This week, I’m posting a second comic in anticipation of the upcoming lectionary story from John 4. The Samaritan woman at the well is a delightful narrative contrast to Nicodemus (my earlier comic this week was about him). Nicodemus is a named religious leader with a positive interest in Jesus, but he comes in the cover of night. The Samaritan woman is a foreigner, who seems to know nothing about Jesus. But she finds him in the clarity of day and becomes a loud evangelist.
We do not know this woman’s real story. The text never calls her a sinner, though theologians for centuries have made unfair assumptions about her reputation. She seems unashamed of her story. Regardless of the implications of how many spouses she’s had, she unabashedly runs back to the village to proclaim, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?”
Quite opposite of Nicodemus, this unnamed woman is fearless in her response to Jesus. She does not mind association with him, and she does not mind staking her reputation. We do not know if she was experiencing darkness, or whether she felt like an isolated sinner. What we know is that she was impressed that Jesus knew her. His full gaze beheld her full self, saw past her outward presentation and without judgment stated the truth about her circumstances. Now, she either thought that was a really cool mind-reading trick, or something more deeply resonated with her.
Fully Known
Most of us long to be fully known. But who isn’t terrified of the vulnerability required to make that happen? What if the daylight reveals my zits and blemishes? What if you see I don’t really have it all together? Most of us long to be known and accepted. And that’s the gift of Christ. Here is someone who knows everything you have ever done! Your dead and dying parts, your hurt and broken parts, the parts you wish you’d done differently, the parts you didn’t even realize you got so wrong. Fully known. And what’s more, fully loved. Totally accepted.
As you continue to explore your wilderness with Christ this Lent, I encourage you to let his light shine into the darkest shadows of your well. Allow Christ to replace your stale and stagnant places with springs of eternal life.