According to social standards he shouldn’t have even spoken to her. A Jew. A Samaritan. A male. A female.
Funny how he wasn’t worried about being seen alone with a woman, much less a woman with a reputation.
He knew she wouldn’t acknowledge him unless he spoke first. He was quite the conversation starter. He didn’t even offer her a drink. Instead, he asked for one. It was a witty move. He knew it would take her by surprise.
“Why are you asking me for a drink?” The implication was that he, a Jew, was socially superior to her.
He didn’t even answer her question. Instead, he told her that if she knew who he was and how generous God is, she’d be asking him for fresh, living water.
He puzzled her. She was aware that he didn’t even have so much as a bucket to draw water from the deep well. She asked just exactly how he was going to get this living water he was offering her.
Again, he answered her without really answering her question. He simply responded that anyone who drinks the water he supplies will never thirst again.
She was a thirsty woman, so she responded, “Sir, give me this water so I won’t ever get thirsty, won’t ever have to come back to this well again!” {John 4:15, The Message} She was desperate. She wanted out of that situation, away from that well where people were likely to gossip about her.
Ah, but his witty nature surfaced again. Instead of immediately fulfilling her request, he told her to get her husband and come back.
“I have no husband.” And at the moment, she didn’t.
Up until this moment, it’s like a bad pick-up scene, but at a well instead of a bar. Here was a man offering to fill her every thirst and meet her every need, and she’s quick to let him know she doesn’t have a husband.
But instead of whisking her off her feet and carrying her away from the harsh, noon-day sun, he kept her on her toes by surprising her with what he knew.
“That’s nicely put: ‘I have no husband.’ You’ve had five husbands, and the man you’re living with now isn’t even your husband. You spoke the truth there, sure enough.” {vs. 17-18} There’s no condemnation in his words . . . just facts, and perhaps, he spoke them with a gentle smile spread across his face.
Suddenly, she tried to erect the barrier that had fallen between them. She assumed he was a prophet and immediately turned the conversation toward religion. A bit of sarcasm revealed her cynical heart.
She wanted to debate where worship should take place, but he told her it didn’t matter . . . that the true worshipers did so in spirit and truth. He explained, “Your worship must engage your spirit in the pursuit of truth. That’s the kind of people the Father is looking out for: those who are simply and honestly themselves before him in their worship.” {v. 23}
Still cycnical, she responded that they would know for sure one day when the Messiah arrived.
“I am he.” Maybe he looked into her eyes, straight through to her heart when he revealed himself.
Just then, those pesky disciples came back from a grocery shopping trip, asking with their eyes why Jesus was talking with that kind of woman.
Leaving her waterpot behind, and without either of them ever taking a drink, she scurried away into town, telling the men about the one at the well who knew her inside and out. “Do you think this could be the Messiah?”
* * * * *
A quiet conversation at a well, the honest and simple truth between a woman and the only man who could satisfy her every desire. No gossip. No pointing fingers in a public arena. No need to drag her to the front of the temple. No need to have the disciples or the Pharisees weigh in on her lifestyle. No need to condemn her for every wrong choice. No pressure to be anyone different than who she was.
In order to believe, all she needed was one who knew her inside and out and simply wanted her to love him in the truth of who she was.
