"Thirst No More"

John 4:4-15
Dr. Anne M. Cameron
February 6, 2011
Lake Highlands Presbyterian Church

⁴ Now he had to go through Samaria. ⁵ So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. ⁶ Jacob's well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about noon.

⁷ When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, "Will you give me a drink?" ⁸ (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)

⁹ The Samaritan woman said to him, "You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?" (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.)

¹⁰ Jesus answered her, "If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water."

¹¹ "Sir," the woman said, "you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? ¹² Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?"

¹³ Jesus answered, "Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, ¹⁴ but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life."

¹⁵ The woman said to him, "Sir, give me this water so that I won't get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water."

      Sand in your toes, Jesus. It is high noon. It is hot. The sun beats down, merciless. The grime on your face drips into your eyes. There is no one around.

      You sit on the edge of a rock. Waves of heat emanate from the rock. Why are you here anyway, in this hostile place? People can see you are Jew. The blue border on your shawl, the fringes, they betray you. The young men look sideways. A hostile glance, an old man's steps quicken as he passes by.

      Here, you are the stranger. Worse yet, you are a Jew.

      You are thirsty, but you have no dipper, no cup to draw water. Weakened by your all-too-human need, you hope for the kindness of Samaritan strangers. Ha.

      Then, a woman approaches. Also a Samaritan. You are on her turf. The well is a woman's place; you are already in her territory. You don't really belong here. Why did you go out of your way to come here, to Sychar? It would have been so much smarter to go by way of the Jordan, by way of your own kind.

      Her shoulders slump, weary, fearful. She avoids you. To her, you are a leper. Of course. Why wouldn't she? She goes about her business, certain you will not speak.

      Sand in your toes. Dust in your mouth. "A drink? Please, may I have a drink?" you mutter.

      When we pray the narrative stories of scripture, when we engage in the age-old Christian practice of lectio divina to contemplate scripture stories in a prayerful manner, we enter into holy ground. We enter into the stories of Jesus and in so doing we get to know Jesus far more intimately than we otherwise might. We walk where Jesus walked. We imagine his weary face, his posture, his deep bass voice, the sound of his cough. We use our knowledge to understand more about the setting. We may even read our study Bible notes to comprehend what he is up against with Samaritans or Pharisees or Roman centurions.

      When we pray the narrative stories, we use our imaginations and we open our hearts. It has often been said the longest journey of faith is the journey of 14 inches, from the head to the heart.

      I mentioned last week I would give you some guidance about how to choose scripture for lectio. Here is the short version. If your Bible has an index to certain topics, use that as a guide. You may also want to use a Bible Concordance, which is just a fancy name for a topical index. I also highly recommend a little book by Thelma Hall, called "Too Deep for Words: Rediscovering Lectio Divina." The book is 56 pages of good information on lectio, and the rest is 50 different scripture themes and recommended scriptures.

      There are a number of ways to approach the prayerful reading of narrative. (A few of these were mentioned last week; here I expand on them.)

      Find a quiet time and place. When you are focused, begin to read a passage slowly and deliberately. Read it out loud, more than once. Stop at a particular word or phrase that grabs you. Imagine Jesus as he speaks directly to you; insert your name into the scripture as you read. Allow yourself to be addressed by God. Your goal is not to 'get through' the passage but to allow it to speak to you. You may end up meditating on only one word or phrase.

      With a narrative passage, put yourself into the story. You become an invisible observer. Observe the action of the story. Imagine the place, the setting. What is the light like? The color of the clothing? The smells or sounds in the background? Create the scene. Do not worry about 100% accuracy, but try to be true to the spirit of what you do know. Imagine the tone of voice and the feelings that well up.

      Alternatively, imagine you are a character in the story. Imagine you are the one Jesus is speaking to. Put yourself into the shoes (or sandals) of all the different actors. (For example, in the story of the Prodigal Son, be sure to get into the brain of the Loyal Son, the one who worked the farm all those years.)

      Lastly, imagine Jesus' perspective. It is not blasphemous to imagine you are Christ, because you are trying to understand what Jesus might have been like, what the human Jesus may have experienced. Try on all the possible hats and robes and footwear.

      Draw well water with the woman. Feel how heavy that large pot of water is on your shoulder. And see Jesus, how sweaty he is. Join the disciples' dismay as they come upon Jesus doing the unthinkable---talking to this unlikely person.

      As you do this, scripture comes alive and there is the opening for God speaking to you. Ideas and thoughts and feelings enter in.

      I have meditated many times on today's scripture. One of the most illuminating and prayerful times was for me last summer when I was on a retreat. I was sitting in a tiny chapel contemplating this very scripture. I was seated next to a small wooden communion table. All of the sudden I had the experience that this communion table, simply crafted of beautiful wood, was the well of living water Jesus offered. These were my thoughts as I encountered Christ there.

      This table, this place, is a well I return to again and again. You, Christ, are here beside it, beside me, I feel your presence; it is awesome.

      Tears well up inside me. Your table is a wellspring.

      Jesus, how can you ask me to give you anything?

      What do you want from me?

      "All of you. Heart, mind, body, spirit. Everything. That's all."

      The crucified One asks me. "Is that too much for you to give?"

      Jesus, give me living water.

      Lord, I want this living water!

      Your love pours down on me, fills my parched soul, overflows my dry and brittle heart, quickens your spirit within me.

      I sense the promise of eternal life right now.

      "The water I give you will become a spring of water welling up to eternal life."

      Christ is the spring, breaking forth into a stream, the stream is God's action flowing through me toward others.

      Take my life, Lord.