The Samaritan Woman
John 4
My name is …. Actually, it doesn’t really matter anymore. For so long, I’ve been ‘that woman.’ The woman everyone in my village whispers about. The woman who constantly gets the evil eye. The woman who treks to the well in the heat of the day just to avoid the whispers and judgmental looks.
Until today. Imagine my surprise when I caught sight of Him sitting by the well. Alone. Right away, I had the feeling He was there for a purpose, as though He were waiting for someone. Little did I know at the time, He was waiting for me.
Right away, I knew He was not a Samaritan. I was about to turn away when He called out, “Give me a drink.” That’s when I realized He was a Jew, for His speech betrayed him.
I seized the opportunity, knowing how much Jews look down on Samaritans. No matter how thirsty they might be, they wouldn’t be caught dead talking to a Samaritan, much less a Samaritan woman. “How is it that you, a Jew, ask for a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?” The comment spilled from my lips before I could think what I was saying.
He knew my words were more of a jab than an honest inquiry. Instead of rebuking me, He answered, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”
Honestly, that was not what I was expecting to hear. “Sir, you have nothing to draw water with, and this well is deep. How do you plan to get this ‘living water’? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who dug this well and drank from it, as did his sons and livestock?” I was pretty proud of myself for mentioning this well was dug by Jacob. We Samaritans owned what once belonged to the Jews’ ancestors.
Score one.
Again, His response was less than impressive. He started talking about living water and springs of water welling up to eternal life. He even dared to tell me that anyone who drank of this ‘water’ would never be thirsty again.
Who was this man?
“Well then, if you can give me such water, I’ll take it,” I challenged him. “Then I won’t ever have to haul water from this well again. Save me a lot of time and effort.”
Score two.
I was feeling pretty good about my rejoinders when the conversation took a sudden turn. It was as though He were looking right through me, into my very soul. “Go call your husband and then come back.”
“I don’t have a husband,” I said, unable to meet his gaze.
“That’s one way to put it. You’ve had five husbands, and the one you’re living with now isn’t your husband.”
Suddenly, things were getting a little out of hand. Who was this man, that He knew so much about my personal life? Then it came to me. He had to be a prophet. So rather than a rebuttal, I changed topics. I went off on some tangent about the right place to worship.
But something kept niggling at my heart. I sensed He was more than just a prophet when He began talking about the Messiah. And that’s when He landed the punch that would change my life forever.
“I am He.”
His cohorts showed up just then with food they’d bought in a nearby village. I was in such a tizzy that I forgot all about my water jug. Despite the heat, I hitched up the hem of my garment and ran back to town, spilling my story to anyone stirring from their noonday nap.
“Come and see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?”
As soon as the words spilled out, I realized the truth in my words. This man was not just any Jew. He was the one person who knew everything I’d done yet accepted me. He knew my past and my present yet failed to condemn me. He knew my questions and my doubts and provided the answers for which I’d been searching.
He’d known I needed more than just a drink of water. I needed forgiveness. I needed acceptance. I needed a fresh start.
I needed Him.