The Woman at the Well.

The Woman at the Well.

It was another blistering hot day, as are most of the days in Samaria, every day even in the middle of winter the temperature rose as the day went on. As warm as it was there were always things that had to be done and today would be no different. The house had to be cleaned, meals had to be prepared. Then, of course, there was the daily visit to the well, a daily task that could not be avoided.

Now it may sound simple, we had to go to the well, but let me say that it was far from simple. If there was anything that I did not like doing this was that one thing. The pottery vessel in which the water was gathered was of itself a heavy thing, once filled with water it was a very difficult thing to carry on the yoke that was used. There were two of them and they had to be balanced as best as possible, but no matter how balanced they were the yoke still cut into the shoulder blades and the pain in the neck some days was unbearable. I never did understand why this was a woman's task but it was and there was little point in making an issue of it.

It was one of those jobs that every day I hoped would not need to be done, that maybe today there would be no need, it never was the case it had to be done and I loathed it and put it off for as long as possible.

The day I am recalling was no different, again I had put off and put off but still, I had to go. So I had got the yoke and the pots and made my weary way to the well. I did not enjoy the task at all but the one thing that I did enjoy was arriving at the well and filling my drinking mug with the cool refreshing water, taking a long breather and sipping the water, feeling it cool my inner being as it quenched my thirst from the heat of the day. It almost made the toil worthwhile. All the way there the thought of that refreshing drink kept me going, I could almost taste it as I neared the well.

That day as I approached the well I was aware of somebody seated on the edge of the wall surrounding the well. As I drew nearer I became aware that it was a man and that he was, in fact, a Jew. I can remember very clearly asking myself just what was he doing there? It was very unusual to see a Jew sitting at the edge of a Samarian well. I thought to myself that he had to be a traveller, and being Jewish he most surely was up to no good at a Samarian well. How could he be doing any good? Who goes out in the noonday sun and what brings a Jew to a Samaritan well? Silly really to think this way because I was out in the noonday sun and I was heading towards that self-same well.  It never fails to amaze me how when a Samaritan and a jew meet the old antagonistcs come to the fore.

Warily I made my way forward, I was not carrying these two heavy jugs and returning empty. I had no choice. As I neared him he spoke to me, "Will you please give me a drink? I was shocked, I thought that he had a terrible nerve. A Jew talking to a Samaritan this was unheard of. We do not talk to Jews and they do not talk to Samaritans. Yet here he was, asking me and saying please.

I was shocked because he obviously had no drinking vessel with him and he would be expecting to share mine. I looked at him and his eyes caught mine, I found myself thinking this man seems very gentle, he might, in fact, be a nice person to know. But he was a Jew.

As he looked at me and me back at him I found something very strange happening. I found my heart soften towards him

He continued to look at me and I heard him speak to me, a Samaritan, and him a jew. He said, "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." 

It sent shivers down my spine because I felt sure that I knew exactly what it was that he was saying to me. I knew he was saying something much more profound than my reply gave him credit for. I said rather foolishly, "You have nothing with which to draw water."

As he watched me I knew he was looking beyond what it was that all other men saw when they looked my way. Those eyes of his were penetrating deep into my inner being, yet I felt no fear of this man neither did I feel in any way anxious. It was as if it was acceptable for this man to know the very inner thinking of my mind as if it was perfectly natural for him to know my very being. Had he asked me to tell him I would have done so of this I am sure.

Again he spoke to me about living water, water that would remove my thirst forever he spoke about. Again I foolishly responded on an everyday level even though I knew he was talking to me of something much more profound.

He spoke of my husband and in an instant, I knew that this man saw in me more than the superficial. It was as if I was standing there and he was looking deep into my inner being and there was nothing he could not see.

"I have no husband," I said to him.

"No, but you have had five men and the man you live with now is not your husband." At that moment I felt small and in some way inadequate. I had never been concerned about my past before, but in a strange way I was deeply concerned now. I somehow saw that my life had been shallow and almost meaningless, a hollow sham of a life. I had moved from man to man seeking meaning and purpose, and here was this man, this Jew in just a few words touching me in a profoundly deep way. He was telling me that life could not be found chasing from one experience to another.

I thought, "This man is some kind of prophet, some kind of sage." We began to converse, I was talking with a Jew. Nevertheless, it did not for one second feel wrong, it felt right. It was right for me to spend this time with him. We spoke about our differences. He made me aware that it was all so meaningless and petty. We were not supposed to speak with one another yet we believed in the same God. We could not worship together yet we worshipped the same God.

He painted a picture of how it would be one day. He filled me with a dream. A dream of Jews and Samaritans talking and worshipping together. Gathering in the same building praising the name of the same God. He spoke of all past animosities being laid aside, past hatred being forgotten, people forgiving one another. 

,

"Yes," I said, "when the Messiah comes."

He looked at me again, those eyes again seeing deep within me. "I who speak to you, I am He," he said.

I thought deep as I looked at him. I felt that his words were true. He was the teacher we all waited for. Who else but he could see me as I really was and still continue to speak to me as he did? He took my mug and drank and handed it back to me and without a thought I also drank from it.

He rose and turned to walk away. I almost called him back. My heart was full of joy that we had shared that drink. I had given him water. In some deep and meaningful way, he had given me a refreshing taste of what could be. I knew that life for me would never be the same. I knew that I would never make quick judgements of others.

I was sad when I returned home that day as I listened to them speak of the same old things, raising all the same grievances and bitterness.  I was saddened to hear them speak badly of others. I found myself asking if there was any hope? Deep inside I knew there was, he had given me a dream that one day could be true.

After all, had we two, a Jew and a Samaritan not spent time together? Had we not shared a cup of refreshing water? Had he not indeed fed me the water of life? Somehow I had been baptised in the spirit of love of my fellow beings.