John 4:5-42 Third Sunday of Lent
Everyone’s talking about him now: you can feel a real excitement, a real freshness in the air. They’ve nearly all been down to the well to listen to him. That’s something already, him being a Jew and all.
I would have offered him some water if he hadn’t been a Jew. It was so hot and stuffy - but you know how it is.
But he looked straight at me and asked me for a drink. To be honest, I was a bit taken aback. Before I had time to say anything, he said if I’d known him I would have asked him for a drink. Even if he had been a Samaritan I wouldn’t have asked him for a drink. I pointed out that he didn’t have a bucket anyway. So how could he have given me water?
But there was something in his eyes! As if he wanted to do something for me. He carried on. He said that the water he would give would be better than well water, that whoever drank it wouldn’t get thirsty again.
It sounded bizarre. In normal circumstances I would have laughed and made a joke and thought the man was a crazy. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t help but be curious. There was something drawing me in. There was something in his voice that riveted me.
He talked about living water, that he would give, that would be inside you, like a spring - I could almost feel something happening inside me as he said it.
It sounded fantastic, unbelievable, but I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe.
Calmly I heard myself ask him for some of his water. ‘Sir,’ I said, ‘give me some of that water.’ I didn’t feel calm, I was kind of shaking all over.
And then he said, ‘Go and get your husband and come back ...’
He knew I’d had five husbands; mind you, that’s common enough knowledge around here. But he knew all about me.
It flashed through my mind that perhaps he was a fortune teller . . . but no . . . it wasn’t like that.
It was as though he were telling me he knew not just about me, but that he knew me, he knew me in a way that nobody else knew me, not even my husbands, not even myself.
(Sigh.)
Then I thought, well, perhaps he’s a prophet. I thought I’d ask him about worshipping God. He didn’t seem to be bothered about Jerusalem, he was more interested in truth and spirit. Then I told him I believed in the Messiah and that he would come to us. I thought that he would say that the Messiah was for the Jews. Then he said he was the Messiah.
Just like that. I looked straight into gis eyes and it seemed like he looked straight into all that was inside me. I wanted to run: I did run. I forgot my water jar; it’s still by the well now. I ran into the city. I told them all to come and see him.
It was strange, really: they didn’t laugh at me. As soon as I said, ‘Can he be the Christ?’ they looked at each other, and without saying anything started to make their way down to the well.
Lots of them are still there. Some of them have come back: they say he is going to stay with us for a while - they think he’s the Messiah too.
So the Messiah has come to Samaria. who would have thought that I’d ever speak to the Messiah? I mean, me!!
