Sacred Conversations (3/19/17)
Qi He, Jesus and the Samaritan Woman
On Sunday we heard the story of the Samaritan woman at the well. It's a really long story. The key
to understanding the Gospel of John can be found in the Prologue to this
Gospel. John 1:1-18 explains who Jesus is and what that means for us. That
passage tells us that Jesus was always with God the Father; it tells us that
Jesus is God; and it tells us that God entered the created world in the person
of Jesus. This is also called the incarnation. The Prologue asserts that the
incarnation is as important as the creation of the world. Through the
incarnation, God enters into a direct relationship with all of humanity. Keep that thought in the back of your mind as you read the story of the Samaritan woman at the well and the sermon below.
Sacred Conversations (3/19/17)
Sermon
Good morning! I’d like to thank the Deacons this morning.
They do a lot of really good work. In addition to the usual good work that they
do, I’d like to thank them for their work in preventing the blizzard last week.
You see, we were supposed to meet last Tuesday evening, but when they heard
that we might be getting several inches of snow on Tuesday, they moved the
meeting to last Sunday after church. I think that pretty much guaranteed that
the worst of the storm missed us on Tuesday. Well done, Deacons! I’m glad we
didn’t have to deal with the challenges of snowy roads last week.
All kidding aside, I’ve been in some challenging places in
the last couple weeks. As some of you know, three weeks ago, I officiated a
funeral for a young man who died of a heroin overdose. His name was Alan and he
was thirty years old. I didn’t know him, but his sister is a friend of mine.
Alan was a lapsed Catholic and he didn’t have a strong connection to the church
anymore. I felt that I needed to be there to officiate this funeral. In truth,
it was an honor and a privilege to be invited into that space; it is a sacred
space.
A lot of people ask me if it’s difficult to officiate a
funeral. In most cases, the answer is, no. In fact, most of the pastors I know
actually like funerals. In that space, in the midst of pain and grief, we are
given the opportunity to speak a word of peace. We are afforded the opportunity
to speak of God’s grace and mercy, and of the hope we have in the resurrection.
Yes, sometimes it is difficult to deal with the pain. There
was a lot of raw grief at Alan’s funeral; his mother had to endure the loss of
her son. No parent should have to bear such a loss. Alan loved his friends and
family; everyone at that funeral home was crushed. So, it was a challenge to
work through that. And I will also acknowledge that I’ve only been in ministry
for a couple years. I haven’t had to bury a member of a congregation that I’ve
served for a long time; I haven’t had to deal with my own pain and loss at any
of the funerals I’ve officiated.
That said, when I meet people at a funeral home—whether
it’s the family, the friends, or the acquaintances of the deceased—they are all
aware of their loss and their need. They feel their own brokenness and that
creates a space for conversation. At a funeral home, people are willing and
able to admit their own need for grace. This is also true for hospital visits
and nursing home visits. The bedside in a hospital room is a sacred space. The
kitchen table where I sat with Alan’s mother and sister and planned his
funeral, that was a sacred space. And in these sacred spaces, pastors have the opportunity
to enter into sacred conversations.
In this morning’s lesson from the Gospel of John, Jesus
enters into a sacred conversation with the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well,
near the city of Sychar. The Gospel tells us that Jesus had left Judea and was
headed to Galilee, but he had to go through Samaria. This poses some problems,
both for Jesus and for us, as we try to understand this story.
You see, in Jesus’ time, a proper, upstanding, righteous
Jew would not have any contact with a Samaritan—not under any circumstances. You
see, the Samaritans were once proper Jews themselves, but long before Jesus’
time, the Samaritans began to worship in different ways. For instance, the
Samaritans worshiped God at a shrine on Mt. Gerizim; they didn’t believe that
the temple in Jerusalem was where God dwelled. This was the main source of the
rift between the Jews and the Samaritans: Jews viewed Samaritans as outsiders
and even idolaters, yet the Samaritans viewed themselves as righteous
descendants from the northern kingdom of Israel.[1] So the proper response for
a righteous Jew is to avoid Samaritans like the plague; they were impure,
sinful. A righteous Jew would have been tainted by that sinfulness. And here’s
where this story gets really interesting:
A casual glance at a map
of ancient Palestine or a rudimentary knowledge of Palestinian geography
reveals that it is not, geographically speaking, necessary to go through
Samaria when traveling from Judea to Galilee. In fact, a Jew would most
certainly not journey through Samaria because of the risk of coming in contact
with Samaritans.[2]
Yet the text of the
Gospel tells us that Jesus had to go
through Samaria. Very interesting, indeed.
The text doesn’t tell us very much about the woman,
herself. We know that she’s a Samaritan, we know that she’s come to the well at
noon, and we also know that she’s been married five times and that she’s living
with a man who’s not her husband. We know all that, but we don’t know her name!
Over the generations, scholars and pastors have tried to fill in the blanks, in
an attempt to make sense of this complex story.
Sadly, a common judgment that was laid upon this Samaritan
woman is that she was an adulteress, a harlot, or a woman of loose morals.
Perhaps these interpretations sought to explain why she had so many husbands.
But there is no information in the text to suggest that was the case. So, let’s
start with something that is in the text: this woman is a Samaritan.
Remember, the Samaritans thought of themselves as faithful
Jews. They believed that the first five books of the Bible—Genesis, Exodus,
Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy—were sacred.[3] They believed in the Law
of Moses. Under the Law, adultery was punishable by death. So, if this woman
had committed adultery, she might have been stoned to death. Now maybe she was
granted mercy once or twice, but five times? I don’t know. It’s more likely
that this woman was barren; that certainly would have been grounds for divorce.
“Yet she is continually blamed for her plight and charged with behavior for
which there is no textual or historical proof,” and also, Jesus does not
condemn her or her sinfulness.[4] So let’s abandon our own
desire to cast judgment upon her. I don’t believe her sin is at the center of
this story, but rather, her identity.
It’s also important that this story takes place at noon, in
broad daylight. This stands in sharp contrast to last week’s Gospel lesson—the
meeting between Jesus and Nicodemus occurs in the dark of night. Remember that
the Gospel of John states that Jesus is the light of all people, “the true
light, which enlightens everyone.” To claim that this story is about the
woman’s sin is to misunderstand what sin is in this Gospel:
For John, sin has
nothing to do with past actions or present indiscretions. Sin is a synonym for
lacking a relationship with God. The reference to the time of day points to the
theological theme of light and darkness, with darkness representing the realm
of unbelief and light, the realm of belief.[5]
Sin and darkness are
words that John uses to describe relationship. John’s Gospel is about a change
in the relationship between God and humanity. That relationship is forever
changed by the incarnation—the entry of God into the created world through the person
of Jesus Christ. John’s Gospel testifies to this new relationship; it testifies
to the light and the relationships by which the light is shared.
As I said before, one of the blessings of my call to
ministry is that I get invited into spiritual dark places—funeral homes,
hospital rooms, and the like. People in those places question if God is real.
People in those places question if they are loved. Those places can also be
scary for the rest of us.
Funeral homes and hospital bedsides remind us of our own
mortality. They remind us of people we have lost, and in the case of hospitals,
they remind us of our own fragility. It’s daunting. Often, we don’t know what
to say—and for many people, the way to avoid saying the wrong thing is not
going to the funeral home or the hospital at all.
Mind you, if you want to hear someone say the wrong thing,
you will certainly hear it at a funeral home. When my dad died, I can’t tell
you how many people said to me, “he’s in a better place.” Really? How do you
know? Did you visit him? Yes, yes, I know people say that with the best of
intentions, but that statement ignores the truth of my grief: I am not in a
better place. I have lost a human relationship that helped to define my
identity.
Now the truth is, the people who said, “he’s in a better
place,” were trying to take away my pain. That’s a nice idea, but no words can
take away that kind of pain—the loss is too great. What did make me feel better
was hearing people tell stories about my dad and how much he meant to them.
That validated my grief and pain. It told me that the other person had a sense
of how great my loss was.
I think that’s how Jesus works, too. Jesus doesn’t take
away the darkness, Jesus shines a light—a light that the darkness cannot
overcome. Jesus doesn’t speak of the Samaritan woman’s five husbands to condemn
her, but to show that he knows her pain. Jesus names the truth about her life,
“a truth that is heartbreaking and most likely the reason she finds herself
alone at the well.”[6]
Jesus didn’t take away her pain or her darkness, he simply
named the reality of her suffering, and through this exchange, the woman came
to know that Jesus was the Messiah. This was the larger reason for Jesus’
presence in Samaria:
That Jesus “had to” go
through Samaria is better translated “it was necessary for him” to go through
Samaria. The detail was not a geographical but a theological necessity. That
Jesus must travel through Samaria is stipulated by John 3:16, “For God so loved
the world.” The disciples, the hearers of this Gospel, need to know who and
what the world is. That God loves the world will be demonstrated by Jesus’
ministry in Samaria. The “world” is not a general claim about God’s love, or a
universal description of God’s positive inclination toward new believers.
Rather, the world represents the entirety of God’s creation, including those
who cannot imagine themselves as objects of God’s love.[7]
Jesus proclaimed God’s
love, mercy, and grace to those who were on the outside, to those who were
considered impure.
As we wrestle with the implications of this story, we must
remember that it begins with baptism—this is why I began this sermon by pouring
the water. The text reminds us that Jesus baptized people and made disciples.
Well, sort of: “it was not Jesus himself but his disciples who baptized” (John
3:2). The work didn’t belong to Jesus alone. The disciples were charged with
doing the work, too. This is because the human Jesus will only be with the
disciples for a short while, so they must carry on the work.
Hospitals and funeral homes aren’t the only dark places in
the world. They are merely the places where the darkness is obvious. To put it
another way, they are dark places that we can avoid, if we choose. We can be
like faithful Jews in Jesus’ time and avoid going into Samaria, where we might
be tainted by our contact with sinful Samaritans. But not every place of
spiritual darkness comes with a warning sign. This begs the question: Where are
the dark places that we’re afraid to go?
Being a disciple isn’t easy. We are all called to speak truth
into the brokenness of this world. To do this we have to begin by acknowledging
our own brokenness. We are broken by sin and we are broken by the world. We are
broken by a culture that tells us, asks us, begs us, and shouts at us, and
quietly whispers to us: Put your trust in the things of this world. Buy things.
Shopping will solve your problems. Earning more money will solve your problems.
Saving more money for retirement will solve your problems. Voting for the right
political party will solve your problems. Buying a bigger house will solve your
problems. Finding the right husband or wife or boyfriend or girlfriend will
solve all of your problems. All of these solutions ask us to look away from the
Christ, the Word made flesh.
What happens when we look, instead, toward the incarnation,
toward God in the world? What do we see? We see Jesus hanging out with all the
wrong people: sinners, tax collectors, prostitutes, lepers, the blind and the
disabled, and even this Samaritan woman at the well.
“The primary theological question that each Gospel answers
in the person and portrait of Jesus is, where is God?”[8] Jesus sets aside all the
social conventions of Jewish life in the first century to cross into Samaria to
meet this woman at the well. This encounter defies all expectations of the
Messiah; Jesus transgresses all the boundaries:
We have a man speaking
to a woman, a rabbi speaking to a woman, a Jew speaking with a Samaritan, a
Jewish rabbi speaking with a Samaritan, and now, we find out they are alone. For all intents and purposes,
this conversation not only should not be happening, but it stands outside the
realm of possibility.[9]
Outside the realm of
possibility—just like God entering the created world in the person of Jesus. It
defies all expectations!
What about us? Are we willing to defy expectations? Are we
willing to follow Jesus into all the wrong places? Here at Rehoboth, you are
hoping to find a new, young pastor who will attract young families to this
congregation. You and every other
congregation. That couple—husband and wife in their early or mid-thirties,
with 2.3 kids—is the unicorn of church growth. Yes, they do exist, but the myth
is that if you call the right pastor, you will magically attract the right people.
Here’s a thought: Instead of chasing after unicorns, maybe
we need to chase after some Samaritans! Maybe we have to look toward some of
the wrong people, the lost and the broken hearted, just as Jesus did. Maybe we
need to look for mothers and fathers who have lost children to the heroin
epidemic. Maybe we need to look for widows and widowers. Maybe we need to look
for single mothers. Maybe we need to look for people who drifted away from the
church, or who are just too busy.
This is what it looks like to be disciples and follow
Jesus’ call. How do we do this? We must admit our own brokenness and seek out
other broken people! We may already know where to find them. Thanks be to God.
Amen.
Benediction
Now, beloved, as you depart from this place, remember that
we are called to be the Church, the body of Christ. This is His new creation,
by water and the Word. As the Church, we are called to participate in the work
of re-creation, through relationship. Go forth and be instruments of God’s love
and peace and reconciliation. Do not return evil for evil to any person, but
know that we are all loved by God, and that we are called to reflect that love
to everyone we meet. Go forth and be the salt of the earth and the light of the
world. In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord, Let all God’s children say, Amen!
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