Lent III, Cycle A
March 3, 2002
The Rev. Dr. David M. Wendel
Lessons: Exodus
17:1-7; Romans 5:1-11; John 4:5-42
“Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever
done!” Is that not an interesting
comment, by the woman at the well, after meeting Jesus, and having but a brief
interaction with Him? She’s excited
that she’s met this man, Jesus—so excited that she wants her friends, and her
fellow townspeople, to come and see Him.
But, she’s excited because “he told me everything I have ever
done!” Now, I don’t know about you, but
I don’t think that would excite me. In
fact, I don’t think that would be a selling point, in getting people to come
see Jesus. Most of us have built our
lives around the reality, that there are some things we have done in life, that
only we know about. There are some
things we did, in high school, for example, that we never told our parents
about, and never intend to tell our parents about. There are some things we may have done at work, that we’re glad
no one saw, or ever discovered.
Contrary to what we might tell our spouses, the truth is, most of us
have done things that will forever remain, shall we say, hidden. And maybe we’re not talking about huge,
monumental things. Maybe not illegal
things. But things we’re not
necessarily proud of. Things that might
be contrary to God’s will for us.
Things that we wouldn’t do again, and wish we hadn’t done in the first
place. So, we intentionally, keep them
to ourselves; we intentionally, keep
them hidden. In the hope that no one
will ever find us out. In the hope that
our little secret, or secrets, will remain hidden from view, and no one will
think less of us. How odd, then, that
the Samaritan woman at the well is so—shall we say, moved—that Jesus saw
everything she’d ever done? Of course,
this account doesn’t tell US everything she’d ever done, but it tells us
enough. We learn from this account, for
example, that she’s had five husbands, and the man she’s living with isn’t her
husband! Even today, in a society as
loose and unrestricted as ours, that would raise some eyebrows. Married five times, and now she’s living
with some guy she’s not married to?
Even if we put the best possible construction on the situation, and say,
hey, maybe she was just unlucky, and all five of her first husbands just
died—it raises questions, doesn’t it?
Who is so unfortunate to have been married, and widowed, five times? Unlikely coincidence, to say the least. A skeptical person, or maybe an honest one,
would want an investigation into how these five died—because something seems
rotten in Denmark—or, Sychar as the case may be—and something’s fishy here, one
way or the other. In Jesus’ time, this
would raise all kinds of red flags, because divorce, remarriage, living with a
man who wasn’t your husband, were all unacceptable behaviors. And Jesus is aware of her past, and indeed,
brings her past into the conversation!
Making it clear that He knew, that she was a sinner. No matter what you try to make out of the
Samaritan woman’s situation—the fact is, Jesus points to her situation, as
sin. Somehow, He looks at her, and sees
her, and knows everything she’s ever done in life. And she’s convicted. The
exchange between the woman, and Jesus, makes it clear that she had something
hidden—and she had something to hide.
Jesus says, “go, call your husband and come back”—she says, “I have no
husband.” Jesus says, in effect,
“That’s an understatement!” And the
woman assumes that because Jesus can see all that she has done, that He must be a prophet. But Jesus is more than a prophet. Because He can see, and understand more
about her life than just her marital problems.
He sees, and understands what it means that she is a woman, alone at the
well, being confronted by an unknown man.
He sees and understands that she is a Samaritan, being confronted by an
observant, religious Jew. He sees and
understands all that this encounter would mean, to her, and to Him, and to the
disciples, all of whom knew full well, that there were a whole bunch of reasons
Jesus shouldn’t be speaking to this sinful, Samaritan, woman. So, again, knowing all this, why is this
woman so, excited about her encounter with Jesus? Why is she so moved, that Jesus knows, not only everything she’s
done in life, but who she is, in life?
It’s not just that Jesus sees all this, and knows all
this—but, that he sees all this, and knows all this, and still, speaks with
her, and ministers to her, and offers to her, the living water; the water of life, for those who are
spiritually thirsty in life—the living water, that is, Jesus, whose presence in
a person’s life, will become, in them, a spring of water, gushing up to eternal
life! That is what so moves this woman,
about Jesus…that He sees who she is, and all that she’s done in life, and
still, He cares for her, and offers to her, Himself. His presence, that will fill her, and satisfy her, and nourish
her, in ways that she had never been filled, satisfied, nourished, in life,
before. Not even six husbands and
partners, could do that! But Jesus, the
true husband; Jesus, the bridegroom of
the Church, can do that. Can not only
fill us, for the moment—but so fill us, that His presence is a bubbling, gurgling
spring in us, that finally, gushes up, in us;
gushing up, so that we have all the water of life that we need, gushing
up, so full and flowing and free, that others can come and receive His presence
from us, so that the living water, once they drink it, will gush up in them, as
well.
And Jesus does this for us, as He did for the Samaritan woman,
even though He sees all that we have ever done. He does this for us, even though, He sees, and knows, and understands,
who we are, and where we’ve come from, and what our struggles have been in
life. In the old Common Service Book
and Hymnal of 1917, in the order for Public Confession, worshipers would state,
“I confess unto Thee that I have grievously sinned against Thee in many ways;
not only by outward transgression, but also by secret thoughts and desires,
which I cannot fully understand, but which are all known unto Thee.”
This Gospel lesson assures us that Jesus sees and knows all
our secrets thoughts and desires—and actions—and though He may not approve of
all of them, He loves us anyway, in spite of them. He loves us so much, that He gives us His presence. He loves us so much, that He promises, “Lo,
I will be with you always, even to the close of the age.” He loves us so much, that, as St. Paul
writes, “while we were still weak, Christ died for the ungodly—(that’s us)—God
proves His love for us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for
us.” God, in Jesus Christ, loves us so
much, that He gave Himself for us, and He yet, gives Himself to us—sinners,
all; Samaritan or Jew, rich or poor,
man or woman, old or young, light-skinned or dark—He gives Himself to us—at
least, to all who come to believe, that He is truly, the Messiah, the Christ,
the Savior of the world. He gives Himself,
to us; at least, to all who will drink of the Living Water, that is, Jesus
Christ. He gives Himself to all who will come to the table, where the Water of
Life, becomes bread and wine, broken and poured out for us, that in the eating
and drinking, we will never be hungry or thirsty, spiritually, again. That in the eating and drinking, the living
water, will well up in us, and gush up, in us, carrying us, like a cleansing
flood, finally, to eternal life. Maybe
we Lutherans, like so many other Christians, ought to mingle water, with the
wine of Holy Communion, just as there’s water, mingled with the communion
bread, to remind us, always, that when we eat this bread, we receive the
presence of Christ, the living water;
that when we drink this wine, we receive the presence of Christ, the
living water, that comes from the one who knows everything we have done, and
everything we are, and still, gives Himself to us. Because, that, is good news, indeed. That is refreshing, life-giving water, for we thirsty souls yet
on our Lenten journey…yet, on our life’s journey. So, come, to the one who knows everything there is to know about
you—and still, gives Himself to you;
the living water, in—the bread of life—in, the cup of salvation, broken
and poured out, for you.