Richard Bollman, S.J.

February 24, 2008

SCRIPTURE: LENT 3A (2008) "Meeting the Woman at the Well"

Exodus 17:3-7; Romans 5:1-2,5-8; John 4:5-42

Here’s some comment on New Testament story telling, as a background.

The very first preaching of the Christian community

focused on Jesus' death and resurrection and his continuing presence.

But gradually there came into the tradition stories which point to his person,

and to the transforming results of an encounter with Jesus.

Think of them as "soul stories" where

Jesus is a living presence, and getting in touch with him changes people.

These are stories of healing, forgiveness, calling, faith declaration.

Just as with the risen Jesus, these stories are not intended as past events,

but as ways of expectation and new life right now.

So they provide a kind of map of conversion: first this happens, then this:

you may notice this process taking place in your own life.

We start with a kind of "outsider's" interest in Jesus--attraction, curiosity,

and it leads to actually opening our heart, even our mouth--

"who are you . . . where do you live . . . tell me more."

You back off awhile, then gradually

our faith in the deeper reality is awakened: and you "name" it--

you are the Teacher, you are Prophet, the One I've waited for,

you make a difference, you wake me up to my purpose in life.

These things happen, not just because we form an interest in Jesus,

but because he reaches out to us.

All the four Gospels tell such stories,

of Jesus reaching across boundaries toward people commonly missed,

as is the case today in the story of the woman at the well.

Paul’s letters, as today, often try to express the ultimate meaning

of such encounters with Jesus:

faith in Christ is the entry into a secure and permanent relationship with God

that Paul refers to as being justified, set right again, a free gift of love.

But Paul did not know the "Gospels" we know; at least he did not make use of those story traditions in what he wrote.

HOMILY. 3A Lent 2008

So let’s look at this story of the woman Jesus met at the well.

It’s pertinent to approach it as an invitation to a deeper look

at our own life, shifts of meaning and waking up to our own soul.

I like to wonder what she looked like: there is little representation

of this woman in the history of western religious art.

Can't you see her walking in the full light of noon.

A woman of a particular region, a certain age, a marginal sect:

cut off from the Jewish mainstream, somewhat suspect.

Even the money of Samaritans was not welcome in Judea!

And she walks by herself--no female companions,

at exactly the time of day you don't normally go to the well,

the hot noontime.

So besides being a Samaritan, she carries a personal marginality?

A series of husbands, we learn,

but probably not a series of "failed marriages" in some modern sense.

Women did not sue for divorce--they were put by.

For what? She may have produced no children.

She may have been handed on, as it were--

and what was her role in that story? What's been done to her,

and what has she all done?

Much of who she is might be obvious; and much is hidden.

We walk along with all of that, in our own history, what shows, what doesn’t.

And we have to be out there: we can’t just stay home till it all perfect.

We have to be at the well everyday, or we don’t survive:

at work, at school, always on the job, at Kroger’s, at your desk, in the car.

There is this push to accomplish, to please, to live well,

a desire not to be shoved off, or fail to make it, of be alone.

Think of it as a thirst we share. We carry our water bottles:

let them remind us of all that we need and want, not to take for granted.

The woman's story is told to awaken us to what we carry, hidden or plain--

our thirst, our broken heart, our hard work.

Right there, the story says, Jesus sits down where we have to be.

It comes from his own desire as well as ours,

as if he too has a thirst, a hunger, to be real,

to be as close as the cup the woman might give to him.

You don't have to carry all your story alone, he says;

you can be a new woman. Let me be along with you.

I hope it doesn’t sound weird to engage the Gospels in this way,

letting the story be a personal parallel to what we are about in our lives too.

As we wake up, little things happen,

a change in our perspective. You might pray for it each morning:

"Let me notice what opens up for me today, the surprises and blessing,

where You are likely to be as well."

For example:

I find myself sitting in the dermatologist’s office, a yearly check-up,

and usually a long wait; and as I pick up a copy of Newsweek

right underneath is a copy of Cosmopolitan and a come-on title

about "keeping your love relationships fresh," keeping yourself young.

It attracts attention, doesn’t it? I mean, who reads Cosmopolitan,

certainly no middle-aged gentleman,

but you don’t have to read it, something has intruded on me already,

and I find it much more interesting than a cover story about Vladimir Putin.

And it’s not nothing, I’m willing to realize, concerns of this kind:

love in one’s life is not nothing.

Keeping fresh, awake, okay young even, responsive to life itself,

whatever else "youth" might mean,

these are not irrelevant things.

So, you can pass by a magazine’s explanation of these thirsts,

all the kind of management of life that such articles usually convey,

and you can let your soul speak to you:

"if you only knew who it is that speaks, and what I am offering you,

you would ask, and he would give living water."

There it is, something of freshness, something of love, your heart invested.

Waking to this, is a gift of presence to yourself, and to Jesus.

" How is it that you would speak to me?" Well, why not!

We all go through these stages of growth. In the most ordinary event.

Out of the blue a new person in your life says she likes you and

wants to see more of you.

A shift at your job or in your class schedule at school

actually starts to open up capability you didn’t know you had.

Or just two weeks back a friend from California wrote a short letter to me

about my sister’s death, a surprise,

and a very wise and direct and open hearted letter, and I’m still awake to the gift, to something that’s moving me to life.

Seriously, things like this, ordinary as going to the well,

take us up close and personal to the mystery we’re called to live.

Or, perhaps a friend asks you to come to church,

and suddenly you’re in a situation where church people appear to be real,

and that’s odd, because you didn’t expect a welcome, any kind of encounter.

It could be, at some level, that Christ appears to be real.

Somebody may actually engage you, ask something of you,

probably not for a cup of water, maybe nothing more than your name,

but it makes a difference.

Christ sits down there where you are sitting.

And that’s the stunning shift of awareness that the Elect go through in Lent,

those who look to be baptized, confirmed, initiated, who plunge in

to that encounter with Christ through what we have each Sunday,

the word, the prayers, and soon communion at the table.

We regulars, we let it go by:

"Why are you, Christ of all, offering anything to me?"

But they don’t let it go by. Maybe their presence is enough to shake us up too.

Interventions happen, even this moment today

might be something of a shift of awareness.

You move a little bit away from the position of an outsider.

We’re all apt to be marginal to our soul until it speaks to us,

God speaks to us, from within,

that place where the fountain is about to start flowing.

Life gives little pushes toward the water, when we didn’t know we were thirsty.

So this woman of Samaria, is not from the past, but is right in the present with us.

We fidget a little bit with her, resisting personal intrusion,

preferring for awhile to talk about theology, as she does,

a question maybe about the Vatican. Rather than our true soul.

What finally gets to her is how Jesus knows her,

"everything I’ve ever done"–it’s her refrain. "I’ve been found.

And he doesn’t judge, or go away."

That’s a new kind of water.

And from that point it makes sense to turn it all over, all the soul work,

and allow yourself to be changed.