The Woman at the Well

Wednesday, June 17, was the anniversary of the murder of the Emmanuel Nine, and churches across the country remembered the victims and their families and congregations. These moments of reflection on lives lost to hatred are particularly poignant at this historical moment, when many white people are awakening to the legacies of racism in our society.

The church for which I am organist incorporated a litany that included a stark acknowledgment of the murder of the Emmanuel Nine and the connection of such violence against people of color with systemic racism in our society. The language and images were uncomfortable, and many people in this mostly-white congregation wondered why we needed to make those images and themes part of our worship. “After all,” some said, “we aren’t racists. We’re here to worship as members of the body of Christ — not made to feel guilty about who we are and about evils that other people have done.”

If you tend to react like this to images of racism and discussion of white privilege, you’re not alone. But leaving those reactions there without digging deeper can become an obstacle to living the principles of your beliefs and values. Since I am a philosopher loose in a Christian church, let’s think through the challenge of living virtue when it comes to to racism.

Suppose Jesus had been sitting next to you in your pew: Would your reactions and feelings have been different?

If you had the honesty and courage to answer, No, good for you! That’s a sign that you also have the courage to admit your struggle with these words and images and open your heart to hear what Jesus has to say to you.

When I think about Jesus’s earthly ministry, one thing stands out: He was very good at pushing people out of their comfort zones. Why does Jesus do that? Why did he do that to himself?

Think about the time he asked the Samaritan woman for a drink at Jacob’s Well (John 4). Jews and Samaritans were divided peoples with an intertwined history. The Jewish people saw Samaritans as having fallen away from the “true faith”: Samaritans were unclean, undeserving even of the usual gestures of civility. Samaritans, for their part, saw themselves as no less children of Israel than the Jews, yet denigrated by them for their identity as Samaritans.

“He came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about noon.

When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” His disciples had gone into the town to buy food. The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.”

As a “good Jewish man” of that day, the expectation is that he would not acknowledge her at all. They would simply pass each other and keep their distance. Jesus doesn’t keep his distance; he engages her over a drink of water, that precious basis for life.

It’s interesting that Jesus does not command her to give him water; rather, he asks if she is willing. Jesus’ simple question invites her to cross a divide, to interact — something both Jews and Samaritans would avoid — and she is understandably defensive, afraid to take the risk.

Jesus isn’t.

“If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

Look at what Jesus is telling her. “If you knew who you were talking to, you would abandon these arbitrary rules and beliefs that divide us, and you would be asking me for water.” In other words, You’ve taken the first step in speaking to me at all; now see who I am.

One particularly challenging concept, both in the litany and in our present moment, is the concept of “white privilege.” Some of us hear this term as a judgment, a condemnation of who we are as individuals — and a challenge to a sense that the rewards we’ve earned aren’t “really” ours. This is an understandable response; in fact, Jesus’ disciples — those Jesus hand-picked to be his companions and to receive and spread the gospel — had the same reaction.

Just then his disciples returned and were surprised to find him talking with a woman. But no one asked, “What do you want?” or “Why are you talking with her?”

Then, leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?” They came out of the town and made their way toward him.

Meanwhile his disciples urged him, “Rabbi, eat something.”

They were surprised at the sight of Jesus speaking to this Samaritan woman, but why didn’t the disciples just ask what Jesus was up to? As soon as she was out of earshot, I imagine, they encouraged him to eat something. We don’t know what motivated them, but I’ve always thought that, between the lines, they were saying, “You don’t need anything from her — let us give you what you need.” In other words, Let’s stick together and avoid them.

But he said to them, “I have food to eat that you know nothing about.”

Then his disciples said to each other, “Could someone have brought him food?”

“My food,” said Jesus, “is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work.”

That “someone” in their question is telling. Aren’t the disciples a bit horrified at the thought that their Rabbi might have eaten something this woman gave him? They were worried about eating unclean food from an unclean woman, but Jesus isn’t talking about secret food. Jesus is telling his disciples that, while they are focused on not asking questions and keeping their distance and clinging to their judgments, he is crossing divides and pushing the envelope and encountering people as they are. They are living their anxieties; Jesus is living his virtue.

Look at what is not in this narrative. Jesus didn’t call his disciples to feel ashamed of who they are. He didn’t ask them to feel guilty. He didn’t tell them they didn’t deserve what they worked for. Rather, he asked them to see — really see — the suffering of others, to reach out to them, invite them in, honor their worth, and transform the world.

In spite of how hard those words are to hear, that’s what this litany confronts as well. As a white man, I know how easy it is to hear those words and feel judged — but that’s what I am bringing to the well. Jesus turns the tables: The question is not “Should I be ashamed of who I am?” The question is, “Should others feel shame because of who they are?” The question isn’t “Don’t I deserve what I’ve worked for?” The question is, “Doesn’t everyone deserve a chance to work for their dreams — and to own and benefit from the results of their work?”

The question isn’t “Should I feel guilty when I didn’t cause the rift between us?” No. The question Jesus’ example poses is “What can I do to heal that rift — right now, in this present moment of encounter?”

That’s why I think this litany is so timely: It encourages worshippers (and human beings generally!) to see themselves in the disciples role in this story: dodging questions and sticking together and holding onto “what’s ours.” And it focuses attention on Jesus’ example, prompting us to live beyond ourselves, to ask those questions out loud, reach across divides, and share with those in need — as he did.

Leave a Reply