Sermon for February 24, 2008

How do you picture the woman at the well? What does she look like in your minds’ eye?

There’s a preconceived idea of who and what she is, isn’t there?

Do you imagine a woman in a red dress? Painted nails, heavy eye make up, batting her eyes at every man she sees? Is her skirt hiked up just a bit too high, her blouse cut just a bit too low? Does she toss her head back just so? Does her laugh turn heads? (To a woman:) Do her eyes linger just a bit too long on your husband? (To a man:) When you’re in her presence, do you start to puff out your chest? Is this who you see when you read this story? Some haughty little tramp? A little tramp constantly on the prowl?

If that is the way that you see this woman, it certainly makes for an interesting and dramatic story doesn’t it? Jesus at Jacob’s well, the historical site of many a romantic interlude; boy meets girl, boy courts girl, boy and girl ride off into sunset to have about a bazillion children. At this well Jesus is confronted by a wanton woman, temptation abounds. Yet Jesus defies temptation, convinces the sinner to repent, saves the day. What a guy!

I’d propose a dramatic story of a different proportion. I see the woman a bit differently than what we just described. It’s the middle of the day, the sun is scorching high overhead. The town in quiet, everyone is indoors to avoid the heat. Families are resting together, mothers humming to their children as naptime begins.

The well sits deserted in the middle of the town. A lone woman approaches. Her hands are rough and worn. There is a glimmer of sweat above her upper lip. The only company she has this time of day is an empty bucket. She comes like all other women come, to gather life sustaining water for drinking, cooking and bathing. She doesn’t come to the well in the early morning when the air is still cool. She doesn’t come when the women gather and share the gossip of the day. She doesn’t come to learn who is having a baby and whose daughter is getting married and who is dying. She comes in the heat of the day all by herself with just her bucket. Her dress is a bit shabby and her hair has lost its luster and she long ago stopped looking people in the eye; for it was long ago that she ceased to exist to the women of this town.

Every day for her is the same lonely, monotonous routine. Every day is defined by isolation. And yet on this one day as she approaches the well, there is a man sitting, waiting, watching. You can almost sense a hesitation in her. Could this be the visiting relative of the neighbors, come to meet her to see if her reputation is indeed true (wink, wink)? Is this some smart aleck come to taunt her?

She has no choice but to approach. Her bucket is empty. She needs water. So she approaches and the man speaks to her. He neither taunts or teases nor propositions her. He just wants a drink of water. He too must be hot and thirsty. It is the middle of the day and he himself has no bucket. But he’s a Jew. She’s a Samaritan. Most Jews would rather thirst to death than speak to a Samaritan. Most respectable men would rather die than speak to a woman of ill repute. So, maybe this man really does know nothing about her. He seems willing to speak to her, to defy social mores. Maybe she can just have a decent conversation for a change with no judgment against her. Maybe someone will notice that she’s a human being.

But he knows, doesn’t he? He knows everything about her. He knows that she currently has no husband and that previously she had five. He knows.

This is the most tense, horrible moment in the entire story. We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Just like the woman we all have things we’d rather people didn’t know about us, things that, if we have the chance to create our own reality we just leave them out of the script. Some are huge, like the troubled marriages, the barely controllable temper, the substance abuse, the struggles in the workplace. But some are smaller—the sense that we’re just not good enough at what we do, our clothes don’t match up to the person sitting over there, our children just won’t behave, the ten pounds we try to hide. And we know, we just know, that people cannot accept us for who we are. We know, we just know, what is said about us when we’re out of earshot. It’s middle school all over again when you had to walk past the table of popular kids and they started to giggle or the jocks laughed at your glasses or the really smart kids rolled their eyes at the C you got in math. And so you start taking the long way around the school cafeteria just to avoid them. And now you just make sure you never go to the same worship service as that other person or you go to a different garage to get the car fixed or a different beauty shop to get your hair done. It’s the same avoidance behavior you’ve been living with your entire life. When we make a new friend, when we interview for a new job, we pray and hope that these new people will never, ever find out about those embarrassing issues in our lives. And you made a new friend and the new friend found out about the stuff that those kids at the table knew and you’re sure that your new friend isn’t going to like you anymore either.

THAT’S what’s going on with our woman. Jesus knows what everyone else knows—that she’s been through five different husbands. She can’t hang onto a man. Maybe they’ve all divorced her (remember, she isn’t allowed to divorce them). Maybe they divorced her because she couldn’t cook. Or maybe they divorced her because she lost her looks—hey that was allowed. Or maybe they all died. But that would be her fault too. After all, only a very sinful person would be punished by the death of five husbands. And she has no means of supporting herself and so she lives with this other man who won’t marry her. And she comes to the well in the heat of every day because she is despised and unloved and she’s standing there with her empty bucket that needs filling every day in that lonely, horrid routine. She, herself, is more empty and dry than that blasted bucket that she’s holding. AND JESUS KNOWS ALL ABOUT IT!

“What you have said is true.” This is her reality and he judges her not. He merely offers her a relationship with him. He offers her life and salvation, just as she is. He offers her truth and light. He offers her exactly what she needs.

She is so filled up that she drops her bucket and runs back home. It no longer matters that no one will speak to her or even look at her, she yells through the town, “Come and see.” And they respond, they came and saw.

My friends, this is a story for us. We all show up here with our empty buckets each week. Our empty hearts, sometimes our empty heads, our lives aren’t perfect, we aren’t perfect; our jobs are never secure, our confidence wavers. We begin our worship with a confession, of what we have done or not done, what we have thought or said. And Jesus replies, “What you have said is true. It is most certainly true. But come to the table my empty, broken friend. Come and be filled with life and truth, salvation and forgiveness. Come and worship me and bring your empty bucket. And when you leave, you will be full to overflowing. For I know you. I love you. I am all you need.”

Amen

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