Now he had to go through Samaria. So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about noon.
This passage bothers me sometimes. Maybe it’s the somewhat formal language of scripture. Maybe the nuance is lost in recording and translating. But sometimes, this conversation starts to sound brittle in my ears. I feel like Jesus is playing with this woman. I wonder why he bothered to talk to her at all if he was only going to ask for her husband before getting to the good part. I wonder why he doesn’t just come out and say what he means.
(Reading the passage this way probably means I am tired and that I have spent too much time today pondering the nuances of language in the questionnaire I am developing for a research methods course. This is not the text’s fault. Fortunately, God is gracious.)
My scripture reading for today cut off in the middle of this story, one line above where I cut it off in this post. I’m not sure why I read just the next line, but I did. And then I thought, “Why on earth is Jesus asking that question?”
Jesus already knows the woman’s social and sexual history.
Jesus already knows she’s going to say she has no husband.
Jesus knows that this question would be awkward and painful for her.
Can you imagine? Standing at the well, talking to this Rabbi who knows nothing about you? With this Jewish man who should spurn you based on your ethnicity alone but instead engages you? A clean slate! A conversation without snide remarks and sideways glances. A few moments in which you can almost be someone’s equal . . .
And then he asks the question.
And you cringe.
Of course he wants to talk to your husband. And with that single statement, he has reminded you of exactly who you are: loose woman, shameless hussy, worthless slut. You try to make a reasonable-but-vague excuse, but you can already feel the shift. He won’t believe you anymore than you believe yourself.
But then . . .
And he’s still here.
Why is he still here?
You can’t exactly start a conversation with “So I hear you’ve had multiple husbands and you’re currently living with your boyfriend. That’s cool.” It’s sort of a mood killer. But Jesus, with his patient word games, brought the woman to a place of vulnerability, a place where she expected rejection, and then told her it was okay. He accepted her. In the moment she expected to lose the most important conversation she’d had in her life, he turned the tables and said, “I already know. I know, and I choose to talk to you anyway.”
Jesus meets us in our broken places. He meets us in the loneliness of our sin. He meets us in the shame of our pasts. He meets us in the secrets we dare not whisper, even to ourselves. He meets us there and engages us. He challenges our broken ways of thinking. He loves us, heals us and sends us out whole.