You have walked into a storybook today. Did you notice? If you came through the front door you were greeted by two famous gospel stories in murals on either side of the room. Over there above the arches is John LaFarge’s painting of Jesus and Nicodemus, the story we heard last Sunday. Nicodemus is a prominent Pharisee who wouldn’t be caught dead in Jesus’ company in broad daylight, so he visits him after dark.
Today we cross the aisle to the story of Jesus and the woman at the well. It is now high noon in the Samaritan wilderness. The Middle Eastern heat fries anyone who is foolish enough to go out at this time of day. The shadows are bleached; there is no place to hide. There is an old saying from the days of the British Empire, “Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.” But in this story, someone else goes, too, and not by choice.
A Samaritan woman at the well alone is a woman being shunned by her community. She is not welcome in the fellowship of women who haul water together in the cool evenings. She can only go to the well when no one else is around. Everyday at noon she makes this lonely trip with a heavy water jar on her shoulder. But suddenly, her bleak routine is interrupted by a stranger who dares to speak to her.
What in the world is Jesus, a Jewish man, doing in Samaria? Traditional Jews hated the Samaritans, as in a bad family feud. It all stemmed from an ancient debate over how faithful people worship. Some followed the old prayer book and some used the new prayer book and both groups were sure they were right and the others were heretics. Old political grievances and grudges were carried over generations. So mainline Jews never stepped foot in Samaria. They were convinced it would make them unclean. They went out of their way to avoid going through the province as they traveled from Galilee down to Jerusalem: like driving from New York to Washington, D.C. by way of Ohio. It takes a lot of effort to keep that kind of hate alive.
So no wonder the Samaritan woman is startled. No wonder she is shocked that a Jewish man speaks to her in public, breaking all the ancient taboos. She has heard about the bruised and bleeding Pharisees in Jerusalem. Do you know about them? The law prohibited men from speaking to women in public, even female family members. So, to avoid contamination, some Pharisees would wind their way through the streets and shut their eyes every time they passed a woman. It’s no surprise that they ran into things: walls, trees, whatever was in their path. They were pretty banged up by the end of the day. That’s how they got their nickname, the bruised and bleeding Pharisees.
Do not try this at home, or any place else for that matter.
All these odd practices and prohibitions are the setting for today’s story. The prejudice, the grudges and suspicions are the backdrop for the longest conversation of Jesus recorded in the Bible. In this story, Jesus goes to the other side of the tracks, he crosses the color line, and he enters the township. Jesus does not see this woman as everyone else does. He does not see the outcast or the fool or the scapegoat. Jesus has more than 20-20 vision. He sees a human being whose failures have left her desperate for options. The Samaritan woman doesn’t have much to lose because everything has already been taken.
So she listens. Here at last is a man who wants to give rather than take. He offers himself as water, as God’s own replenishment for her parched soul. At first she imagines modern conveniences, maybe even plumbing. But the more she listens the deeper she goes with Jesus, all the way down to her soul. And eventually she says, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here…;” here to this desolate place, here to this profound loneliness.
Jesus speaks about the woman’s life. She braces herself for his condemnation, but instead she experiences transformation. In that moment of truth telling, she is set free. When Jesus names the truth about her life, the good, the bad, and the ugly, she is liberated. She puts down her heavy water jar and marches right into the middle of the city. She looks at all those backs turned against her and calls out: “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!”
The people turn around, and they look at her for the first time in years. Then one by one they follow her beyond the city limits to meet Jesus. This is one of the best miracle stories in the gospels.
By the end of the day, all the people — the ordinary and the extraordinary, the bigots and the cowards and the know-it-alls and the gossips — they all decide to follow Christ. They believe in him because of the woman’s testimony: “He told me everything I have ever done!”
Telling the truth turns an outcast into a leader.
Several years ago I witnessed an outcast tell the truth to a tense and suspicious crowd. The subject was immigration and the growing community of Mexicans in a town just outside my city. The Mexicans fixed up old, empty houses and tidied the streets where their children played. They opened the most popular restaurant for miles around. The local town council responded by proposing an ordinance for the police to arrest anyone who could not produce immigration papers on demand. This was a big change of duty for a small police force that normally wrote parking tickets.
It occurred to me that maybe I should stop going to that good Mexican restaurant since I don’t carry my passport in my own country. But then I remembered that my skin and my hair were not dark enough to be challenged. My blue eyes and freckles saved me. I could go anywhere at any time in that town.
On a warm Tuesday night, people from all over the region gathered for the town hearing. There were speeches and songs and banners and marches. Then it all boiled down to testimonies made before a panel of five council members who would decide the Mexicans’ fate. I noticed that all of the council members had surnames from eastern and southern Europe, descendants of immigrants who filled the town in the early 20th century. I wondered how their forbears had done before the councils in their day.
The testimonies went on for hours. Legalists cited chapter and verse of immigration law. The competing restaurant owners talked about the bad new element in town and their annoying language. The human rights activists also quoted legal texts and hinted at law suits waiting to be filed the next morning. Church groups pleaded for a compassionate community spirit. “But it’s against the law for them to be here,” the townspeople cried out. We were all getting tired and restless. The Mexicans were trying hard to be invisible.
Finally, there was a hush as a small Mexican man walked up to the microphone. It was bold and risky for him to face that crowd and I knew that immigration officials were watching carefully. You could have heard a pin drop. The man spoke very softly, with the help of a translator, and he said one thing. “I came over the border without documents. I came over the border because my family was hungry and I couldn’t stand to watch my children starve.” Then he nodded his head politely and slipped away.
It was a stunning moment of truth. No one dared speak next. Someone called the question and the vote was quickly taken. The ordinance failed due to lack of a majority and I seem to remember a lot of abstentions. Within minutes we were all walking out into the night and nobody talked much. I felt like I had witnessed a miracle.
The Samaritan woman faced her town and said, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!”
It is no accident that we hear the story of the Samaritan woman in the season of Lent. This is a time for self examination and telling the truth. We are invited into the mystery of God’s forgiveness and renewal, even in our worst moments.
So listen to the truth about your own life and drink deeply of God’s forgiveness. Put down the heavy water jars that burden your spirit: the failures and disappointments and grudges. They are obsolete, you don’t need them anymore. You have Christ now, the living water that never runs out.
The Samaritan woman calls out the truth about herself and her community. “He told me everything I have ever done!” We must tell the truth in our world. America is full of bruised and bleeding Pharisees who shut their eyes to poverty and racism in our communities. They walk into walls and then wonder why it hurts.
Jesus leads us across the lines of suspicion and division. He tells the truth that sets us free. He meets us at the well of our deepest fear and thirst. Christ shows us everything we have ever done and we are liberated from our worst selves. Every time we hear the truth and embrace it, and every time we speak the truth to others, we become one of Christ’s miracles.
Today you have walked into the story of your own life in Christ. Drink deeply of his love and forgiveness as you embrace his truth.
Amen.
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