Northwest Montana News

John 4:5-42 

“Woman at the Well” Monologue by Judith Evenden

Oh, it feels so good to be back here again.  I would never have thought that I could feel like this here, of all places. For years being in this place has just been another reminder of how alone I am, and how much I am not like the rest of them. Now I walk here and for the first time in my life I feel whole, I feel loved.

There it is my water jug. I ran off in such a hurry the other day that I left it behind. It's just that no one has ever spoken to me in that way. His voice, his eyes, his touch, it was as if I had known him all my life and he had known me. It is good to be here again. This place is truly holy ground. 

Do you know my name? Probably not. Not many people do.  You see, I am "that woman." I am the one they all talk about - the one who has had five husbands and now lives with a man without benefit of marriage. I know what they say about me. That is why I come here alone every day for my water.

Years from now, I imagine, people will tell the story of my meeting Jesus and they will still not know my name. They will probably use the bare facts of my life to transform this story into one in which Jesus rescued me from an awful sinful life, but it isn't true. You see, people think they know my story, but they only know bits and pieces. They know that I have been married many times, but they do not know why. They know that I am living with a man to whom I am not married, but they do not know the reason. Everything they say about me beyond these basic facts is the result of assumptions and prejudice thinking. That is why I come here alone. I used to come with the rest of the women. We would come here first thing in the morning, before the sun got hot, and draw our water for the day. It was a time to talk and laugh together. It was a time to share stories and tears, but I got tired of their snide comments, and judgmental looks, so I just started coming late, at midday. It is the warmest time of the day which makes carrying the water difficult, but it is so much easier than dealing with them. I come here at noon because it is safe. At least it always was, until the other day. I was walking down the road, my jug on my head, as I always do. That’s when I saw him; a man sitting on the edge of the wall by this well. From his clothes, I can tell he is not from around here. My heart starts to beat faster. In my mind, I am saying: "Who is this man?  Why is he here alone?”  Maybe I should turn around and come back later. But it is too late. He has already seen me. If I look frightened and turn to run, he might run after me. This is the fear that I live with because of what people say and how they feel about me. 

I constantly lived with that fear until a few days ago. His eyes, his face, the color of his skin, all tell me that this man is probably a Jew. What is a Jew doing in Samaria? They usually go out of their way, a two day walk out of their way, to avoid Samaria. Who is this man? Is he lost? Is he blind? He is looking straight at me now. I try to stay calm and continue to walk toward the well with my eyes cast down, but I am deeply afraid. If he is here to hurt me no one will come to my aid. Hoping that he might have moved off, I look up, but he is still there. He is standing now, a casual stance, smiling and looking at me with those big brown eyes. Then he speaks: "Shalom," he says. "I've been hoping that you would come along. A well’s not much good if you can't reach the water.” I can't believe my ears. Does he know who he is talking to? I am a woman, a Samaritan woman, and we are in a public place. He is a man, a Jew, and a rabbi.  These were three very good reasons why he should not speak a word to me. Yet he does. He is standing there, smiling at me as though I were a long-lost friend that he has been waiting to see. That both frightens and intrigues me. He is waiting for a response. No one is within sight, so it seems all right to answer him. In my answer, I give him an out. "How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?" (I add the 'Samaria' because I think that if he is lost he might realize the sin he is committing by speaking to me, and choose to withdraw.)  His response is anything but a withdrawal. He says to me: "If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, 'Give me a drink', you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water." I have no idea what he is talking about. I think maybe the heat or the lack of water has confused this man, so I shift my focus to his original request for a drink. I look for his cup or bucket, but he has nothing, literally nothing - not even a sack for clothes or food. This man is alone and empty handed. I reach for my jug and say to him: "Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water?" He reaches out and takes hold of the jug with me and together we draw the water from the well. His hands are strong, yet gentle. When he lifts the water jug to his lips, his eyes close as if he is about to drink the most precious wine in the world. As he drinks, I nervously keep talking. "Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?"  He puts the jug down on the edge of the well and looks at me as though he is looking at a lost child. He says, pointing to the well, "Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life." His words are so strange. I still have no idea what he is talking about. He does not appear to be possessed by demons, and yet his words are curious to my ears. Still, not knowing if my life is in danger, I decide to play along. I say to him, "Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water." Expecting him to say something more about his water, he surprises me by asking me to go and call my husband. Once more I feel fear rising in my body. Is he checking to see if I am married? Is he wondering if anyone will come looking for me if I do not return? You might think this an overreaction - after all this man has said nothing that is threatening - but I have no way of knowing who he is or what he really wants. He looks like a Jew. He is dressed like a rabbi. What will he think if I tell him I am living with a man, but am not married to him? I decide half the truth will have to do. I reply, "I have no husband."  He smiles at me and says: "You are right in saying 'I have no husband' for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!" My heart sinks. How can he know?  He is a foreigner. He can't possibly know about my life. Still, what he says is true. Was he here at the well earlier in the day when the other women were here?  Did he hear them talking? Almost as surprising as the words he utters is the lack of judgment that I feel when he speaks. For years, they have blamed me for the deaths and divorces. It is always my fault. No one cares about my side of the story. I am a woman. I am someone's property. People have judged me without knowing me. I am an outcast with no voice. But I am an outcast for reasons that are beyond my power to control. I have no status in my world. 

To ease my tension, I choose to use a little humor and flattery. Sir," I say, "I see that you are a prophet."  When that fails, I decide to change the topic completely. "Our ancestors worshipped on this mountain," I tell him, "but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem." I think maybe this topic will engage us in a conversation about our different religious cultures. His response is, again, full of words and phrases that I cannot understand. He says something about the future when we will worship in spirit and truth. It is all so confusing and the sun is so hot. I just want to get my water and go home.

Thinking I might be able to end the conversation and be on my way, I say to him, "I know that the Messiah is coming. When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us."

That is when he says it - a statement which opens my eyes to this stranger. "I am he, the one who is speaking to you." I am struck dumb. I stand silently before him. Looking down at the ground, I think to myself "How else could he have known everything about me? Why else would I have been led to this man? Why else would I have not run away in fear if he is not who he says he is?" In that moment, it is as if all of my shame, my fears, the years of self-judgment all fall away. Then, the well from within me that has been dry for so long, begins to overflow. Tears pour down my face. My broken heart cracks open. In that moment, I feel, for the first time in my life, an inner peace and new sense of life bubbling forth from deep inside. This is more love and acceptance than I have ever known. 

I lift my head to meet his eyes and I realize that, in that moment when I had been most vulnerable, a group of men has joined us. For a moment I feel my fear returning, but his eyes reassure me. Without a word, I know these are his friends and that I need not be afraid. The men, however, look astonished. They probably realize that we have been talking together. But they too remain silent.  I sense it is probably not the first time he has broken the rules.

With my newfound sense of inner joy and peace, I turn and run all the way back to the village. I even forget my water jug. Out of breath, I struggle to tell everyone that I meet what has happened and I urge them, compel them, to go to the well themselves and meet this man. What makes this whole experience so extraordinary, is that they listen to me.  They believe me. Me, this woman whom they have shunned, who has never been called by name. They listen, and they believe.

Because of that day, my hope for life has been renewed. People will still tell awful stories about me. There will be many more who will still never know my name. However, many will believe because of me. Jesus stayed for two more days, teaching and healing. We spoke together before he left, and he told me that many believed because of my testimony. Me - the woman with no name. I helped the Messiah reach a whole community.

Do you know my name? It doesn't really matter to me, but it might matter to someone else. There are many in this world who have stories to tell that are silenced by those who would judge them because of how they look, where they live, how they speak, whom they love. As you travel through your life, encountering those who are different from you, whose stories you know only in bits and pieces, walk gently and try to leave your assumptions and your judgments here at the well. The man, who met me here, has living water for everyone. It is not just for those who can make to the well, but it is for all. It is a living water that will quench even the driest thirst. You do not know my name and it is too late for you to know it now. However, it is not too late for you to know the names of those you walk beside or past every day.

This place for me is now holy ground, for in this place I came to know that I am loved. My hope is that someday all people will be able to walk to a well like this with hearts full of joy and love, and their thoughts blessed with the sweetness of his name. I have to leave you now, but I will leave my jug behind. May it be a reminder of all that has happened here. Shalom

Original source can be found here.