Jesus Christ looked at this poor woman and discerned in her, though, as
I said, it was hidden beneath mountains of folly and sin, a thirsty
soul that was dimly longing for something better. And He believed that,
if once the mystery of His being and the mercy of God's gifts were
displayed before her, she would melt into a yearning of desire that is
certain to be fulfilled. In some measure the same thing is true of us
all. For surely, surely, if only you saw realities, and things as they
are, some of you would not be content to continue as you are—without
this water of life. Blind, blind, blind, are the men who grope at
noon-day as in the dark and turn away from Jesus. If you knew, not with
the head only, but with the whole nature, if you knew the thirst of
your soul, the sweetness of the water, the readiness of the Giver, and
the dry and parched land to which you condemn yourselves by your
refusal, surely you would bethink yourself and fall at His feet and
ask, and get, the water of life.
But, brethren, there is a worse case than ignorance; there is the case
of people that know and refuse, not by reason of imperfect knowledge,
but by reason of averted will. And I beseech you to ponder whether that
may not be your condition. 'Whosoever _will_, let him come.' 'Ye _will_
not come unto Me that ye might have life.' I do not think I venture
much when I say that I am sure there are people hearing me now, not
Christians, who are as certain, deep down in their hearts, that the
only rest of the soul is in God, and the only way to get it is through
Christ, as any saint of God's ever was. But the knowledge does not
touch their will because they like the poison and they do not want the
life.
Oh! dear friends, the instantaneousness of Christ's answer, and the
certainty of it, are as true for each of us as they were for this
woman. The offer is made to us all, just as it was to her. We can
gather round that Rock like the Israelites in the wilderness, and slake
every thirst of our souls from its outgushing streams. Jesus Christ
says to each of us, as He did to her, tenderly, warningly, invitingly,
and yet rebukingly, 'If thou knewest … thou wouldst ask, … and I would
give.'
Take care lest, by continual neglect, you force Him at last to change
His words, and to lament over you, as He did over the city that He
loved so well, and yet destroyed. 'If thou _hadst_ known in thy day the
things that belong to thy peace. But now they are hid from thine eyes.'