Falling In Love With Him

He was in dangerous territory, and yet he sent his friends on ahead and sat down alone and waited. He was waiting for her. Why else would he have chosen to come this way? Why else would he have been sitting there, in the heat of the day? He was weary, but I wonder if it was only from the travelling…

His people and her people had been feuding for over 700 years. Cultures so similar, following many of the same rules, worshipping the same God, but her heritage was tainted. Her people’s blood was considered impure…defiling…as unclean as the blood of swine.

He had been raised in a society that encouraged men not to talk much with women. Even husbands were discouraged from conversing unnecessarily with their wives. Talking with women was regarded as a way of bringing evil upon yourself. And yet when he saw her coming, friendless, in the heat of the day, he prepared to speak.

“Please give me a drink.”

It broke the silence like a clap of thunder. A Jewish rabbi, talking to her? I imagine when she first saw him sitting there, as she approached the well from a distance, it had made her rather nervous. I can see her hesitating, glancing around to see if there really was just one man there. She was already perspiring from the heat, her sweat doubled after seeing him. Should she risk it? She was so thirsty. So was so alone. It was so hot. Could she come back in another hour? Would her whole day be thrown off by this unpleasant circumstance? She was so thirsty, she needed water. She had no friend to come with her later, in case he was still there. She approached the well.

As she got closer, she thought of his people and their teachings. He had been raised to not even eat bread that was made by a Samaritan. In fact, her very spittle was considered unclean. I imagine she approached the well from opposite of where he was sitting. No need to accidently breathe on him and get in trouble. She was shocked when he spoke.

“Please give me a drink.”

She could not hide her surprise. Her shock. She looked at him fully. He had no cup, no bucket. She held a vessel in her hand, her means of drawing water. Had she already drawn some water at this point? We don’t know. But he could have waited to ask until after she had quenched her own thirst. She could have been staring at him, water dripping down her chin, confusedly looking from his empty hands to her jar and back again. She reminded him of who he was and who she was. She clarified.

Didn’t he know that what he was suggesting would make him unclean? He really wanted to drink from her jar??? What if some of her spittle reached his lips? Was this a trap? She couldn’t believe it! She was so surprised that she delayed to offer what her culture considered most important: hospitality. Instead, he said he wanted to give her something.

Living water? Was she dreaming? He had no rope, no bucket. He was asking for a drink from her own vessel, after all. Where was he going to get this living water? If he had another source of water, why hadn’t he already quenched his own thirst with it? Who did he think he was, anyway? This well was a sacred and ancient place. It had been 1800 years since it had been dug and even now the water was still cool and clear and refreshing. That is why she had walked through all the heat to come here. Water that forever satisfied your thirst, could there really be such a thing? A spring within? Eternal life?

Was this man crazy? He didn’t look crazy, he didn’t sound crazy, but could there really be such a thing? He seemed so earnest. She looked up at the hot sun, at the hill she would have to climb later with her arms full of heavy water. She felt the sweat dripping down her back. Her body felt tired from the day’s work, and the day was only half over. Why not ask?

 “Please, sir, give me this water! Then I’ll never be thirsty again, and I won’t have to come here to get water.”

 “Go and get your husband.”

The hope that had started to well within her was quickly snuffed out. Instead, the pain came in like a lightening bolt. Where was her husband? Where were any of her husbands? In the world she lived, a woman could never lawfully leave her husband. The luxury of divorce belonged to the man. He was the one to choose when to leave, and she had been left five times. Five. Five different men had decided to abandon her in a day and age when a woman had no means to provide for herself except to find another husband. That had not worked. She must have considered herself unworthy of being kept as a wife. I imagine the shame brought her gaze low. He’s not from around here, how could he know who he was talking to?

 “I don’t have a husband.”

Suddenly, he tells her story. He doesn’t beat around the bush and yet he isn’t unkind either, he is just truthful. It’s like he can see right into her pain and shame and isn’t afraid of it. He’s not looking away in disgust. He isn’t condemning her. She doesn’t know how to respond. It all seems unreal. A Jewish rabbi talking to her? And talking to her about her personal life without any prior knowledge? He must be a prophet. Someone who hears directly from God…and he is talking to her? It seems unreal, and yet here it is happening right before her very eyes. She quickly changes the subject. If he is really going to talk to her, she has some questions.

Was she really standing here, in this ancient place, in the heat of the day, and talking theology with a Jewish rabbi? Her? A woman, a Samaritan woman no less, discussing holy things with a holy man? A woman living in shame. A woman so alone that she had no one to go to the well with her. And yet, she wasn’t alone. He was here. And he wasn’t afraid of her questions. And he was telling her wonderful things.

He was talking about worship and salvation. His people say there is only one place to worship, and yet he is calling her a true worshipper. This is all so confusing.

“I know the Messiah is coming—the one who is called Christ. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.”

“I am the Messiah!”

Did she just hear right? Messiah? She understands that he is a prophet, but could he really be the Promised One? Messiah talking to her? Why would he? A woman’s testimony holds no weight. Even if he was Messiah and she told everyone she knew, would anyone believe her?

His friends appear. I imagine she looked down and drew back. They seem just as shocked that he is talking to a Samaritan woman as she is. After a moment of silence, she leaves her jar and runs up the hill. It’s still hot and she is still tired and she still wonders, but how can she not tell everyone she knows? This encounter was too amazing to be ignored. Her genuine excitement cannot be denied by her neighbors. Miraculously, they believe her. They follow her back to the well. They meet him for themselves.

His is Jewish, they are Samaritan. He is holy, they are common. And yet he says it is God’s will that he bring them joy and eternal life. They offer him hospitality and he stays with them. Many hear his message and believe. Their lives are never the same. They are now worshiping at the throne, in his presence for all eternity.

“At the beginning of the conversation he [Jesus] did not make himself known to her, but first she caught sight of a thirsty man, then a Jew, then a Rabbi, afterwards a prophet, last of all the Messiah. She tried to get the better of the thirsty man, she showed dislike of the Jew, she heckled the Rabbi, she was swept off her feet by the prophet, and she adored the Christ.”

― Ephrem the Syrian

Those people, the people who had shamed her, were all saved because Jesus took the time to wait for a woman at a well in the heat of the day. He asked her for water and then he washed her uncleanness away with living water. He exposed her pain and shame but did not condemn her. She had questions and he answered.

And he wasn’t afraid of her spittle.

Oh, what a personal Jesus we serve. No wonder she fell in love with him.