Many years ago now, I was making an eight-day silent retreat at Christ in the Desert Monastery in Abiquiu, New Mexico. This Benedictine community is situated on the banks of the Chama River, but the river was nearly dry at that time, and the whole landscape was parched to dusty and pale shades of yellow and red, with barely a green leaf in sight.
On a hike one day through the same canyons that inspired the artistic vision of the painter, Georgia O’Keefe, I misjudged the length of the trail that I was on, and didn’t bring enough water. In the hours that passed before I finally arrived back at the monastery, it felt as though the desert had evaporated every drop of moisture out of my body. By the end of the hike, I was fantasizing about a big cold bottle of Gatorade, one of those popular sports drinks.
When was the last time you were so thirsty? Or more accurately, when were you last in touch with a deep, even desperate desire that nearly possessed you- a desire to fulfill something you felt that you were lacking? I ask this question because in the passage about Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well, John uses thirst as a metaphor for such desire.
Jesus himself is thirsty from his travels, and has sent the disciples along into town to bring back provisions from the market while he rests by the side of Jacob’s Well. But the woman he encounters there is thirsty too. Scripture scholars speculate that she was there drawing water in the mid-day because she was alienated from her community, perhaps ostracized because of her marital status. Otherwise she would have joined women in the early morning to draw water for her household, returning home before it was so hot. She was not only thirsty for water, but perhaps for social communion. Certainly, after five husbands, it was clear that she wasn’t a person who wanted to live by herself.
And perhaps we can relate to this deep desire for communion, belonging, and community. Maybe we have experienced a period of loneliness in our lives, and remember what it felt like to long for connection, friendship, and intimacy. And of course there are so many other things that we might deeply desire in our lives: meaningful direction and purpose, security, freedom from fears and insecurities, healing from old wounds and trauma…
Jesus also has hungers and thirsts, though not only for the human necessities that we all experience. When the disciples return with food, they’re not only shocked to find Jesus speaking with the Samaritan woman, something that observant Jewish men simply would not do. They’re also surprised to hear Jesus say that he’s not hungry for the food they purchased, but that he’s already enjoyed a “food of which you do not know.” (Let’s see if the disciples ever go shopping for lunch for him again!)
For Jesus, the encounter with the Samaritan woman, their conversation which blended a bit of cautious banter with deep truths about her life, and which allowed himself to reveal his true identity to her, this was the desire of his Father. While often misunderstood by his family and his closest friends, Jesus finds himself understood by this stranger, someone that his culture had taught him was an enemy and “less than.” For Jesus, the experience of such profound, mutual encounter, the experience of a conversation that was both human and divine, this was true food, and gave him a satisfaction like little else could. It was the Samaritan woman’s gift to him.
When we reflect on what most deeply satisfies us at the end of each day, where does our attention usually go? In this passage, John’s Gospel orients us to our deeper desires, our longing for what is ultimate, or rather, for who is ultimate for us. In John’s theology, this sense of desire inspires our search for God, our discipleship of Jesus. It is in Jesus’ dignity as the beloved of God that we discover our own dignity. This is the gift of mutuality.
For this Samaritan woman, the encounter with Jesus was the gift. He recognized her without judgement or condemnation, but rather, looked upon her with the truth of love. While Jesus saw her from a place of his own dignity, he did so with the humility of one who understood fully that his own dignity was received from his Father. He saw her, not through the eyes of superiority, but of mutuality and tenderness, as a sibling child of God. Jesus’ revelation of himself to this stranger was an act of profound vulnerability, of trust, and of his belief in her capacity to receive him as the Messiah.
When such vulnerability is received as was the case in this story, it has a transformative effect.
She, for her part, allowed herself to be seen and known in her truth. Beyond satisfying her physical thirst, Jesus reflected back to her a dignity that she might have lost sight of somewhere along the way. Somehow, as her dignity is recognized in his act of sharing, she is liberated from her sense of lack, the sense of being wanting in some way. With his revelation in her possession, the Samaritan woman now has a gift that she wants to share with everyone. She becomes a missionary apostle in much the same way as Mary Magdalene does, sharing the good news that indeed, God has come to the people.
What fruit might we take from this passage? I was thinking about the way that various people in my life- teachers, coaches, and “bosses”, have seen me and my potential in such a way that I have found the space and the grace to grow into myself. I ponder with gratitude the experience of mutual transformation that comes with encounters characterized by truth, love, and vulnerability, that even with strangers there is the possibility of discovering our sibling relationship as children of God. I pray that I might see and treat others in this way, with the kind of regard and mutual respect that helps them grow into their full aliveness.
Perhaps these reflections resonate for you as well? Let’s join together in praying for the transformation and peace that come with encounters of vulnerability, mutual respect, and dignity.
With you on this Lenten journey,
