Out of the Whirlwind: Unveiling Truth

We continue our story today in the book of Job. Last week, we met Job. And we heard about the wager between God and The Satan - the setup of this fictional thought experiment that is the book of Job. A thought experiment that explores many different questions. Questions about suffering and especially about innocent suffering. Questions of faith. Hard questions that ask us about the nature of our own faith and why we believe.

Today, we tackle another question. A question concerning truth.

As a result of the wager between God and The Satan, Job has lost all his wealth. He has lost his children and their spouses. He has lost his health. Yet, he has not cursed God. Chapter 2 ended with Job in silence. With his friends. Silently sitting. Silently grieving for 7 long days. It is here where our story resumes, beginning, in chapter 3.

Afterward, Job spoke up and cursed the day he was born.

Job said:

Perish the day I was born,

    the night someone said,

    “A boy has been conceived.”

That day—let it be darkness;

    may God above ignore it,

    and light not shine on it.

May deepest darkness claim it

    and a cloud linger over it;

    may all that darkens the day terrify it.

May gloom seize that night;

    may it not be counted in the days of a year;

    may it not appear in the months.

May that night be childless;

    may no happy singing come in it.

May those who curse the day curse it,

    those with enough skill to awaken Leviathan.

May its evening stars stay dark;

    may it wait in vain for light;

    may it not see dawn’s gleam,

    because it didn’t close the doors of my mother’s womb,

    didn’t hide trouble from my eyes.  --Job 3:1-10 (CEB)

After seven long days of silence, Job speaks. The first words out of his mouth are a curse. Job curses the day of his birth. Lamenting that he was ever born. 

It is important for us to understand Job’s position in society. He had been at the top - a patriarch, enjoying great wealth, privileged, highly respected. Early on we are told at the beginning of the story that he was the greatest of all the people in the East. He has the most to lose. And this was a long way for him to fall.

So, he curses the day of his birth. And if we were to continue on for the rest of the chapter, we would notice that his lament does not stop with his birth. He begins to complain about God. Not to God. But about God to his friends. How far he has fallen! Innocently fallen! We can understand his grief and his anger, can’t we? Especially because all of the suffering he is experiencing is not his fault. Or is it?

Enter Job’s friends. We continue in chapter 4.

Then Eliphaz, a native of Teman, responded:

If one tries to answer you, will you be annoyed?

    But who can hold words back?

Look, you’ve instructed many

    and given strength to drooping hands.

Your words have raised up the falling;

    you’ve steadied failing knees.

But now it comes to you, and you are dismayed;

    it has struck you, and you are frightened.

Isn’t your religion the source of your confidence;

    the integrity of your conduct, the source of your hope?

Think! What innocent person has ever perished?

    When have those who do the right thing been destroyed?

As I’ve observed, those who plow sin

    and sow trouble will harvest it.

When God breathes deeply, they perish;

    by a breath of his nostril they are annihilated. --Job 4:1-9 (CEB)

Job’s friends had begun so well. Sitting with him in silence. The silence that finally allowed him to put words to his grief. But, then, they go so horribly wrong. Eliphaz, Job’s friend, opens his mouth to respond. And it is not good.

You see Eliphaz has created his own truth. A construction of his own reality. One that is based on two things. First, his reality is based on conventional wisdom. What we might call common sense. Or what everybody “knows.” 

Secondly, his truth is based on assumptions. Some of these assumptions arise out of his own experience. What he’s seen and learned along the way. Other assumptions come from more universally-agreed upon principles. Such as, if you do something wrong, you will be punished for it. These constructs are how Eliphaz views the world. It’s why he suggests at the end of the reading that maybe, just maybe, Job has done something wrong to deserve this. 

I grew up a redneck. I’m serious about this. My dad, for example, voted for George Wallace. He was a complex man. So I grew up with a certain construction of reality - a way of viewing the world. When I moved to Los Angeles at 19 and I began to experience living and working together with people from many different places, with many different beliefs, and of many different colors, you can imagine how that construct was challenged.

I recall a conversation with a couple of work colleagues, one Mexican, the other black. They were relating to me stories of being stopped without any cause by the police. DWB-ing they called it. Driving While Black. Or Driving While Brown. The construction of my own reality could not let me believe that this happened. Because, in my own experience, I was never stopped by the police without a reason. So, if it didn’t happen to me, certainly, it couldn’t happen to anyone else. And, certainly, not because of the color of their skin.

But, then, my son had an experience that blew this construct to pieces. Some of you have heard this story. He attended California Lutheran University, which was located in Thousand Oaks, northwest of Los Angeles in a very white, very wealthy suburb. We lived in the heart of Los Angeles. My son loved the urban wear look - you know, the pants hanging down, the hoodie. You get the picture. He also drove a 1966 Dodge Dart. A neighbor of ours had given it to him for free. Michael had spent some of his hard-earned money that summer before school on new rims. Rims that were really dope. And urban.

One Sunday night, after a weekend at home, he left to return to school. It was in the wintertime and it was pretty cold outside. The heater in his Dart didn’t work. So, he pulled up his hoodie, put on some gloves, and took off for school. About 45 minutes later, I received a call from him. He told me that he had been stopped by a sheriff’s deputy near school, just after he’d gotten off the freeway. There were no tail lights out in his car. He swore he wasn’t speeding. But, what was more curious was what happened when he pulled off to the side of the road and the officer approached his car. He shined his flashlight in my son’s face. And seemed surprised. “Oh! This was a mistake,” he said. “You can go!” My son didn’t understand what had happened. But, I did. Once the officer got beyond the hoodie and the gloves, the tricked out vehicle, he saw that my son was white. And he let him go. No warning. No ticket. Nothing. 

And the construct of my reality was expanded to accept the truth that my black and brown friends had told me all along. And I deeply regretted and grieved that I had not believed them in the first place. 

This is what is happening here. Both with Job and with Eliphaz. Their own constructs of reality are being expanded in the midst of Job’s suffering to include new experiences, new realities. But, along with that expanded reality, comes loss. Loss of dreams and expectations. Loss of hope. And, so, Job continues his lament. But, this time, it is directly to God.

We read in chapter 7.

But I won’t keep quiet;

    I will speak in the adversity of my spirit,

    groan in the bitterness of my life.

Am I Sea or the Sea Monster

    that you place me under guard?

If I say, “My couch will comfort me,”

    my bed will diminish my murmuring.

You scare me with dreams,

    frighten me with visions.

I would choose strangling

    and death instead of my bones.

I reject life; I don’t want to live long;

    leave me alone, for my days are empty.

What are human beings, that you exalt them,

    that you take note of them,

    visit them each morning,

    test them every moment?

Why not look away from me;

    let me alone until I swallow my spit?

If I sinned, what did I do to you,

    guardian of people?

Why have you made me your target

    so that I’m a burden to myself?

Why not forgive my sin,

    overlook my iniquity?

Then I would lie down in the dust;

    you would search hard for me,

    and I would not exist. --Job 7:11-21 (CEB)

We are in the midst of incredible times. Everything we know. Our own constructions of reality - like those of Job and Eliphaz - are being challenged, expanded, even blown completely apart. We lament this. We grieve the loss and suffering of it all. The loss of life from COVID-19. The loss of life from racism and racist acts. The economic loss. The loss of companionship and community. 

Everything we know is being challenged. What else is there to do but to sit in the midst of it - in the midst of our grief and lament - and to ask God why. Like Job. Why?

I’m sure you have heard it said that it feels as though we are in apocalyptic times. Perhaps, I’ve even said that. It may feel like that. But, I would remind you that the word apocalypse means unveiling. What if this time is an unveiling? An unveiling of the constructions of reality that are not true? That are not consistent with God’s truth? What if God is at work in the midst of our world, in the midst of the evil in which we find ourselves, in the midst of these times, working to unveil these untruths and to rebuild a world of truth? Of new truths? Of new constructions of reality that are God’s reality? God’s truths? Truths that are based in the saving acts of Christ and the renewing work of the Holy Spirit? That are about justice and peace? And wholeness and equity? Constructions of reality that are expansive enough for everyone - for all that God has created? 

Perhaps the question for Job - and for us - isn’t “Why?”. Perhaps the question is, “What if?”.

Preached Sunday, June 21, 2020, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Pentecost 3

Readings: Job 3:1-10, 4:1-9, 7:11-21; Psalm 25:1-7

Responding to God's Love: Ruth - God's Hesed

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

This fall we’ve been reading stories of people who lived out God’s calling for their lives through the relationships they had with God and with other people. Today is our sixth story of covenant and relationship. Before we begin looking at today’s story, we’re going to see how well we remember the previous five stories.

To do this, I need five volunteers. Each one of these people represents one of our stories. Your job, first, is to figure out which story they symbolize. Your second job is to, then, identify the order that these stories appear in the Bible. If you need it, you can use the pew Bible to help jog your memory. 

• Gen. 2:16-17 - Plant, symbolizing creation
• Genesis 18:14a - Bread, symbolizing Abraham and Sarah’s hospitality
• Genesis 32:28 - Wrestler, symbolizing Jacob wrestling with God
• Exodus 3:5 - Barefoot, symbolizing "holy ground"
• Deuteronomy 6:5 - Ten Commandments or tablet, symbolizing God giving Moses the Ten Commandments

Now that we’ve reviewed these stories of God and God’s relationship to people, let’s hear today's story. It’s also about relationship, although God doesn’t play a direct role in this story. So, perhaps, for us, it’s an important story. Because in these times after Christ, we don’t see a visible God present in our world, but more of a hidden God, working behind the scenes, just as in today’s story.

During the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land. A man with his wife and two sons went from Bethlehem of Judah to dwell in the territory of Moab. The name of that man was Elimelech, the name of his wife was Naomi, and the names of his two sons were Mahlon and Chilion. They were Ephrathites from Bethlehem in Judah. They entered the territory of Moab and settled there.

But Elimelech, Naomi’s husband, died. Then only she was left, along with her two sons. They took wives for themselves, Moabite women; the name of the first was Orpah and the name of the second was Ruth. And they lived there for about ten years.

But both of the sons, Mahlon and Chilion, also died. Only the woman was left, without her two children and without her husband.

Then she arose along with her daughters-in-law to return from the field of Moab, because while in the territory of Moab she had heard that the Lord had paid attention to his people by providing food for them. She left the place where she had been, and her two daughters-in-law went with her. They went along the road to return to the land of Judah.

Naomi said to her daughters-in-law, “Go, turn back, each of you to the household of your mother. May the Lord deal faithfully with you, just as you have done with the dead and with me. May the Lord provide for you so that you may find security, each woman in the household of her husband.” Then she kissed them, and they lifted up their voices and wept.

But they replied to her, “No, instead we will return with you, to your people.”

Naomi replied, “Turn back, my daughters. Why would you go with me? Will there again be sons in my womb, that they would be husbands for you? Turn back, my daughters. Go. I am too old for a husband. If I were to say that I have hope, even if I had a husband tonight, and even more, if I were to bear sons— would you wait until they grew up? Would you refrain from having a husband? No, my daughters. This is more bitter for me than for you, since the Lord’s will has come out against me.”

Then they lifted up their voices and wept again. Orpah kissed her mother-in-law, but Ruth stayed with her. Naomi said, “Look, your sister-in-law is returning to her people and to her gods. Turn back after your sister-in-law.”

But Ruth replied, “Don’t urge me to abandon you, to turn back from following after you. Wherever you go, I will go; and wherever you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. Wherever you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord do this to me and more so if even death separates me from you.”  --Ruth 1:1-17 (CEB)

Today, we read only a portion of the story of Ruth. Ruth is only one of two women with an entire book in scripture that is dedicated to telling her story. Who knows the other book? Yes, it’s the book of Esther. Esther is a Jewish queen. Ruth is neither Jewish. And, she is definitely not royalty. Yet, she is one of only four women who are named in Jesus’ genealogy, or history. Our key verses today are from chapter one. The book of Ruth is only four chapters long and it’s a great story. So, when you get home today, I encourage you to read the rest of Ruth.

There are many different approaches that we might make to today’s story. As it opens, we hear that there is a famine in Bethlehem. The irony here is that Bethlehem means “House of Bread.” The “House of Bread” is now empty. And Elimelech, our opening character, and his wife, Naomi,  Naomi, and their two sons, Mahlon and Chilion, must leave Judah, their home country and travel to Moab, another country, for food. So, one approach to today’s story might be that of food insecurity. Something that we, here, at Grace & Glory seek to address every week. 

Another approach might be related to the relationship between nations. Because the history between Moab and Judah is complex. Isn’t that something we see and understand, especially, as we grow older. That relationships between nations, as between people, are not simple. Or black and white. But, that they are filled with complexity. Moab and Judah are cousins. The Moabites are descendents of Lot, Abraham’s nephew. They are family. And, yet, there is a long history between them. Warning made to Israel that the women of Moab are seductive and will seduce Israelite men away from God. It’s this belief that eventually results in a law that forbids Moabites from entering Israel’s religious assemblies to the tenth generation. Yet, they are family, albeit, the black sheep of the family. 

To approach from this angle would also work, especially given the news stories this week of the situation at the Turkish and Syrian borders and the long, historic relationship between the Kurds and the Turks - a relationship fraught with complexity.

A third angle, or approach, might be that of immigration. Elimelech and Naomi and their sons are refugees from famine. Traveling to another country for food - a country that might not welcome them wholeheartedly and, in fact, a country that might reject them. That might shame them. Simply for seeking security for their family.

How appropriate this approach might be for us today, when the number of refugees in our world has surpassed the numbers from the time of the second world war and as our own country has continued to reduce the number of refugees it is accepting annually. To be an immigrant in our world today means to be without a country. Rejected. Isolated. Insecure.

A fourth approach (Who knew there could be so many ways to approach this story??) - a fourth approach, might be that of women. And, particularly, the role of women in a patriarchal society. Where one is considered property. Devalued. Not only for one’s ideas or opinions, but even for one’s body. Which doesn’t even belong to oneself. In our #MeToo era, this, too, would be a valid approach.

There are even more approaches. There is loss. The loss Naomi experienced with not only the death of her husband, but of both her sons. And the insecurity that resulted for her. And her daughters-in-law. Related to this is the issue of infertility - that after ten years of marriage, neither of her sons and their wives have had children. And so, there is also loss her. The loss of hope. And as a congregation that has had members experience much loss this year, this, too, would be an appropriate approach.

But, there is one approach that I will call an “umbrella approach.” You know when you open an umbrella and it covers everyone under it, this approach is like that. Because it is an overriding theme that we hear and experience throughout this complex story with so many different themes and approaches running through it.

That umbrella approach is connected to the Hebrew word hesed. We’ve heard that word before. It’s hard to define for us in English. It means “steadfast love” or “loving kindness.” In the Septuagint, which is the original Greek Bible translated from the Hebrew, the Greek word used for the Hebrew word hesed is the word we translate into English as grace. Normally, hesed is attributed to God. It’s a word used hundreds of times in the psalms to describe a God who is faithful. And loving. A God who shows a kind of covenantal love. The same kind of love that we see in the marriage covenant. A love that hangs in. Through the thick and the thin. The until “death do us part” kind of love. That kind of love. It is true that hesed describes the love and faithfulness of our God. The hesed that God continually shows to God’s people. To us.

Yet, in this small story in scripture, the hesed shown is that by Ruth toward Naomi. Ruth, who makes a choice to remain with her mother-in-law, instead of returning to her own mother. Who, then, returns with her mother-in-law back to Naomi’s home village, to her home country. Ruth, who is now the foreigner. Who is willing to risk everything - her family, her country, perhaps even her life - to show love and faithfulness - hesed - to Naomi, her mother-in-law.  

Because, you see, hesed is not just an adjective. Hesed is not just about an emotion. Like the Hebrew word shema last week, hesed is also a verb. It’s about action. About putting love into action. Whether it is to feed the hungry, to make peace between nations, to care for the immigrant, to lift up women and others who for way too long have been treated as “other,” or to simply be with and accompany those who have experienced deep loss, to show hesed is to show love in action. 

This is who we are to be. Because this is whose we are. 

We love because God first loved us. Amen.

Preached October 12, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY
Pentecost 18
Readings: Mark 3:33-35, Psalm 126, Ruth 1:1-17

Invitation to Abundant Life: Thirsty?

Now when Jesus learned that the Pharisees had heard, “Jesus is making and baptizing more disciples than John” —although it was not Jesus himself but his disciples who baptized— he left Judea and started back to Galilee. But he had to go through Samaria. So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.

A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”

Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come back.” The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!” The woman said to him, “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” Jesus said to her, “Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” The woman said to him, “I know that Messiah is coming” (who is called Christ). “When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.” Jesus said to her, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”

Just then his disciples came. They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, but no one said, “What do you want?” or, “Why are you speaking with her?” Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” They left the city and were on their way to him.

Meanwhile the disciples were urging him, “Rabbi, eat something.” But he said to them, “I have food to eat that you do not know about.” So the disciples said to one another, “Surely no one has brought him something to eat?” Jesus said to them, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work. Do you not say, ‘Four months more, then comes the harvest’? But I tell you, look around you, and see how the fields are ripe for harvesting. The reaper is already receiving wages and is gathering fruit for eternal life, so that sower and reaper may rejoice together. For here the saying holds true, ‘One sows and another reaps.’ I sent you to reap that for which you did not labor. Others have labored, and you have entered into their labor.”

Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I have ever done.” So when the Samaritans came to him, they asked him to stay with them; and he stayed there two days. And many more believed because of his word. They said to the woman, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world.” John 4:1-42 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, the Messiah, who is Christ, the Lord. Amen.

I first experienced “it” when I was nine years old. I was a young girl, growing up on a ranch, pretty accustomed to hard work. Carrying five-gallon pails of feed and bales of hay. I was pretty strong for my age.

So, in fourth grade, after I’d already been playing piano for five years and the clarinet for one, and after I noticed a big double bass violin sitting in our music room at the public school I attended, I was kind of surprised at my music teacher’s response when I asked if I could learn how to play this big, beautifully carved instrument. “No,” he said. “Girls can’t play the double bass. Their fingers are too weak for the heavy strings.”

You see, I’d never experienced it before. That “being a girl” limited me in any way. I lived on a ranch where everyone simply had to do whatever was needed to make sure things got done. There was no difference between what I could do or what my brother could do. 

I didn’t really know at that time what “it” was. But, I knew it felt very unfair. And that it just wasn’t right. I was a strong girl and a very musical girl. After all these years, I still believe I could have learned the double bass in no time flat and with no fingering difficulties.

As I got older, “it” happened more and more. And “it” took on different forms. Sometimes, “it” was just a little slight. Something I could brush off easily. Like getting served second after a boy in the dining hall when I’d been there first. Or silly things boys would say--”Girls are weak, but guys are strong!”

At other times, “it” wasn’t so slight. Often “it” was frustrating. Like at work, when I’d put forward a new idea or raise an issue over and over again with a male superior with no response. And then see an immediate response to a male colleague who would put forward my idea or raise my issue and immediately be heard. Or the time when a deputy sheriff I worked with, said to me, “You know, you’d get more dates if you’d act more stupid.”

Sometimes “it” was frightening. Like the time in my early twenties when I went to my usual laundromat, as I did weekly, and walked in the door to see a man sitting on a washing machine exposing himself to me. I walked to the far end and, when I turned around, everything was magically normal and it was as though I’d imagined the entire experience.

Sometimes “it” was appalling. Like the time, when, as the present of my local union at the courts in Los Angeles, I sat with colleagues and listened as they told me the stories of how, when women were first hired there in the 1970’s, there was an unspoken rule for female court clerks. That, in their case, they were expected to serve the judge in every way he required. And that some of them did. Because they needed the job to support their families.

Over time, I’ve kept telling myself “it” is getting better. That there have been continuous gains in overcoming “it.” That since I started working in the 1980’s, “it” has diminished. But then another wave washes over our society. Another movement of rising up. More women sharing their stories. Vast numbers of women posting #metoo on Twitter or on Facebook . On my page alone, many. From my 16-year-old cousin, to friends in their 40’s and 50’s and from the oldest--my aunt who is 92 years old. Over and over and over again, it seems, we fight to change “it”. Over and over and over again, it seems, we fail. We cannot seem to fully eliminate “it.” We can not seem to fully erase the sexism that continues to reign in our world today.

How did we get here? How did reach a point where sexism is so deeply embedded in our society that it seems impossible to overcome?

To answer that question, we need to go back centuries. Millenia, to be exact. If we’re reading Scripture, to Genesis, chapter 3, after the fall, where God says to Eve: “I will greatly increase your pangs in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children, yet your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.” Sexism comes from our own brokenness. Patriarchy has reigned in our world for thousands and thousands of years. Over and over and over again, men have created structures that have sought to keep women in their place. Or at least the place where men believed women should be. It has resulted in deeply embedded biases that continue to exist today. Biases that are often implicit, hidden, unseen. Yet, still there. In men. And in women.

Yes, I said “and in women.” Because, ladies, we have learned patriarchy well. Often we are our own worst enemies. Tearing each other apart. Just as in a conversation I heard one day in my home church in Pasadena between two women. As they were talking about our pastor--a female pastor--one of them said to the other, “Oh, it would be so refreshing to hear a man’s voice from the pulpit.”

It is bias...it is sexism...it is patriarchy that for centuries has also caused the misinterpretation of the story that is our focus today. How often have we heard this story of the Samaritan woman characterized as “the woman caught in adultery!” Yet, if we read it carefully and we understand its context, both culturally and as it is placed in the Gospel of John, there is nowhere in this story that this conclusion can be reached. There is nothing in it that reflects that she is an adulteress. It is not there. Just as, in her story, there is NO condemnation from Jesus there. Either.  

So, what do we have in our story? We have a woman. First problem. If you haven’t figured it out from our Old Testament readings over these past few months, Israel was a deeply patriarchal society. Women were property. Good for bearing children. Not good if one was unable to bear children. A man could divorce a woman for the most minor of reasons simply by saying the words, “I divorce you.” She would then be homeless. And penniless. This was why producing a child--particularly, a male child--ensured her security into old age. And why being barren was terrifying.

Next, she was a Samaritan woman. Second problem. The Jewish and Samaritan people hated each other. Even though they confessed the same God, there was long-standing hostility between them that was centered around where God should be worshipped. If Jesus, as a Jew, had received a drink of water from her, he would have immediately been unclean. This is why, when he asks her for a drink, she challenges him: “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?”

Next, they met at a well. Third problem. If you recall, wells were the places where you went to meet the opposite sex. To find a wife. Or a husband. And this well--well, it wasn’t just any old well. It was Jacob’s well--a place where Jacob and Rachel were engaged and, where Jacob’s son, Isaac, and Rebekkah were betrothed. Engagements happened at wells. They were places of intimacy. Intimacy experienced as sexual tension. Places where a man and a woman were not supposed to be alone together.

Next, and finally, they met at the sixth hour. At noon. Another problem. Or at least, that’s how it's been interpreted for us these past 2,000 years. That, instead of going to the well early in the morning like all of the other women did, she went in the middle of the day, when the sun was bright and it was hot. Just so she could escape the shame and mockery of the other women. This interpretation completely ignores that this was also the time of day with the light. Light, which, in John, signifies belief and faith. 

When we lay this problematic story, as the Gospel writer has, beside last week’s story of Nicodemus, and we compare and contrast them, here is what we have: An unnamed woman from a despised people at the well in broad daylight, compared to a named Jewish leader coming to Jesus in the middle of the night.

What is the author of John doing?

Do you remember our passage from last week--John 3:16? “For God so loved the world…?”

By putting these two stories side-by-side, John is showing us who exactly is included in that world that God loved. Nicodemus should have been the one who got it, rather than this unnamed woman at the well. Instead, John places her here to show us just who God has invited into abundant life--into the living water.

You see it is not only for those on the inside. But, it is, particularly, for those on the outside. For those who finally say, “I have no husband,” with all of the pain and suffering that is behind those words. That, in her case, comes from the likely reality that she has either been widowed. Or divorced. Or both.  Because she was barren. And because she is likely now suffering the humiliation of a Levirate marriage, a type of marriage prescribed in Scripture. Where her husband has died and she has been passed from brother to brother, finally reaching the youngest who can refuse to marry her, but must still take her into his home to care for her. 

When Jesus asks her to go get her husband, it all comes pouring out. All the pain and heartache. All the loneliness and shame. Everything that she has experienced comes pouring out.

What does Jesus do? Jesus hears her. He listens. And he does not condemn her.  Not once.

This is what we must do to overcome “it.” To overcome sexism. Or racism. Or class-ism. Or any other “ism” that is out there. We. Must. Listen. We must hear the stories and we must believe them. We must listen to the pain and suffering, the loneliness and shame. And we must not condemn. So often, we recite the words of John 3:16, yet we overlook those of John 3:17. “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

Jesus did not condemn her. And, unlike Nicodemus, this unnamed Samaritan woman became a witness to him. “Many Samaritans from that city believed in Jesus because of the woman’s testimony,” our story tells us. Many Samaritans. All because of her witness.

So, let us also be like her, this unnamed Samaritan woman, who shows us what is to be Jesus’ disciple. Let us be witnesses to Jesus and to a God who loved all the world so much that God gave God’s only son, that whoever believes in him will not perish, but will have living water. Abundant life. Here and now. And for all time. 

May God grant it. Amen.

Preached February 4, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY
Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany
Readings: Psalm 42:1-3, 5; John 4:1-42