We are struck, in the history of our Lord, with the unworldliness
of his manner of living his daily life and fulfilling his great
commission. It is emphatically true, in the history of Jesus, that
his ways are not as our ways, and his thoughts as our thoughts.
He did not choose the disciples of his first ministry as worldly
wisdom would have chosen them. Though men of good and honest hearts,
they were neither the most cultured nor the most influential of his
nation. We should have said that men of the standing of Joseph of
Arimathea or Nicodemus were preferable, other things being equal, to
Peter the fisherman or Matthew the tax-gatherer; but Jesus thought
otherwise.
And, furthermore, he sometimes selected those apparently most
unlikely to further his ends. Thus, when he had a mission of mercy
in view for Samaria, he called to the work a woman; not such as we
should suppose a divine teacher would choose,--not a preëminently
intellectual or a very good woman,--but, on the contrary, one of a
careless life, and loose morals, and little culture. The history
of this person, of the way in which he sought her acquaintance,
arrested her attention, gained access to her heart, and made of
her a missionary to draw the attention of her people to him, is
wonderfully given by St. John. We have the image of a woman--such
as many are, social, good-humored, talkative, and utterly without
any high moral sense--approaching the well, where she sees this
weary Jew reclining to rest himself. He introduces himself to her
acquaintance by asking a favor,--the readiest way to open the heart
of a woman of that class. She is evidently surprised that he will
speak to her, being a Jew, and she a daughter of a despised and
hated race. "How is it," she says, "that thou, a Jew, askest drink
of me, a woman of Samaria?" Jesus now answers her in that symbolic
and poetic strain which was familiar with him: "If thou knewest
the gift of God, and who this is that asketh drink of thee, thou
wouldst ask of him, and he would give thee living water." The woman
sees in this only the occasion for a lively rejoinder: "Sir, thou
hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep; from whence then
hast thou that living water?" With that same mysterious air, as if
speaking unconsciously from out some higher sphere, he answers,
"Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again; but whosoever
shall drink of the water that I shall give shall never thirst. The
water that I shall give shall be a well in him springing up to
everlasting life."
Impressed strangely by the words of the stranger, she answers
confusedly, "Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither
come hither to draw." There is a feeble attempt at a jest struggling
with the awe which is growing upon her. Jesus now touches the vital
spot in her life. "Go, call thy husband and come hither." She said,
"I have no husband." He answers, "Well hast thou said I have no
husband; thou hast had five husbands, and he thou now hast is not
thy husband; in that saidst thou truly."
The stern, grave chastity of the Jew, his reverence for marriage,
strike coldly on the light-minded woman accustomed to the easy
tolerance of a low state of society. She is abashed, and hastily
seeks to change the subject: "Sir, I see thou art a prophet;" and
then she introduces the controverted point of the two liturgies and
temples of Samaria and Jerusalem,--not the first nor the last was
she of those who seek relief from conscience by discussing doctrinal
dogmas. Then, to our astonishment, Jesus proceeds to declare to
this woman of light mind and loose morality the sublime doctrines
of spiritual worship, to predict the new era which is dawning on
the world: "Woman, believe me, the hour cometh when neither in this
mountain nor yet in Jerusalem shall ye worship the Father. The hour
cometh and now is when the true worshipper shall worship the Father
in spirit and in truth, for the Father seeketh such to worship
him. God is a Spirit, and they that worship him must worship him
in spirit and in truth." Then, in a sort of confused awe at his
earnestness, the woman said, "I know that Messiah shall come, and
when he is come he will tell us all things." Jesus saith unto her,
"I that speak unto thee am he."
At this moment the disciples returned. With their national
prejudices, it was very astonishing, as they drew nigh, to see that
their Master was in close and earnest conversation with a Samaritan
woman. Nevertheless, when the higher and godlike in Jesus was fully
enkindled, the light and fire were such as to awe them. They saw
that he was in an exalted mood, which they dared not question. All
the infinite love of the Saviour, the shepherd of souls, was awaking
within him; the soul whom he has inspired with a new and holy
calling is leaving him on a mission that is to bring crowds to his
love. The disciples pray him to eat, but he is no longer hungry, no
longer thirsty, no longer weary; he exults in the gifts that he is
ready to give, and the hearts that are opening to receive.
The disciples pray him, "Master, eat." He said, "I have meat to eat
that ye know not of." They question in an undertone, "Hath any one
brought him aught to eat?" He answers, "My meat and my drink is to
do the will of Him that sent me, and to finish his work." Then,
pointing towards the city, he speaks impassioned words of a harvest
which is at hand; and they wonder.
But meanwhile the woman, with the eagerness and bright, social
readiness which characterize her, is calling to her townsmen, "Come,
see a man that told me all that ever I did. Is not this the Christ?"
What followed on this? A crowd press out to see the wonder. Jesus
is invited as an honored guest; he spends two days in the city, and
gathers a band of disciples.
After the resurrection of Jesus, we find further fruits of the
harvest sown by a chance interview of Jesus with this woman. In the
eighth of Acts we read of the ingathering of a church in a city of
Samaria, where it is said that "the people, with one accord, gave
heed to the things spoken by Philip, and there was great joy in that
city."
One thing in this story impresses us strongly,--the power which
Jesus had to touch the divinest capabilities in the unlikeliest
subjects. He struck at once and directly for what was highest and
noblest in souls where it lay most hidden. As physician of souls he
appealed directly to the vital moral force, and it acted under his
touch. He saw the higher nature in this woman, and as one might draw
a magnet over a heap of rubbish and bring out pure metal, so he from
this careless, light-minded, good-natured, unprincipled creature
brought out the suppressed and hidden yearning for a better and
higher life. She had no prejudices to keep, no station to preserve;
she was even to her own low moral sense consciously a sinner, and
she was ready at the kind and powerful appeal to leave all and
follow him.
We have no further history of her. She is living now somewhere; but
wherever she may be, we may be quite sure she never has forgotten
the conversation at the well in Samaria, and the man who "told her
all that ever she did."