Thankful Memorial, Chattanooga
March 15, 2020
Year A, Lent 3

Exodus 17:1-7
Psalm 95
Romans 5:1-11
John 4:5-42

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

The Samaritan woman at the well is my favorite gospel story.  It may even be my all-time favorite Scripture passage.  There is so much to love about it.  For starters, this is the longest conversation Jesus has with any person in all of the gospels, and it is a conversation with a woman of a different ethnic and religious background from him.  This dialogue is a snapshot of much of what makes Jesus’ ministry radically good news: he crosses every border, disregards every man-made boundary and just meets people, all people where they are; he treats people, all people, with dignity and respect. 

And then there is the woman.  This Samaritan woman.  Y’all, I really love this woman. 

I love her courage, because she doesn’t shy away when she sees a stranger at the well, but, when Jesus engages her, she engages him right back.  I love her openness, because even though something is keeping her from coming to the well in the cool mornings with the other women, she doesn’t retreat from the possibility of relationship when it is offered to her.  And I really love her honesty, her utter transparency.  Maybe because I recognize a soul-sister here.  With this woman, what you see is what you get.  She holds nothing back.  When Jesus names the places of her life that are broken, she claims those things, without shame, but with a knowledge of the reality of life.  She basically tells him, “Yeah.  That’s right.  That’s the way things are.”  For all these reasons, I really love this woman. 

And you know what?  Jesus loves this woman, too.  Jesus sees her and gets her and loves her.  He shows no condescension to her.  He just takes the whole reality of who she is, with all her brokenness, with all her boldness, and honors that by engaging her in conversation.  The back-and-forth between the two reveals a woman very much equal to the tasks Jesus sets before her, of thinking theologically about her faith, of seeing Jesus as the Messiah, of knowing and spreading the good news of salvation.  Their conversation even begins because Jesus recognizes that the woman has something to give: a drink of water.  This woman has so much to offer to Jesus, to her community, even to us. 

And this morning, I want to pay special attention to one of those things she offers us: an example of trust. 

In the reading from Exodus, we heard about a time when the Israelites failed to trust God.  Having followed Moses out of Egypt towards God’s promises of new life, the Israelites are now wandering in the wilderness, anxious and thirsty.  And their thirst overpowers their faith in God’s ability and willingness to provide for them.  So they look back at their enslavement in Egypt with ridiculously rose-tinted glasses; they “complain” against Moses and even threaten to kill him.  They “test” the Lord. 

In contrast, the woman at the well with Jesus shows nothing but trust.  Indeed, it seems to me that trust must be the motivating factor behind much of what she says.  Before she even knows who Jesus is, she approaches him with that openness, that willingness to see what happens next.  And when Jesus tells her that he can give “living water” to quench her deeper thirst, she believes him.  “Give me this water,” she demands. 

But, I think the best sign of the woman’s trust in what Jesus the Lord provides is not anything she says at all.  Rather, it’s one thing she does, one small action that reveals her faithfulness.  It’s such a small thing that you may miss it if you’re reading too quickly or not listening carefully.   After her conversation with Jesus, “the woman left her water jar and went back to the city.”  They are only six words, “the woman left her water jar,” but, to me, they speak volumes.

Of course, some might say that the woman leaves her water jar behind as an oversight.  She is just so excited by her encounter with the Messiah that she rushes off and forgets the vessel she came with. And maybe that’s true.  Or maybe she is just being thoughtful towards Jesus, realizing that the noonday sun isn’t getting any cooler and he might get thirsty again while she’s gone.  Maybe that’s true, too.

But this is what seems the most true to me: the woman at the well leaves behind her water jar as a kind of promise that she’ll be back.  She entrusts the necessary vessel of her life and livelihood to Jesus in her absence.  And maybe, just maybe, she leaves her empty water jar behind because, unlike the Israelites, she trusts, deep down, that Jesus will fill it for her; the Lord will provide.  She will return to Jesus, to participate once again, over and over, in this beautiful exchange of giving and receiving, water for living water, love for love. 

Today, we come together physically as a Thankful family to worship God for the last time for a few weeks at least.  With the threat of the corona virus looming, with fear and anxiety plaguing us, it is a hard thing to sacrifice this nurturing community, the life-giving sustenance of our weekly gathering.  Surely, now more than ever, we hunger and thirst for each other, for the assurances that we can get from laying eyes on each other, from a look of concern or a friendly hug.  And it is a sorrow for us all that these things, for a season, will no longer be available. 

But, when we leave here today, let us take a page from the Samaritan woman’s book, and let us leave our water jars behind.  For if we encounter Jesus anywhere in this life, we encounter him here, in the Eucharist and in the faces of our beloved Thankful family. 

And, I know this to be true: we can trust one another to fill our emptiness even while we are physically absent from each other.  We can trust the Lord to provide for all that we hunger and thirst for.  We can leave our water jars in each other’s care as a sign and symbol of our faithfulness to God and to each other, as our promise that we will return to each other again and find that nothing, really, has changed, that our love for each other and God’s love for us is the constant upon which we can depend. 

So, for today, let us come together one last time for a little while, to receive communion and to worship the Lord in faithfulness.  Let us bring to God our anxieties and our fears and our hope and our joy in each other.  Let us bring our emptiness, trusting in God and one another that it will yet be filled.  So, for today, “come, let us sing to the Lord; let us shout for joy to the Rock of our salvation.  Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving and raise a loud shout to him with psalms.  For the Lord is a great God, and a great King above all gods.”  Amen.