The woman said to him, “Sir, you have nothing to draw water with,
and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water?
– John 4:11, ESV
If you’ve grown up in church, you’ll be familiar with the story of the woman of Samaria who encounters Jesus at a well, and the way that she reacts to Jesus bizarre, puzzling, not to mention culturally taboo question. If you’re not, pause and re-read John 4:1-45 here. Now perhaps if it were you or I standing there with Jesus, we’d react the same way that this woman did. She looks at Jesus, considering the act of drawing water, and reminds him “but you don’t even have a bucket, Jesus”. It’s not so strange that we can’t imagine the same thought occurring to us. In this woman’s mind, Jesus is failing to meet the basic requirements of water-giving.
How often in our own lives do we find that Jesus is right there, saying to us “I have everything you could ever need” and in our pain, in our uncertainty, in our own perceptions of the exact thing that we need in order to fix our situation we respond “but you don’t even have a bucket, Jesus.”
The gospel tells me “I can heal you of that bitter unforgiveness, Chris.”
“But you don’t even have a bucket, Jesus. Now maybe if you come back with a psychology degree, or brought a ten part DVD series, or at least come with something that makes you look like you understand my situation…. Maybe you should just stick to telling stories and dying for people. Stick to what you know, Jesus.”
But maybe that “bucket” isn’t what I need. And I’m standing at that well so focused on Jesus’ lack of a bucket that my eyes are blind to what he’s actually offering to do for me. Just maybe he knows something that I don’t.
You see, this woman’s issue wasn’t that she didn’t know she was sinful. Believe me, she was painfully aware every day of her immoral lifestyle; having had five husbands and currently living unmarried with her boyfriend. We can say with some confidence that it’s the whole reason why she’s made her way to the well in the hottest part of the day when no one else would venture out—precisely for that reason because she doesn’t want to have to deal with the judgmental glances, the hidden whispers as she approaches, the comments behind her back as she leaves. She knows all about her sin. But there’s a sense in which her sin isn’t actually her biggest problem. I’m more inclined to think that her biggest problem—the one that so many of our friends and family share with her today—is that she doesn’t know Jesus. She doesn’t know the one who has come to die for her sins. The one who freely offers her water, living water….LIFE.
Jesus offers this living water without reserve, without condemnation, and without regard for circumstance. Will you come and drink?
