March 22, 2020

L3A 2020 John 4:5-42 This is surely the strangest sermon I’ve ever preached, or at least the strangest circumstances in which I’ve preached. In preparation for today, I was thinking how nice it would be if I could have chosen a scripture more obviously suited to our situation—Moses and the plagues or maybe something about lepers. But the discipline of the common lectionary is a gift that keeps on giving, so we can find a word of truth and hopein today’s gospel, even in this unique moment in our history. Today was to have been youth Sunday, and I had a number of our younger members lined up to read this gospel in parts, because it really is meant to be a series of conversations, not a monologue—a conversation between Jesus and the woman, betweenthe woman and the townspeople, between Jesus and the disciples. It was not meant to,say, be heard as one voice echoing around an almost empty room. And the fact that it is aconversation is important, because, as we are beginning to figure out in this time ofincreased isolation, conversation, community, relationship is vital. Last week we read about the Pharisee Nicodemus visiting Jesus secretly at night,really asking only one question, and being schooled by Jesus in what it means to be bornagain from above of water and the Spirit. Nicodemus barely gets a word in edgewiseeven though debating the Law was his area of expertise. Compare that story with thisone: Whereas Nicodemus visits in the middle of the night, Jesus encounters the womanat the well at about noon. Whereas Nicodemus mostly listens to Jesus, the woman asksquestions, makes observations and requests, and gives answers. Nicodemus was anexpert in the Law of Israel. The woman was Samaritan, which from the Jewishperspective put her outside the Law and God’s chosen nation—she was theologically aheretic and ethnically a foreigner. Nicodemus was a man; she was a woman. And shehad a complicated life. It is worth noting that Jesus does not mention the woman’s five husbands as a wayto reprimand her for poor life decisions or a lack of moral character. He doesn’t tell herto “go and sin no more” at the end of their exchange. Unless she was smothering thesehusbands with a pillow in their sleep—and we don’t know, but we might expect Jesus tohave mentioned that if that were the case—she had either been widowed repeatedlythrough natural causes or abandoned by divorce multiple times—or some combination ofthe two. In either case, the woman herself would have had no control over her situation,not even having a legal right to a divorce if she had wanted one. Jesus mentions herhistory not as a way to chastise her but as a sign of who he is—the Son of the God whosees everyone—who sees her and has chosen to interact with her in spite of her issues. Although Jesus speaks no judgment against the woman, we can guess thatjudgment is what she’s used to getting. Just because there is no indication that thewoman has done anything wrong does not mean that after the death or divorce of fivehusbands her community didn’t assume the worst. Like Job’s friends who are convincedhe has sinned unawares, or the disciples asking Jesus whether it was the blind manhimself or his parents who had sinned, in the world as the ancients understood it,misfortune was God’s punishment for something. We can imagine the knowing looksand hostile stares, the passive aggressive comments and whispers behind the woman’sback, the rumors that she was unlucky or cursed. She would have been able to avoidsuch interactions by coming to the well to draw water in the hottest part of the dayinstead of the cool of the morning or evening when the other women gathered. Out of adifferent kind of necessity, this woman imposed upon herself her own social isolation. But Jesus crosses every boundary behind which the woman finds herself so that hecan end her isolation and restore her to relationship and community. He’s a Jewishteacher, she’s a Samaritan. He’s a man, she’s an unaccompanied woman. She visits thewell when she expects to be alone; he interrupts her loneliness. He demonstrates that he sees her, he knows her, and the words of hope and life that he speaks are for her, evenwhen her losses and her community’s mistreatment made her doubt. However the woman does not stop with the good news that Jesus’ words are for her.She leaves her water jar, the mission she had been on, to undertake a new mission—sharing with others what Jesus first shared with her. She immediately engages in thework to which we all are called when we surface from the life-giving waters of baptism:to take the promises God makes to us and share them with others. This life is no longerabout us, it’s about following Jesus in service to the world. Sharing what God gives to us with others seems like a strange take-away todaywhen you’re watching me preach in an empty building and I am encouraging you to takeseriously the work of social isolation. But that is precisely why we are doing this: Weare not hiding to protect ourselves; we are exercising restraint in order to protect others,especially those who are most vulnerable. God is always on the side of the vulnerable—that’s why scripture talks so much about taking care of the widows, orphans, and aliens.Faithfulness to God means reflecting that same kind of solidarity with those in thegreatest need. The irony is that in these next days and weeks, that solidarity will take theform of physical distance. Or, to borrow the more eloquent words of a Presbyterianminister, Reverend Jacqueline Lewis, “Right now, love looks like an empty church.” Jesus chooses the isolated woman to make his introductions to the Samaritanvillage, and in doing so, he was able to restore her as a valued member of her community.As she was re-included, she found, and the rest of the town learned, that God’s promiseswere for all of them, together. We are all in this together, even in these days when we have to be apart. May God give us the strength, patience, and compassion to live not just for ourselves but for all of those whom God holds so dear, which is each one of us, but also all of us.