A continuation of the monologues our congregation has been hearing through the season of Lent. See also “Nicodemus” here.
You weren’t supposed to be there, but there you were. Sitting at the well. I came at this time of day — high, hot noon — just to avoid those deeply personal kind of conversations. Everyone else goes at evening to collect water — chatting, laughing, bustling. But not me. Noon is the best time to draw water to avoid contact with those who hold you ‘at a distance.’ But there you sat, tired and thirsty. Then you had the audacity to ask me for a drink — me! — a Samaritan woman and you a Jew. When I told you as much, you turned the conversation right around and offered me water — living water.
Living water. That’s what you promised that day by the well. Living water. I didn’t know what you meant. I only knew that here was a Jewish rabbi, sitting by the well… first asking me for water… and then turning around and offering me something I had never heard of before — living water.
Boy, did I need water — in more ways than one. I came with my jar empty and dry, but I felt pretty empty and dry too. Then you said if I got water from you, I’d never be thirsty again. I needed that kind of refreshing.
I asked, but then things got personal. You wanted my husband involved. But you knew already that I didn’t have a husband. You already knew my story.
And you offered me living water — told me you were the Messiah. Then I knew you were talking about more than just water. You weren’t just talking about body-refreshment, but soul-refreshment. You poured water on my dry soul and brought it back to life.
I dropped my jar right there and ran off to town — no other water would suffice now — I had to tell what you had done. That you knew me and yet you loved me enough to pour yourself out for my life.
And they came, They came to you and believed what I had learned there by the well — you really are the Savior of the World.
A special thanks to Glynis Belec for her help in the editing process.