She glanced out the window as several women she knew walked to the well. They were engrossed in conversation, smiling over shared experiences and laughing at passing jokes.
She wasn’t sure how her life had ended up here. She had watched as men that she loved came and then left. She had lost friendships that she thought were unshakeable.
Yet, here she was, staying behind as the rest of the women went to the well. She had tried to go with them a few times. But the pointed silence was unbearable. Talk would ebb and flow around her as if she was invisible. Worse were the sidelong glances and quick, whispered conversations. They didn’t even have the modesty to wait for her to leave.
Her heart had broken to realize that the women she had considered her dearest friends now regarded her as nothing more than gossip. It had seemed easier to avoid them, to sacrifice the cool, early morning trip to the well with everyone else. So, she had rearranged her day, choosing to make the daily trips to the well when no one else would want to go. She arose long before the sun, to make the first trip in the morning. The cool night air was refreshing and the stars were peaceful companions. It was the late afternoon trip that she resented. The sun was high overhead. Every step seemed to compound the misery of the turns her life had taken that had brought her to this place. But at least she was left alone.
She watched the women return from the well, jars full of life-giving water. She turned from the window to the care of her home. This wasn’t truly her home. She stayed here out of need, out of desperation. Without his protection, his provision, she would be worse off. She would likely have died.
She watched the sun, waiting for the moment when she could take her turn at the well. The shadows shortened. The heat increased. The sun made its way through the sky.
As the shadows started to grow again, she picked up her water jug and stepped into the street. She glanced up the road. It was empty.
She became lost in thought as she made her way through the small town, her gaze fastened to the ground out of habit. As she approached the well, she lifted her eyes and stopped. She would not be alone today. She couldn’t identify the figure at the well. She contemplated turning around and returning later. But later meant joining the other women. Better a single person than the group of women.
She started forward again planning how she might accomplish her task without conversation or pointed looks. As she drew closer, she realized that the figure was a man. Her racing heart slowed a bit. A man would not talk to her. A few steps closer and she realized not only was he a man, but he was a Jew. The relations between her people and the Jews had historically been poor, interactions avoided or kept to a minimum at all costs. He had no reason to talk to her. No reason to know her at all. Still, she would not linger.
She came to the well and set her jar down. She grabbed the rope to begin drawing the water up out of the well when he spoke.
“Will you give me a drink?”
She froze, heart pounding again. She turned to look at him. His skin was bronzed from time in the sun. His feet were dusty and his sandals looked worn. Clearly this man had traveled far. But still the fact remained that he was a Jew and she was not. If she was caught talking to this man, what rumors might start?
She turned back towards the well, but did not move. “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?”
The man did not hesitate, “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.”
She rested her hands on the edge of the well. Who was this man? Should she know him? She glanced at him again. He was simply dressed and appeared to possess nothing more than the clothes he was wearing. What kind of man claimed to have water better than that which had sustained her people for generations?
“Sir,” she said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his flocks and herds?”
The man stood and came to stand across from her at the well. He gestured to the water below, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
His words confused her, but they brought her hope. If his water was an eternal well, if she need only drink it to never be thirsty, perhaps he had something she wanted. If only to never have to trek through the heat of the day again. “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”
His voice was sure and steady as he said, “Go, call your husband and come back.”
She gripped the edge of the well as the blood drained from her face. There was no way. He couldn’t know. If a husband was requisite to this eternal well, she was disqualified and all hope was lost. She could lie. Would he believe that her husband was away? But to lie to this stranger felt wrong.
Her voice was barely above a whisper, “I have no husband.”
“You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.” There was no anger or malice in his voice as he spoke. It was, in fact, quite gentle.
Her heart pounded in her ears. He knew too much. She had no idea how he knew. She wasn’t so far gone that those outside of her community would talk of her. So how did he know? To continue in this line of questioning could only lead to more embarrassment, more humiliation. She refused to be brought down by a stranger who had no right knowing what he did.
She squared her shoulders and looked at him. “Sir, I can see that you are a prophet. Our fathers worshipped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.”
A smile played over his face. “Believe me, woman, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews. Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshippers the Father seeks. God is spirit, and his worshippers must worship in spirit and truth.”
His words resonated in her. He spoke of the future and of God with such authority. They stirred a place, a long-standing hope of her people, in her heart. “I know that Messiah is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.”
“I who speak to you am he.”
His words stunned her. This man claimed to be the Messiah. He was the answer to all of their questions. But could she believe him?
She looked him in the eye. They were not the eyes of a lunatic and his gaze was not the flighty one of a liar. He spoke of things he should not know. In her heart, she knew his words to be true.
She drew water from the well and offered him a drink. He took the offering and sat again beside the well. She sat at his feet. He spoke to her and she listened. He knew her, even to the depths of her being. Thoughts that she had never voiced. Feelings that she had been too afraid to examine. He knew them all. But instead of the disdain and condemnation that she received from those who knew her, she received love and acceptance.
She heard the voices of other men, but they barely registered and so she was startled to look and see several other strangers had joined them. She glanced around her and realized that she had been out here for far longer than she intended. Her presence would be missed at home. But how could she simply go back? She had experienced more love and grace in this conversation than she had in months.
She also knew that she couldn’t keep this to herself. She got to her feet and brushed the dirt from her skirts. The man smiled at her and gave a gentle nod. She turned back towards her town to share the news of the man she had met.
Her excitement only faltered when she realized that no one would listen to her. No one would give her the time of day. And even if they did, they would laugh at anything she had to say.
But this was more important than her feelings, more important than her fears. She walked boldly into the market square where the men were doing business, already drawing more than a few unwelcome looks with her confidence. She walked to the nearest stall. The man was the husband of a woman that she had once considered a sister. “Come. You must come and meet this man at the well.”
“Have you no shame? Meeting men at the well in the middle of the day?”
“But this man is different. He is a prophet.”
“Yes, yes. His followers were here buying food.”
At this point a small group had gathered. She needed them to listen, to understand, to come. She turned to them. “Come! See a man who has told me everything I ever did,” she said, forsaking the last of her dignity to make them understand. “Could this be the Christ?” If the intrigue of her life would not sway them, perhaps their hope of the Messiah would.
At her words, the market square emptied as everyone went out to the well to see this man. His eyes met hers as the crowd around him grew. He spoke to them and they listened. Several of them begged him to stay and he did, two days. He taught them many things and they believed him.
Sometime after he left, she went to the well again. Though he had changed her life and taught her many things, she did not join the other women in the cool morning or evening trips to the well. The heat did not bother her so much when she used the time to worship in spirit as he had taught.
Today, she was not alone at the well. Another woman was standing there, not drawing water, but simply waiting.
Coming near, the other woman spoke. “I wanted to draw with you.”
She simply nodded, a new peace pervading her heart.
“It was your words that brought us to him. But we no longer believe just because of what you said. Now we have heard for ourselves and we know that he really is the Savior of the world.”
The two women worked side by side as they drew water in the heat of the day. As they finished, the other woman turned to her, “We want to know the words he spoke to you. Would you come to the well tomorrow morning to share what he taught you?
- Creative Writing by Lindsey Zema