Thirst No More — A Lenten Story of Powerlessness and Pardon

In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

There are characters in the Bible with whom we easily identify.

For myself, I think of Paul. It's rather easy for me to see myself in Paul's own life.

And from the jump, I want to be abundantly clear that I'm not calling myself

a saint, of course, but rather saying that his journey resonates with my own.

A wayward kind of youth, person of no religious persuasion, meets an encounter

with God that changes the course of one's life.

The road to Damascus feels well-worn by my own feet.

We can imagine two characters and stories that have resonated with others.

We can recall the hope that abolitionists drew from when thinking of Moses'

own story of deliverance from the oppressor's cruel rod.

We, of course, can imagine the refugee in thirst and hunger and fear finding

strength in the tale of Jesus and Joseph fleeing to Egypt to escape the massacre of the innocents.

We can hear the mantra of the civilian, the night sky aglow,

with exploding bombs praying they shall beat their swords into plowshares and

their spears into pruning hooks.

Nations shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.

We may find ourselves, too, gathered with Jesus around the table,

a tax collector, a sinner, a blue-collar fisherman, somehow bound up in the story of God.

Yet, if I'm honest with myself, I'm not sure that I've ever identified with the woman at the well.

And though I'm hesitant to make assumptions about any of you,

I suspect you may share the same sentiment.

The fact of the matter is that most of us don't know a whole lot about what

it means to be an outcast.

On the face of things, many of us may feel we have little in common with today's primary character.

She is a woman of Samaria, ostensibly at odds with people of Jesus' ilk.

And more than that, we learn that she has five husbands.

Even Jesus' disciples appear uncomfortable with his conversation partner,

with our gospel remarking that when they arrived, they were astonished.

He was speaking with a woman, but no one said, What do you want,

or why are you speaking with her?

We can infer, perhaps, that they do not wholly approve.

But more than that, and this could very easily be lost on us,

is that this woman is coming to draw water from the well at high noon.

Our gospel remarks, Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.

Now, this might be a bit like if we, in our modern context, were to regularly

go shopping at Ingalls at 2.30 in the morning.

Townspeople would draw water from the well either at daybreak or at day's end,

for a number of reasons, most obviously in order to avoid the heat of the noonday desert sun.

This woman instead comes to the well at noon Suggesting, of course,

that she was looking to avoid the other members of her community,

She was forsaken, isolated, and perhaps ashamed.

It might be curious, then, that Jesus arrives, too, at the well at this inopportune time.

His initial approach to her is curt, introducing himself by only saying, Give me a drink.

The woman would be startled not only by his abruptness, but his departure from

fundamental social norms.

As our gospel reminds us, Jews and Samaritans would not have shared things in common.

And this wasn't some kind of arbitrary custom, but a question of ritual purity.

Each group saw the other as unholy.

Not only is Jesus late to the well, not only is he disrupting social norms,

but finally, he comes to the well unprepared for the very purpose that the well serves.

The woman, wanting to accommodate him, notices that he doesn't even have a vessel for water.

She remarks, Sir, you have no vessel, and the well is deep.

The catch, of course, is that Jesus isn't really looking for the kind of water

that you can catch with a bucket.

He's referencing something else. While the woman is thirsty and drawing water,

while the disciples are hungry and going to town to fetch lunch,

Jesus is turning her attention and ours towards a different kind of sustenance.

The living water, Jesus tells us, causes us never to be thirsty,

to never have to again return to the well. It is whole.

Or, if we can remember Jesus' retort to Satan in our reading from the first

day in Lent, one does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.

Hearing of this different kind of living water, the woman begins to engage more deeply with Jesus.

She soon after offers her testimony to all of the people of the town,

proclaiming, He told me everything that I have ever done.

And in so doing, she finds transformation not only for herself,

but for droves of townspeople who are then convinced to go and hear Jesus' message.

And though this story certainly stirs up inspiration, what makes it a Lenten story is unclear.

While Lent is penitential, the

story of the woman at the well feels connectional and even celebratory.

And while Lent is about self-denial and temptation, today's reading communicates

an abundance, both material and spiritual.

But make no mistake, today's gospel is particularly Lenten.

Our collect offers us some context clues into how the gospel might inform our Lent.

It begins, Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves.

Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves.

Today's gospel, at least in large part, is a story about powerlessness.

We experience reminders of this powerlessness regularly and are reminded of

it now in a particular and a dramatic form through 40 days of Lent.

But today we experience the example of powerlessness through Christ himself,

Christ shows up to the well during off hours Kin to an outcast and downtrodden

woman with whom he shares little in common,

He shows up unprepared without a pail Lowering himself to the extent that he

came and asked for help from the person who was supposed to be helpless.

Jesus lowers himself to a position of need and in so doing invites connection and conversion.

And bound up in all of this, Jesus takes on the fullness of our own humanity.

Just as he will in the crucifixion, Jesus embraces the very pities of our own condition.

He embraces the whole of us. Showing up without a jug, under the noonday heat,

alone, save for an outcast.

Now, strangely, this part of ourselves might be the very part that we most struggle to identify with,

Especially when we feel like we're a part of something, when we're not outcasts

It's easier for ourselves to be imagined as helpers, providers,

forces for good It's easy for us to imagine that we've got to do something It's

far more challenging to imagine ourselves as weak, alone,

in need,

devoid of any power in ourselves to help ourselves.

I think that might be the reason why I struggle to resonate with the woman at the well.

And yet in these 40 days and in this story, we reaffirm that that reality is daily ours indeed.

We learn that we cannot save ourselves, but that God alone saves us.

Or as it is said today, I sent you to reap for that which you did not labor.

Others have labored and you have entered into their labor.

The gift of grace is exactly that, that we reap that which we have not labored for.

Grace is a gift that is given freely. So we draw long from the well,

whether we come prepared or not,

and we drink of the waters that cause us to thirst no more,

but instead to feel full always.

And we give thanks unto God. Amen.

The homily was offered by the Rev. Mike Reardon. Introduction and closing reflections

were shared by the Rev. Amy Peterson.

Musical contributions were performed by Dr. Kevin Seal.

Sermon audio was prepared by Nanette Popa. Production was guided by KarenMarie Frederiksen.