Water - the symbol of eternal life

WOMAN AT THE WELL by Barb Gardner
 
      It was but a few short days ago that I came, as I had come hundreds, no thousands, of times before to fill my pitcher with water… and met him.  When I was young I would come in the early morning, and then evening, with the other women of Sychar to draw life, mortal life, from this well.  For here, in the desert, there is no life without water.  But as I grew older I made decisions in my life that led down paths seldom taken by other women and never condoned.  Therefore, I found it easier to draw my water in solitude during the meridian of the day.

      I grew up here, at Jacob’s well.  We have great pride in our land.  It was here that the great Jehovah covenanted with Abraham that he would have seed without number. It was here, at Sechem, that He instructed Joshua to gather the entire nation of Israel, that they might be instructed.  Then, through Joshua, the Lord told His people that He had given them a land for which they did not labour, and cities which they built not, and yet they dwelt in them; of the vineyards and oliveyards which they planted not, yet did they eat.  And herein is that saying true, One soweth, and another reapeth.  
      It was a day such as this.  Hot.  Dry.  The heat shimmering from the ground.  As I approached I saw a man.  A Jew, by his dress.  His feet were covered with the dust of travel.  His lips dry, his shoulders weary.  I don’t believe that he had ever set foot out of his country, nor his customs, before his journey into our land.  His presence made me wary, for there is no love lost between the Jew and the Samaritan.  Most skirt our land, finding Purea a better way between Galilee and Judea.  As I drew closer I averted my eyes.  Not from modesty ­ for there is little of that in my life.  No.  I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of even acknowledging his presence for I knew that nothing would drag an utterance out of his mouth for me.  Even men of Samaria were not seen speaking to a woman in public and a Jew would rather kiss a swine.

      No.  I would not give him the satisfaction of snubbing me.  I would snub him.

I prepared to draw water and heard his voice.  “Give me to drink.”  Every motion in my body stopped.  I turned, disbelieving.  It is true that any stranger can ask for a drink and it is our joy to give it unto him.  For water is life and shouldn’t be denied to any.  But I just stared at him.

      “How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me?”  Couldn’t he tell that I was a woman?  And not just a woman, but a woman of Samaria?  Perhaps his thirst, or maybe the heat had been too much for him, for his next words were even stranger.

      He said, “If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water.”

      Now, these words pierced my very heart, but then I still had no understanding. How would he give me water; He had nothing where which to draw water as I did.  The well was deep.  The water level below the reach of any man.  Surely he did not think he alone could draw from Jacob’s well.  Perhaps this Jew had another well from whence he could draw ­a well greater than Jacob’s.  
      So I asked, “From whence then hast thou that living water?  Art thou greater than our father Jacob, which gave us the well?”

      And he said to me, “Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again; But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”

      I perceived this Jew to be daft and not worthy of my time.  How foolish I feel now.  I remember employing my most mocking voice when I answered him, “Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to draw.”  If it were but true I would sit in ease outside my house and watch all the other women of the village toil to draw and fetch water day be day.  As I contemplated this rich fantasy his voice, like a cold draught of that living water, of which he boasted, brought me to my senses.

      “Go, call thy husband, and come hither.”

      Ah—so he was tired of talking to a mere woman.  I had almost forgotten my place. To think I, a woman and a Samaritan, could engage in conversation with a learned Jew! So…he wanted my husband, did he?

      “I have no husband,” I replied.  
      And then, to my shame, and extreme embarrassment, he said:“Thou hast well said, I have no husband:  For thou hast had five husbands; and he whom thou now hast is not thy husband: in that sayist thou truly.”

      How couldst he know this of me?  No man could have so testified for if he had been in our village and heard from one of them I surely would have known of it.  There was only one way that he could know.  
      I said to him, “Sir, I perceive that thou art a prophet.”  How couldst this be?  A prophet, and only I to witness him?  Surely he would have sought out a man, someone learned, someone without sin.  And yet he had spoken to me—knowing before he spoke who I was.  And if he were a prophet, perhaps he would answer the question that had created such enmity between his people and mine.  
      So, I asked—“Our fathers worshipped in this mountain: and ye say that in Jerusalem is the place where men ought to worship.”

      He answered me that we worship we know not what but the Jews do know.  And then he said the most astounding thing—that no one place would garner our faith—for we would soon worship the Father in spirit and in truth.  So he thought we knew not what we worshiped.  Why?  Because we did not give succor to the prophets of the Jews?  Well we might not know all things but we knew of the Messiah and that he was to come and that once he came he would tell us all things.  And in my pride I spat this knowledge in his face.

      And then he said: “I that speak unto thee am he.”

      I am he. The words burned into my brain.  I am He.  I am the Messiah.  I could not think.  His followers were approaching.  They must have gone to the village for meat and I could see by their countenance that they were not well pleased that their master was discoursing with a woman—but they did not say a word.  As I left, my waterpot forgotten, I heard him tell his disciples of a field ready to harvest which they had not sown.  His voice was like an echo through time of the Great Jehovah’s words, through Joshua, to the nation of Israel.  But I looked around and saw only fields three months from reaping and hurried on to Sychar.  I testified to all that would listen that surely the Christ had come.  Women are not allowed to be witnesses and I was not sure any would believe me.  But my testimony was strong and many did.  They sought him out and begged him tarry a few days.  And he did.  He taught many things and those that heard no longer depended upon my testimony but knew for themselves that this was indeed the Christ, the Saviour of the world.

      Water sets the pattern of a woman’s day.  She rises early to fill her waterpot for baking and cleaning.  She comes in the evening to draw its sustenance to impart to her family.  The getting of water is women’s work.  Without it there is no life.  The plants would wither and die and our bodies would dry up and blow away.  As I sojourned in this mortal life it slacked by physical thirst.  But as I wandered through my Sinai of sin and shame I had become parched and nowhere could I find release.  He is gone now.  But he left the living water with us and the well is sunk deep within our souls.  Morning and evening I slack my thirst at its lip.  I cleanse myself in its coolness.  I dip it out and give it to all that ask.  Never again will I hesitate to impart.  He left us, knowing that we would share his water with others.  How fitting that he should come to the very place where the Great Jehovah covenanted with Abraham that his seed would be as great as the sands of the sea.  For now we know that living water can make seed of more than a Jew.  It can make seed of the whole earth.