Living Water

by Hazel Holland

I'd forgotten how heavy these jars can feel at the end of a day--but not nearly so heavy as they used to feel. Until last spring, every time a pot ran dry, it reminded me of my hollow, empty life. Looking into this jar I see the reflection of that faded smile of a stranger that wore a mask to hide her inner turmoil. But now the mask is off.

What's that sound I hear? I can't tell if it's laughing or jeering… People are coming this way--coming from every direction. They're almost here now! They look like a hunting party, ready to attack a wild animal… They are ridiculing someone! I can't see his face. His head is bent low, and he's staggering…

He doesn't look lie a rabble-rouser or a rebel. Curses are flowing from his accuser's lips, but he's silent. They’re shouting, "Unclean… pig… fool… devil… Samaritan…!"

Those chains cutting his feet… They were my chains a year ago. How I staggered under the scorn and insults of my villagers. Wait! Why are they whipping him again? He already looks half-beaten to death! Why is it that sometimes people behave far worse than animals? Watching them mistreat this poor man doesn't help me break down my walls of prejudice…

I can't stand here anymore. I've got to do something! I want to repay a kindness. He could be one of my brothers. Can I just edge my way through the jostling crowd? Oh, I hate mobs like this!

I hate the sound of those swishing whips. They remind me of the cactus stabs that day on my way to the well. Oh how I longed for the cool water to bathe my tired feet…

I had come to the well at high noon to draw water, knowing that no one would be there. No one to remind me of my failures… But somehow I forgot all about my feet when that stranger spoke…

He was a Jew, but he spoke to me-- a Samaritan-- and a woman! He ignored social customs… our mutual hatred… when he asked me for a drink! He didn't see the walls of prejudice. They didn't exist for him. He acted as if the walls were not real… as if I mattered, but the walls did not!

And then… I'll never forget his words. He gently suggested that I should be asking him for a drink! The idea! The well was deep, and he had no bucket… and yet, he spoke of "living water," and of never being thirsty again! This was not the water I had been drinking all my life…

He just sat calmly on the edge of the well as if he had the whole world in the palm of his hand…

But this mob is anything but calm! Only the object of their rage seems to calm. He stands out in stark contrast to the mob's agitation. Yet he must be hurting terribly! He's fallen again! That cross is too heavy!

Who is he-- this man they want to crucify? Why won't anybody pay attention to my questions? Maybe they can't hear me because of this noise…. He's on his face again! Why do the soldiers have to kick him? I despise people who mistreat other human beings… If only I was a little closer, I would help him up… just like that man helped me up from my fall… When he asked me to go and get my husband, I was ashamed. But he didn't try to embarrass me. He knew about my five husbands, but he wasn't playing my avoidance game. He didn't condemn me because of my lifestyle. Instead he offered me hope and total acceptance….

I remember when he looked at me and told me who he was! I felt sure he had to be some sort of prophet, but no… He was the One we had been waiting for. My desperation turned to joy!

It was springtime, but I hadn't noticed it until then. The yellow flowers along the road seemed to nod and cheer me on my way as I ran back to the village. The fragrance they left in the air reminded me of the sweet scent of acceptance that I had begun to feel in that stranger's presence. The sun felt warm on my face as it seeped into my soul. My steps had become light-- my spirit free…

Oh I want to free him! The mob has made a terrible mistake! They have the wrong man… They must! Everything about this seems so wrong… so backwards… I just know he's not a criminal. He's not guilty. He's not! The crowd is guilty, not him! I have to tell them that he's innocent… But the closer I get the more savage the crowd's hatred feels…

Just like that day as I neared the village. My old fears returned. Would they laugh at me, or take me seriously? Nobody had ever taken me seriously before… I wasn't to be trusted, was I? What if no one would believe my story? I could hardly believe it myself!

I wanted to convince them that he was the One we had been looking for--- the Messiah--- not just another prophet--- not Moses… But… when they saw that I'd left my water jug back there in the desert, they believed my story! They followed me back out there to meet this man!

I remember that moment when I returned to the well… when the light began to dawn… He was still sitting there where I had left him, and my pot was untouched! He hadn't taken a drink-- his "living water" had nothing to do with this well! I saw that clearly then. I had survived on Jacob's well all my life. Now I really wanted to live!

How can I possibly make a difference in this angry crowd? I have to try! I can see his parched lips… Water! He needs water! If only I had… but I do! I still have my jug with me!

Quick! The soldiers are distracted. They're arguing with some of the mob. I can slip past them. I'm beside him now. I can't see his face. It's all covered with blood stains from the angry thorns… He's panting… half-crazed with pain... down on one knee.

"Sir, here's water for you. Can you lift your face toward my jug? I can't see you for my tears. I hope I'm pouring the water into your mouth , sir. You said something, sir? There… I'll pour some water over your face and into your mouth… Yes, the crowd is mocking me, but I don't care! Let me dry your face with my skirt , sir. I don't know who you are, but I'm on your side.

You're looking at me like you recognize me! Do I know you? But I don't live here… Your eyes… Yes… I've seen your eyes before! They're larger… more peaceful… the most caring eyes I have ever seen! Where have I met you before? What? Jacob's…. No! You're the One who led me to believe… But… how? Why? My God! You are Him!

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I wrote this dramatic monologue one day after reading the story in John 4 about the Samaritan woman who came to draw water at Jacob's well.