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"How's your week been?" I asked him. He started talking about the stress of his studies. It was safe terrain, and I knew it meant he didn't want to talk about his girlfriend this week. As a campus minister, sometimes I was too afraid to ask the uncomfortable questions. But Jesus always knew when and how to help.
John 4:16-26
"Go call your husband," he told her, "and come back here." "I don't have a husband," she answered. "You have correctly said, 'I don't have a husband,'" Jesus said. "For you've had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have said is true." "Sir," the woman replied, "I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews say that the place to worship is in Jerusalem." Jesus told her, "Believe me, woman, an hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You Samaritans worship what you do not know. We worship what we do know, because salvation is from the Jews. But an hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in Spirit and in truth. Yes, the Father wants such people to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in Spirit and in truth." The woman said to him, "I know that the Messiah is coming" (who is called Christ). "When he comes, he will explain everything to us." Jesus told her, "I, the one speaking to you, am he."
Why does Jesus ask her about her husband? It's possible that she takes his comment as flirtatious. Her response—"so, I don't have a husband..."—could be a hint that she's unattached. But Jesus isn't flirting. He's moving toward her to heal what's broken: shame, isolation, sorrow. He cares for those who know they can't hide anymore. She doesn't want to go there. She's smart. She knows he's a devout rabbi, so she pivots to a centuries-old argument about worship sites. It's the first-century equivalent of asking a pastor his views on Calvinism when he asks how your marriage is going. It feels so familiar. I've faked vulnerability on minor issues to avoid confessing to significant struggles. And I've noticed others do the same thing with me, and I was too afraid to ask how they were honestly doing. Jesus sidesteps the theological debate. It's led Jews and Samaritans to hate and even kill each other. He explains that God doesn't care where we worship, but how we worship. It's a not-so-subtle hint that we can't connect with God through deflection or pretense. To know God requires the Spirit and truth. His grace meets the reality of our sin. In a twist that humbles me every time I consider it, she vulnerably confesses: "I know that the Messiah is coming." She's hungry to connect with God. Despite all she's endured, she wants God so her life can make sense. John wants us to notice the contrast. Nicodemus, one of Israel's most respected teachers, spent an entire evening with Jesus and went to bed confused. Now, in a few minutes at a dusty, sunbaked well on the outskirts of a Samaritan village, Jesus reveals his identity to a woman abandoned by five men and living with one who refuses to treat her honorably. Look closely: Jesus is identifying her as a true worshiper. His love is causing a scandal.
The Samaritan woman pivots from her personal life to a theological debate. When have you noticed yourself (or someone else) steering a conversation toward safer ground?
What's one way you've used religion to avoid dealing with something real?
What's one area of your life where you've been performing for God rather than being honest with him?
Before your next conversation with a trustworthy friend, ask yourself: "Is there something I've been hiding from them?" Confession to a friend is often the first step toward confession to God.
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