband,” He should like that, she thought.
There was a pause, almost as if Jesus were seriously considering the implied invitation. Even John began to wonder about his Master. Just when he almost said something about the direction this conversation was taking, the poignancy of silence vanished as Jesus said evenly, “You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you live with now is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”
Everything changed. “If you knew who I am . . .” he had said. Stunned, she lost her confidence, her control. The entertaining expression on her face changed to one of near panic. In an effort to regain her composure she replied, “Sir, are you a prophet?” How else could he know about my life? Then she did something so many people do when faced with genuine spirituality, she attempted to display a competitive religious knowledge. “Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.” She meant nearby mount Gerazim, towering some 800 feet above them. She was now on the defensive, sparring, dodging to avoid being intimidated. Too late, she was already intimidated. Frightened, perhaps. Jacob’s well was here adding support, she thought to her theological authority. Somehow, she needed support right now, with this man . . .
Jesus did not raise his voice, nor speak with aggression. But the power and force of his arguments were like driving nails in a coffin. “Believe me, my dear woman, the time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem.” The first nail. His assertion completely outside the framework of her thinking. Not worship in Gerazim? Not worship in Jerusalem? She was incapable of conceiving such thought. “You Samaritans worship something about which you know nothing.” The second nail. Insulting. How dare he? Who does he think . . . If you knew who I am? “We worship what we have known for centuries, for salvation is from the Jews.” The third nail. Jesus had just added injury to insult. He was ‘putting her in her place.’ She took it personally, devastating her beliefs, her theology, herself. “Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in Spirit and Truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks.” The fourth nail. He speaks as if he knows God, as if he were . . . “He is not interested in places for worship.” The fifth nail. She was numb. She did not know how to respond. She felt overwhelmed, above her meager ability to think. “God is Spirit, and his worshipers worship in Spirit and in Truth.” The sixth and final nail. While she had been obviously conquered, she did not feel threatened by this man. He was not making himself her enemy. He spoke the simple truth, objectively, dispassionately, yet — she was sure — with compassion?
Cowed and trembling she ventured, “I know that Messiah is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.” Was it a premonition? Was she fishing for confirmation to what she suspected, what she already believed in her heart?
“Ah!” she cried, and dropped her water jar. Hot tears leapt to her eyes. The lump swelled in her throat to where she could not speak, could not breathe. Amazingly the clay pot did not shatter against the pavement. In curious anti-climax, it rolled crazily around her feet.
At such a juncture of timing and truth, his friends returned. There is nothing like the intrusion of irrelevant things demanding attention to rob a moment of moment. To be expected, they were shocked to find him talking with a Samaritan woman. But not one of them asked, “What do you want from her?” or “Why are you talking with her?” Instinctively, they knew that they had stumbled once again into something beyond their wit. Embarrassed, they tried to step back, but the intrusion had been done. The spell broken.
She left the water jar rolling on the ground and hurried back to town. Her excitement uncontained and unrestrained, she exclaimed to everyone she saw, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did.“ To anyone who would listen she said, “He says he is the Christ.” People knew this infamous woman who had had five husbands. They knew she would not be easily fooled by unscrupulous men. “Could this be Messiah?” Partly out of amused curiosity, partly because they thought her believable, they followed her from town to see.
