Torch, Spring 1992

l ( identity for which she had gambled remained as elusive as a desert mirage. And she was lonelier than ever. As she neared the well, the man resting there caught her eye. Sizing up the situation in a glance, she realized that he was not only a stranger, but Jewish. Curiosity as to why he had come this way was overshadowed by her determination to deprive him of the satisfaction of casting stones of religious superiority. Casting the only stone she had– silence-she set her lips tightly and began lowering her bucket. "Let him think or say what he wills. I have dealt with men before." "Will you give me a drink?" His quiet words shattered her wall of silence. Fumbling for composure, she whirled around. "Who , me?" Or more precisely, "You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?" "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." Living water- in the desert? Was there some little stream or fountain she had failed to see all this time? She quickly looked about. The blazing noon sun revealed no stream, no bubbling fountain . As she glanced back at the stranger what she did observe was that he did not even possess a bucket. "Sir, you have nothing to draw with , and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his flocks and herds?" "Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to everlasting life." Her eyes widened at the thought of lugging her heavy water jar home for the last time, smugly sauntering past the other women in town. "Sir, give me this water so that I won't get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water." She may have been prepared for a sorcerer's trick; she may have even been prepared for derisive laughter at her vulnerability. What she wasn 't prepared for was .. ."Go, call your husband and come back." His calm gaze was met by her frantic mental gymnastics . "I've never seen this man before...he's never seen me...what could he know? ...He 's only a stranger!" She gambled. "I have no husband ." "You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband . What you have just said is quite true ." Had he slapped her she could have walked away; had he hurled abuse she could have retaliated. But before her heart could be barricaded against his quiet words it had already been broken and the young woman she had once been wept silently for innocence long lost. If only he had slapped her she could have walked away ... "Sir, I can see you are a prophet." Grasping her only hope for dignity , she blurted out the best religious statement she could muster. "Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem." "Believe me , woman , a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. God is Spirit, and his worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth ." "I know that Messiah is corning. When he comes , he will explain everything to us ." "I who speak to you am He." Her pulse raced as the words reverberated in the hot desert air between them. His words, her words. In her mind they catapulted and collided. His promises , her questions. His living water, her limitations. Suddenly the words and the stranger' s incredible claims began to coalesce. " ...He will explain everything to us .. ." " .. .The fact is , you have had five husbands , and the man you now have ..." " ...Messiah is coming. When he comes ..." " .. .I am He." She dropped her water jar and ran . Ran to town and demanded of anyone who would listen , "Come , see a man who told me everything I ever did. Is not this the Christ?" "Is not this the Christ?" The wonder in the Samaritan woman 's voice has struck a responsive chord in my own . I have read her story in the fourth chapter of John before .. .usually quickly , usually wondering about her! How could she argue with the Lord? Why couldn't she understand? But in reading again , a bit more slowly , the object of my wonder has changed . I have seen Him and am awestruck. "Is