It
was an unlikely meeting.
Last
week, that meeting was far more likely: Nicodemus, a Pharisee,
seeking out Jesus by night, curious about Jesus’ teaching and
miracles, sniffing out a potential messiah—maybe hedging his
bets just in case Jesus was the messiah—but furtive because
Nicodemus could not afford the political fallout if it became widely
known that he was keeping company with this liberal young rabbi.
Nicodemus would have been even more cautious if he had seen what
we’ve just seen in Jesus’ meeting the Samaritan woman.
That was, as I have already said, a far more unlikely meeting.
Why
was that so? She was a Samaritan, which is to say an enemy, a mongrel
Jew, theologically heretical, and contact would have made Jesus
ritually unclean. No amount of antibacterial soap and “Happy
Birthdays to You” would have cleaned that stain. That’s
why, of course, the story of the Good Samaritan is so poignant. He’s
the one, hated and despised by the Jews as he was, who cares for
the Jew who is robbed and beaten by thieves. And so Jesus, in this
story, in meeting with the Samaritan, is putting his reputation on
the line, but even more so because this Samaritan is (1) a woman,
and (2) a woman “with a past,” and (3) she’s alone.
What a perfect setup for a sexual misconduct lawsuit! The woman is
justifiably surprised that Jesus talks to her and tells him that—brazen
hussy that she, apparently is!
It
was, by all accounts, an extraordinary encounter. And yet the setting,
in its own way, is very ordinary. It’s an ordinary
day and the woman is at an ordinary task, something she does every
day—getting water from the well. And that’s something
I want to pursue even though there’s lots here—always
is in John’s gospel—living water, eternal life, messiah,
salvation, etc., etc. I just want to play with this extraordinary/ordinary
juxtaposition and to connect it with my life of faith and your life
of faith.
Last
Sunday Patti reminded us that the life of faith is a process rather
than the result of one moment. It had to do with being born again
and what that means. And even though some of us, probably most
of us, can remember extraordinary moments of clarity or revelation
of God’s presence, it is really an awareness of God in the
most ordinary of circumstances that often defines faith for us. Just
like the woman at the well, Jesus tends to reach out to us in very
ordinary ways, at least most of the time. Certainly that’s
true Sunday by Sunday when he comes to us in bread and wine.
But
the special thing about this ordinary business is that it is God
there: God on our way to work, God on the sidelines while we’re
coaching soccer, God while we’re taking a shower or walking
the dog. Not a big deal and a very big deal all at the same time.
William Willimon, chaplain at Duke, recalls one of his favorite
pastimes in listening to people talk about their experiences of God.
Forget
telling me your problems. We’ve all got problems.
Come to me with your problem and there’s a good chance I’ll
force you to listen to mine. But if you have some personal experience
of God, I’m all ears.
I’ve learned a few things by listening to people talk about
their meetings with God. For one thing, I had the erroneous notion
that people were likely to have some dramatic spiritual experience,
some encounter with the Divine as a result of their search for God.
They were busy looking for God—on a religious retreat, poring
over scripture, trying to pay attention to a sermon without dozing—and
found God. As it turns out, most of those with whom I speak were
not looking for God at all. They were just minding their own business
and were surprised to find that God was looking for them!
And while Willimon would love to discover that these experiences
have all happened at church, particularly since he works so hard
to enable such theophanies, he finds that they mostly happen at the
office, or while washing the dishes, or feeding the dog; finding
God in the ordinary, and/or God finding you in the ordinary.
Now
a whole other chapter could be written about what is revealed in
these encounters, but let’s just enjoy the fact that there
is an encounter at all—that Jesus takes the time to be with
us, and that it is Jesus with us. Perhaps this is the personal relationship
part of “Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus?” It’s
not so much what Jesus tells us to do, or even necessarily what we
know about him, but is, simply, the miracle of being aware of his
presence, of sensing a nearness, a confidence that he likes being
with me and my enjoyment of being with him.
It
doesn’t have to be a long drawn-out process—maybe
just a minute or two, maybe longer depending on the circumstances—but
an awareness that he is very near and that it’s O.K. Better
yet, we’re O.K.
Amen.
