"The Thirst Quencher ”

A cake decorator was asked by a bride to inscribe on her wedding cake words from the Holy Scriptures. The bride had selected chapter 4, verse 18 from First John, an epistle in the New Testament. The verse reads: "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear." What beautiful, fitting words to put on a wedding cake!

Unfortunately, the cake decorator wasn’t very familiar with the Bible. Instead of putting the words from First John on the cake, the decorator wrote the words from the Gospel of John, chapter 4, verse 18.

At the reception, the time came for the bride and groom to cut the wedding cake. As they held the knife together in their hands, ready to make the first ceremonial cut, they looked in horror at the words inscribed on the cake; "You have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband."

In the chapters leading up to this morning’s Scripture lesson, Jesus has been in Jerusalem and the Judean countryside with his disciples. And now, in the fourth chapter of the Gospel of John, he is headed back north to Galilee. Usually, when Jews traveled from Jerusalem to Galilee, they would take an extra day to cross the Jordan River, travel north to Galilee, then cross back over the Jordan, all in order to avoid passing through Samaria – the first-century equivalent of crossing to the other side of the street to avoid someone.

But the text tells us that Jesus “had to” go through Samaria. The Greek word translated as “had to” is used elsewhere in John’s gospel to indicate God’s intention. And so, Jesus has to go through Samaria because it is God’s will.

The scene from our lesson takes place near the town of Sychar, at the well Jacob had willed to his son Joseph hundred of years before. Hot, weary, and thirsty from his journey, Jesus takes a break while the disciples go off to buy food. Jesus sits alone at Jacob’s well, and he realizes he has no means for drawing the cool, fresh water which is so vital to life and which he needs to quench his thirst. But someone else is also out in the midday heat, and she’s carrying a bucket. The woman he encounters is able to give him the water his body needs, and Jesus engages her in his longest conversation recorded in the gospels.

She seems, at first, a curious choice for so much of his attention, for she is an outsider three times over. First, she is a woman. In the patriarchal society of first century Palestine, women have no status of their own. They are not to be seen or heard, especially not by holy men, who do not even speak to their own wives in public. Women are, in every sense of the word, the property of their men – no better than slaves or animals.

The second factor which pushes this woman to the outskirts of society is that she is a Samaritan. In first century Israel, Jews despised Samaritans for intermarrying with foreigners, and they are considered half-breed, pagan outcasts.

And third, the woman has had five husbands and now, single again, she is living with yet another man – a situation which pushes her out to the margins even among her own people.

In a hot and dusty land, no one comes to a well at noontime; no one wants to lug a jar heavy with water back to the village when the sun is sweltering high in the sky. Most women come to the well in the cooler hours of the early morning or late afternoon, not only to gather their water, but also to gossip and commiserate together, enjoying the companionship that first century marriages don’t offer. But the Samaritan woman, an outcast among outcasts, comes to the well in the oppressive heat of the noonday sun in order to be alone and avoid the scornful, judgmental glances and whispered comments of others.

And so imagine her surprise when she arrives at the well at high noon and sees a strange man sitting there. As she lifts her cup to ladle water into her jug, he says to her, “Give me a drink,” and she is taken aback not just by his straightforward words, but also that he, a Jewish man, is speaking at all to her, a Samaritan women.

He engages her in conversation, and she follows his lead of participating in this socially unacceptable exchange. After all, she has nothing left in her life to lose; her dignity, her self-respect, her hope are depleted. Then the man whose thirst she quenched with a cup of well water begins speaking mysteriously to her about living water. It’s not the kind of water that will satisfy physical thirst; instead, he’s talking about the kind of water that will quench the thirst in her soul and transform her parched, brittle and dried up life.

She drinks in all that he has to say and asks how she might get some of this living water. And Jesus begins speaking to the deep well of her soul. His words say, “I know all about you. I know everything you have done. I know the mistakes and the heartaches of your past; I know your loneliness, your regret, your emptiness and your yearning. I have come to seek you out, and I bring you what you need.”

St. John doesn’t tell us why her marriages have ended – whether she is a divorcee or a widow, or both – because ultimately, it doesn’t matter to Jesus. Because while the world tells us who we should be, or how we should behave, or what we should look like, or who we should associate with, God tells us that it’s not about what we do or don’t do in this life; it’s about who we are to God. Whether it’s in the darkest night of our soul or the withering sunlight of our days, God meets us where we are with a reservoir of unconditional love, forgiveness, mercy and grace.

Jesus offers the Samaritan woman the living water she needs for abundant life, and in the process, reveals to her that he is the Messiah.

By the end of their conversation, she’s left her water jar – and her scorched and shriveled life -- behind and is rushing into the very center of the village, demanding to be heard by the very people who reject her. And because of the testimony of this once-marginalized, once-despised, once-hopeless woman, many people come to believe that Jesus is the long-awaited Messiah.

Thirst is not just a biological condition. Thirst is a metaphor for every ache, every longing, every yearning we might have. Thirst is whatever depletes life, or kills love, or keeps us from wholeness; whatever prevents us from experiencing life’s joy and possibility.

What burdens do you carry to the well today? A disappointment, a failure, a betrayal?

What has left you parched and brittle – a grief, a guilt, a shame, a sorrow, a pain, a regret?

What in your life is dried up – your hopes, your dreams, your faith?

We all thirst – to live a life of meaning, to let go of our baggage from the past, to believe in forgiveness and restoration and new starts; we thirst to know that we do not live or die alone, but that God is with us. Like he did to the Samaritan woman, Jesus speaks to us this morning, offering us what cannot be found anywhere else – not in pills or alcohol or possessions or money, not in self-help books or one-night stands. What Jesus offers us is living water – pure, refreshing, eternal – which will slake any thirst and transform even the most parched, arid, and brittle parts of our lives into fountains of joy and oases of wholeness. It all starts with our thirst – and ends with Jesus, the wellspring of love, grace and mercy.

In a few weeks, on Good Friday, Jesus will face death. On the cross, also at mid-day, he will confess his thirst and request a drink. The gift of his living water will not be apparent to the ones who, mockingly, offers only a sponge of sour vinegar. But today, when Jesus and the Samaritan woman meet, they are able to quench each other’s thirst. She gives him the clear, cool water that sustains earthly life, and he offers to her – and all of us – the living water which satisfies our thirsty hearts and souls and brings us healing, wholeness, and new life. Amen.