It’s hotter today than it’s been all week. While the other women left the village at daybreak to gather water, I stayed behind. They don’t like me very much...I can tell by the way they whisper and make sideways glances in my direction. None of them ever speaks to me at the market. And so I go to gather my water after they return--at the high point of the sun. The path is well-worn. Women have been walking this path since the days of Jacob. His father, Joseph, met his wife at a well. I’ve never met a man who cared for me at the well. I’ve known plenty of men during my life--I’ve had several husbands, but I’m used goods now, and have nothing to offer a prospective husband. My bucket and jar are empty; much like my life. I’ve never had children. I can weave and cook and care for the animals, but I’m not beautiful. The sun is beating down on the top of my head; I can feel the heat under my veil and the sweat run down my back. My hands and feet are strong, but show the wear and tear of life. As I approach the well, there is a man sitting there. Is he dangerous? Should I be afraid? Maybe he’ll go away when he sees that I’m here to collect water…
You can open your eyes now.
The story of the Samaritan woman at the well is a familiar one, is it not? But how often have we lost sight of the fact that she was a woman--a real woman with concerns and worries and chores, who was either gossiped about by her neighbors or completely disregarded? We know her and her story, and yet, we often forget that she was real. She was a woman without a name in the Gospel, and basically a woman without a face.
But how many of you, as you sat there with your eyes closed, could imagine this woman? Could you see her dry, brown skin? Could you feel the weight of the bucket and the jar in your hands? Could you feel the heat from the noon-day sun? Could you imagine the dust from the path? Did your heart race a little when she realizes that she is not alone at the well? Is she in danger?
Sometimes we forget.
The story of this Samaritan woman has always been good news for me. When I was in the early days of discerning my call to priesthood, I thought, when they find out I’ve already been married and divorced, there’s no way they’ll let me serve the church. But this story reminded me that Jesus isn’t measuring us by our past circumstances, but rather that he sees us as beloved children of God. In other words, Jesus sees who we really are before we often do.
This story is good news for anyone who has ever felt like an outsider, who has ever felt like a nobody, who has ever doubted that they have something to offer. What we know, is that most of us want to matter--we want to be loved, honored and cherished for who we are. And this woman at the well...well, she’s not...until she encounters Jesus.
You see, unlike most of us, when we encounter someone who is different from us--whether that is difference in gender, sexuality, religious tradition, social standing, mental or physical health or personal habits--when we encounter someone who is different, we often find it’s easier to avoid or ignore them, or even worse--demonize them. But Jesus is different. Jesus engages her in conversation. He takes her and her life experiences seriously. And she shifts from being a nobody to a somebody. As the gospel writer reminds us, “Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony…” Not only is she someone Jesus engaged, but she becomes an evangelist! Others learned about Jesus and then welcomed him into their community because of her--a woman who was ignored.
We are at a critical time my friends. And we all know this. As Christians, we have a unique opportunity to engage with those who are unlike ourselves, so that we can share the good news of love that has no boundaries and no walls. We have a unique opportunity to welcome the “outsiders” and the “nobodies” in a way that we haven’t really been asked to do. As many of you know, Bp David, Diocesan Council and Standing Committee, and I are in conversations about sanctuary and refugee support. We are being invited to consider the outsiders and nobodies, and what resources we can share. Not because we have a political agenda, but because we are disciples of Jesus, the living water that can quench our thirst. We want to honor them as our brothers and sisters--beloved children of God, and we are invited into the conversation with our neighbors because we too want to offer hospitality and love instead of scorn or disregard.
So I’m going to share one more story with you, if you’ll allow me, because the story of the Samaritan woman also reminds me of a guy named Larry.
Now, when I was in parish ministry, I also was the organizer of our local warming shelter--a place that was open from mid-November to mid-March for those who were without shelter to come in, sleep warmly and safely, and be offered hospitality and love. And if any of you have ever volunteered in a soup kitchen or shelter, you know that the guests have more to teach you than you can teach them. Am I right?
So Larry was a regular at the shelter. Every year for 5 of the 6 years I worked with the shelter, Larry was there. Larry was homeless. He showered at the community pool once a week. He panhandled at the exit from the freeway into town. He had a “colorful” vocabulary. He was perhaps not someone you’d invite to dinner at your home. But I liked Larry. He made me laugh, he was always helpful at the shelter, and he was kind to other guests.
But Larry showed up at church one day. On a Sunday. As I was setting the table for Eucharist. And he didn’t come in the main door and walk down the aisle. He came in the side door and was basically standing next to me at the altar. And he had blood on his shirt. Now my wardens and a few other folks stood up...I’m sure they were worried about what was going to happen next. But I simply stopped what I was doing, and said, “Larry, I’m busy right now, but you look like you need help. So let’s go have a seat.” And we walked into the parish hall, where we were met by the Jr Warden. I asked Larry if he needed to go to the hospital, but he said he just needed to clean up, no major wounds. The Jr Warden showed him to the bathroom and got him a glass of water, and sat with Larry while I continued the service.
Admittedly, I was shaken as you can imagine, but I was also really proud of Larry. He knew that at my parish, he wasn’t a nobody. He knew he would be welcomed. And I was proud of my Jr Warden, because he didn’t treat Larry like a nobody, but instead, a beloved child of God. I later learned that night that Larry told others at the shelter that he was taken care of at St Mark’s, and that we were “good people.”
Friends, we have the opportunity to be “good people” everyday to someone who is treated like an outsider or a nobody. We just have to be willing to engage. My prayer for you, for me, for all of us in this diocese and the church is that we can see each other and engage with each other as the beloved children of God that we are.
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Amen.