Memorable Encounters

Reduced version of Encounters

Author: Roberto Badenas

Project development: Editorial Safeliz, S. L.

Design and layout: Avatar Estudio

Cover design: Bezalel&Aoliabe design

Translation: Annette D. Melgosa

Edited by Penny Wheeler and copyedited by James Cavil

Copyright © Editorial Safeliz, S. L.

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Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

Scripture quotations marked (NKJV) are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked (NEB) are taken from the New English Bible, copyright © Cambridge University Press and Oxford University Press 1961, 1970. All rights reserved.

September 2016: 1st edition in English language

ISBN: 978-84-7208-245-8

Printed in THAILAND

IMP01

Index

1 - In the Desert 7

2 - In the Night 19

3 - By the Well 33

4 - At the Beach 43

5 - In the Courtyard 55

6 - At the Foot of the Mountain 65

7 - At Dawn 79

8 - On a Trip 93

9 - Alone with the Master 105

10 - On Their Way 115

11 - Under a Tree 127

12 - At the Feast 139

13 - At a Supper 149

14 - Among the Columns 157

15 - In the Evening 177

16 - Farewell with Friends 189

In the Desert

Looking for the other One

The Jordan River snakes its way down through the Judean desert, dropping nearly 1,300 feet below sea level before finally entering the stagnant waters of the Dead Sea. The lowest area on earth, this is a place steeped in history.

It seems hard to believe that this bleak land, so tortured by erosion and scorched by the fire of heaven, once embraced the modern, vibrant city of Sodom in its fertile valley. Not even Jericho’s dark-green oasis of palm trees can soften the feeling of desolation as one looks upon these broken heaps of stones and lifeless ruins.

The sound of early-morning travelers splashing through the waters at Bethabara rudely echoes from sharp peaks and black crevices, and awakens the sleeping hills. All caravans must cross the river at this point. Here God preformed a miracle, dividing the Jordan’s deep turbulent waters and enabling Joshua to lead the Israelites across it on dry ground and into the Promised Land.

This also marks the spot where Elijah opened the turbulent waters with his mantle and where, later, he ascended to heaven in a chariot of fire.

Here the river flows slowly as it rounds a large bend and finally comes to rest in a quiet pool. Released from the tortuous riverbed at last, the water laps a sandy beach that rises gently toward the mountains of Moab.

This point has become a natural meeting place for travelers, and both Galilean fishermen and people from the mountains wade across the Jordan to join the Judean artisans and Jerusalem businessmen. They make themselves comfortable among the beds of reeds and beneath the carob trees as they await the fiery new preacher whose fame has spread far and wide.

John the Baptist, the only son of priest Zechariah, has left the easy life of the Temple in search of his calling. In the bleak loneliness of these desert hills he cultivated a strong austere spirit, and now the wasteland of Bethabara is both his sanctuary and his schoolroom.

All Israel has come to see this man led by “the spirit of Elijah.” They have gathered here, at the end of a difficult journey, to hear him speak. If God, after four centuries of silence, has chosen to talk through this prophet, they all want to hear him.

Little by little, various groups begin to form. A short distance away, as if to remain aloof, stand the men of renown—the land-owning aristocrats and the priestly class. In their grasp they hold both political and religious power. Many possess the titles of nobles. They live off the taxes, and the common people mistrust their leadership but envy their wealth. Herodians and Sadducees control the Sanhedrin, conspire with Herod, and spy for Pilate. They suspect that John will become a political agitator.

On the other side of the crowd, the Pharisees stand apart. They represent learning and law. They are educated men—scribes, rabbis, doctors, teachers, barristers, theologians, and judges. They study, think, write, and influence the opinions of the masses. They stand together, securely wrapped in culture and middle-class respectability. Here to monitor events, they are determined to safeguard the status quo. Their arrogant self-sufficiency is, perhaps, the most hostile resistance confronting John the Baptist.

Roman soldiers patrol the area. Their swords and shields shimmer in the sun. Perhaps a few of the senior officers here today participated in the massacre of Bethlehem’s children some 30 years before. Certainly even the youngest among them has already been involved in at least one crucifixion. Hardened by such cruelty, they push through the crowd, rudely shoving young and old out of their way. Some of them, far from home, are off duty and have come out of curiosity, looking for a way to fill another empty day. And some, perhaps, are searching for something deeper and more meaningful than their current life affords.

No doubt, Zealots—those men who seek freedom from Roman oppression—hide among the crowd. Idealistic and cruel, they can save a life or take it for the good of their cause. Their eyes are fierce. They conceal daggers beneath their robes. The authorities call them terrorists, but they represent the national conscience, and the common people admire them, protect them, and fear them. They come to the Jordan, driven by their thirst for liberty and justice.

John, too, speaks out against the abuses of the elite, against government corruption, and clerical quislings. Now and again, a murmur rumbles through the crowd. Could John be the leader, the messiah, they ask each other, the promised one who will free the nation and establish God’s rule on earth?

Near the water, a small circle of publicans congregates. Tax collectors, customs officials, and accountants, they collaborate with the Romans for personal gain, and rightly so are considered traitors by Jewish citizens. They are the vultures of the occupying power, living symbols of the hated Imperial authority. Rejected by the religious leaders and the common people, some see in John their last hope for acceptance.

Women of painted beauty and provocative dress join the publicans. Hated by some and exploited by others, they also feel excluded by society. They mingle with the riffraff and the middle classes because loneliness engenders sadness. A little company for a little money.

Like all people, they ache for respect and understanding and dream

of a better life.

A man in a white habit passes by. Maybe he comes from the Essene monastery that lies hidden among the desert hills of Qumran. He has rejected everything except piety, scholarship, and asceticism. He lives within the shadows of the monastery, far from the human needs and problems of the present. Absorbed in himself, he strides silently through the crowd. Suddenly, he is startled by the laughter of children playing nearby. Is it possible that in all his years of deprivation and isolation he has forgotten how laughter sounds? As his eyes focus on the children, a half-smile flickers across his face. But then, as if fearful of his own humanness, he pulls his habit closer and edges away. Decades of solitary living have made him uncomfortable around the ordinary noises of life.

Townsmen, laborers, housewives, and children swell the crowd along with the homeless, the beggars, and the sick. Each one carries their own story, their own family problems, and personal conflicts. Love and hate, fear, frustration, joy, sorrow, and wounds too deep for words… all this and more hovers unsaid throughout the crowd.

Two young fishermen, John and Andrew, have come to hear the preacher. A woman named Mary, of doubtful character, stands silently in the crowd next to a young lawyer who worries over his future. Near them there is a banker who is mildly concerned about his shady business deals, a hopelessly sick man who believes he is possessed by the devil, and several strong young men in search of a dream.

These mix among the masses of the curious, indifferent, nervous, and resigned. Not much different from the rest, many would like to escape from their mediocrity. No longer satisfied with the dead-end streets of their past, they look to the new preacher for hope. They know, somehow, that life should mean more than just work and rest, pleasure and pain.

When the Baptist strides into view, silence spreads over the crowd. His face glows with the radiance of heaven, and his voice rings out strong and sure. As he preaches with conviction and power, his voice carries to the hills and resounds through the valley.

John cannot be bought. He does not fear the government, the clergy, or the people. He preaches as one who tells the truth, condemning the sins of the common man and the crimes of the powerful. He presents his message so directly that it cannot be misunderstood.

“The kingdom of God is near. The promised Messiah is coming. Prepare your hearts to receive Him.”

Strong in spirit but sensitive in nature, John knows the suffering and the injustices endured by his hearers. He feels the profound depths of their sorrows. His words condemn and terrorize some even as they bring comfort and hope to others. John’s words are those of a preacher of hope.

Quoting the prophet Isaiah, he compares his listeners to the surrounding desert: “You are a rocky wasteland which must be cleared to make a highway for ‘the one who is to come.’ The Lord comes as a farmer to clean the threshing floor, to gather the wheat into His barn, to burn up the chaff” (Luke 3:4-6). He comes as a king to visit His subjects. “Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him” (Matt. 3:3, NIV).

His message pierces the minds and consciences of his listeners. It awakens some from complacency and challenges the fanaticism of others. And in many it sparks a spiritual longing. These ask themselves, “What will the Messiah do with us when He comes? Are we wheat or chaff, rocky wasteland or cleared highway?”

Next, John addresses the spiritual leaders, the Pharisees and Sadducees. He knows that they have closed their minds to any type of reform.

“You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? . . . The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire” (Matt. 3:7-10, NIV).

His anger fades and his flashing eyes soften as he gazes down upon the homeless and the sick. When he finally speaks, his voice trembles with emotion. Yet it rebounds off the rocks as a cry for liberty.

“Your King is coming to you. Fix the highway to your heart. He comes to relieve your suffering, to bind up your wounds, and to break your bonds. Prepare the way for the coming of your God.”

Those despised by the virtuous recognize their need and respond first.

“What should we do?” the publicans ask (Luke 3:12, NIV).

“Don’t be greedy. Don’t rob the people. Learn to be compassionate.”

A soldier pushes his way through the crowd.

“How can I wash away all the bloodstains? How can I forget the horror of it all? How can I be rid of the nightmares? What must I do?” (Luke 3:14, NIV).

John replies quickly, fearlessly: “Begin to treat men as your brothers. Don’t use unnecessary force. Life was never meant to be lived violently.”

“What should we do?” still others ask.

“Stop living selfishly. Share with those who have less. Be generous as your God has been with you” (Luke 3:10, 11, NIV).

The powerful voice fills the air. “Repent! Change your direction! Stop going in circles in the desert and start moving toward the Promised Land. Following in the steps of the Savior who is about to come.

“We have all sinned. We all need cleansing. Baptism symbolizes purification, death to our past and the beginning of a new life. If you want to demonstrate your desire for a new life in God, come and be baptized.”

John stops talking. The silence descends with him into the river. Some feel fire burning within their souls. They feel the seeds of life and hope germinating within their hearts.

After a moment of hesitation, a soldier drops his sword and enters the river to be baptized. When he comes up out of the water and walks to the shore, a publican takes his place. John touches the man’s shoulder then lowers him under the water. After him come two women, holding each other for confidence. One after the other they are submerged in the Jordan and leave its depths dripping and smiling. And then, several young men walk resolutely to the riverbank. But something stops them.

A man is suddenly center stage. He drops his outer garment to the ground, revealing the muscular arms and shoulders of a laborer. Something about him draws the attention of the people. His young face, toughened and tanned, reflects serenity, nobility, purity, and strength. Next to him, suddenly John the Baptist appears small and insignificant.

For a long moment John stands motionless. Then he turns toward the stranger and, grasping the man’s hands in his, falls on his knees in the water.

“This is the long-awaited Messiah, the Savior of the world. You must follow Him, not me. This is the One I was talking about when I said, ‘He comes after me, but he is greater than I am, because he existed before I was born’ ” (John 1:15, 29-34; 3:22-36).

John looks into Jesus’ eyes as he continues: “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me? I baptize with water, but you will baptize us with the Holy Spirit” (Matt. 3:11).

But Jesus lifts John to his feet. “John,” He says, “today I begin my special ministry. I have come to lead men and women back to God. Help me to do everything according to the divine plan” (Matt. 3:13-15).

Trembling, John lowers Jesus under the water. Above them the sky opens, and a white light embraces them in its warmth. A thunderclap rolls across the heavens and a rich, majestic Voice declares, “This is My Son, whom I love. With Him I am well pleased” (Matt. 3:16, 17).

The light dims, and as the Voice fades into the distant hills, Jesus wades through the stream and steps up on to the bank. He slips on His robe and makes His way through the shocked and silent crowd.

As He passes nearby, His sparkling eyes fall upon those who have come in search of life’s meaning. His smile encompasses those nearest. They know He has come as their Brother and somehow sense that He has prayed for them. There in the Jordan River He prayed that everyone there would feel the warmth of God’s love, and that each one would let the waters of forgiveness wash their hearts clean. He prayed that they, too, would hear God’s voice say, “You are My beloved Child. I am satisfied with You.”

In that single moment Jesus restored to each the love they had missed for so long. And although immediately after His baptism He disappeared into the mountains of the desert, many realized they had found the Teacher for whom they had been searching. They knew that only He could fill the void within their hearts. They knew that they

must find Him again.

In the Night

I shall be… born again?

Deserted streets stare in sinister silence as he pulls his cape partially over his face to prevent being recognized in the pale-white moonlight. Cautiously he steps out of the darkened doorway. Life in the city has taught him to distrust the shadowy portals, yet he prefers the darkness to the ridicule he will face if caught rendezvousing with the young Teacher.

Jesus’ peculiar style both fascinates and frightens him. No one has ever displayed such a powerful, independent personality. Who else would be so bold, so forward, as to chase the merchants from the Temple?

Nicodemus recalls the many teachers to whom he has listened in his spiritual quest. This man’s ideas do not come from any of the common schools of thought, nor from any known sect or political party. Jesus’ magnetic spirituality sparks Nicodemus’ professional curiosity. He decides that he must discover this Man’s secret.

But approaching Jesus poses a difficult and compromising act. Nicodemus has spent his entire life preparing to be a doctor

of the law. An excellent student in the rabbinical schools and now a powerful Pharisee, he is known for his knowledge of Scripture. He even holds a coveted seat on the Sanhedrin. To be seen consulting with this itinerant preacher would be to risk his reputation as a scholar.

Nonetheless, after careful thought, Nicodemus decides to meet Jesus at night in an obscure place. And in order to avoid feeling intimidated by a visit that could become too personal, he approaches Jesus as the representative of a group who share his ideas. Nicodemus does, in fact, have friends who look with sympathy upon the Galilean. But they also fear risking position and honor, and have chosen to remain in the shadows.

Nicodemus has reached the rendezvous. For a moment, standing in front of Jesus, he seems to forget his social status. At last he senses that he can allow his feelings of unrest to surface. He seems to

know that with Jesus he can admit the nagging feeling of emptiness that has been with him for so long. In a spirit of humility rarely seen in men of his class, he addresses this country carpenter as Rabbi, or “Teacher.”

The essence of this conversation, undoubtedly deep and engaging, takes only half a page in the Gospel of John.

“Rabbi, we know you are a teacher who has come from God. For no one could perform the signs you are doing if God were not with

him” (John 3:2, NIV).

Taking no notice of the flattery, and dispensing with protocol, Jesus accepts His role as teacher and presents Nicodemus with ideas that will force him to revise his entire way of thinking.

Jesus begins with a challenge. “I tell you the truth, unless a man is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” That is, if you want your world to change, first you must change.

Nicodemus takes a step back. What does Jesus mean? It is true that many things must be corrected and changed in order to make the world a better place. He himself wants a great change. He longs for the Messiah’s appearing and for the liberation of Israel and a prosperous kingdom under the divine blessing. He has come to Jesus to find out how he, as a national leader, can accelerate its coming. Even his name (Victory for the People) reveals his desire for change.

But the idea of a new birth from above, of a new beginning,

stops him in his tracks. He does not see any relationship

between the desired change in world affairs and his own way

of life. A complete transformation, a radical personal change, seems not only impossible but unnecessary. After all, he is Nicodemus—honest, sincere, religious, respected, admired, and appreciated.

Must one really become a different person with other ideals, other goals, much higher than those held before? Cannot anything be salvaged? Is it even possible to break away from the past and begin again with better principles?

If he understands Jesus correctly, then he must abandon even the most sure and indisputable of his beliefs and ideals. Does this mean that religious piety, even devotion as faithful as his, will not suffice? That such faithfulness is not enough to enter the kingdom of God?

Nicodemus, good Pharisee as he is, believes that man can save himself through obedience to the divine laws. Is he not good enough to enter God’s kingdom? Must he admit that he needs a new life rather than new religious practices? Must he admit that he is a spiritual embryo when he has imagined himself upon the peak of spiritual maturity? Isn’t it all a bit excessive?

Nicodemus cannot comprehend what Jesus is saying. You see, every man is a result of his past, a slave to his family upbringing, his social background, and the unique circumstances that have, to a great extent, conditioned his responses. No one can forget his past. Surely no one can break with everything and begin again.

But Jesus insists. Not even the best heritage, the most advantageous surroundings, or the most exclusive religious education can guarantee entrance into the superior realm of reality that we call the kingdom of God. None of this is sufficient, because the simple reality is that we must allow God to reign unconditionally within us. And we all are so far from allowing Him this privilege that to do so truly means being “born again” or “from above.”

To be “born from above” is to begin to live fully. We are marred and limited because we are humans. We are not born totally alive. From the

moment of our conception we carry death’s seed deep within us. To be born from above means reaching the summit of human existence through the restoration of a lost spiritual dimension. It means shedding the thick skin that envelopes us, forcing us to see that our small world is not the sole reality. It means opening our eyes to the light of another, better world. It means discovering that by connecting ourselves to God even our finitude can be overcome.

Nicodemus feels dizzy, off balance. To accept and follow this teaching would force him to abandon his conventional beliefs and attitudes. Controlling himself through sheer mental discipline and struggling to preserve his point of reference, he sarcastically asks, “How can a man be born again when he is old? Can he enter again his mother’s womb?”

Is Nicodemus old, or does he feel that it is too late for him to start again? His rejection does not stem from stupidity nor bad intentions. Rather, it is the defensive mechanism of a man whose belief system has been threatened. It is the response of a frightened, yet honest, intellect. Nicodemus needs to test the new ground before stepping on to it.

From his human perspective he cannot understand how God can change a man and yet respect his freedom of choice. His private interview with Jesus will teach him that the idea of being born again is less absurd than that of trying to save himself by his own efforts. Jesus will show him that he can have an infinitely greater guarantee of success if he responds to the all-embracing power of God rather than trusting his own limited resources.

But at this point, Nicodemus does not understand that Jesus is not requiring the impossible but offering the seemingly unattainable. He does not yet realize that the new birth is not something Christ requires of him. Rather it is a gift that Christ is prepared to bestow on him, fully and generously.

In the spiritual realm the “self-made man” does not exist. We are incapable of rebuilding without help from outside. To begin from ground level is beyond our capabilities. To begin a truly new life we must first experience our own helplessness and our need for outside intervention.

Nicodemus does not yet comprehend any of this so Jesus states the same thing in different words. “I tell you the truth, unless a man is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.”

For an expert in the Scriptures, as is Nicodemus, the mention of water and Spirit is a clear allusion to the principles of creation. The new birth signifies a new creation. Thus the action is not human, but divine.

Jesus explains, “In mankind there are two levels of existence, the physical and the spiritual. Each can transmit only the life it possesses. The flesh transmits the weak human condition. The spirit transmits the power of God.”

To explain further, human aspirations reach no higher than economic well-being, family satisfaction, or personal prestige. From this level humans can never hope to become all that God has planned for them to be, nor can they overcome their own innate weaknesses.

“Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit.” (John 3:6, NIV). Man can defeat his spiritual impotence only with God’s power.

The new birth Jesus suggests means entering into a new reality whose center is God and not the human. It means passing from a life of dependence, restricted and choked by human limitations, to a life free and open to all the possibilities of the Spirit. It means passing from the reality of condemnation and death to the vibrancy of new life.

Surprised at Jesus’ words, Nicodemus asks how this change is possible.

With irony Jesus forces him to look for life’s meaning outside the bounds of his religious upbringing. “You are Israel’s teacher . . . and you do not understand these things?” (John 3:10).

Nicodemus knows so much. Religion is his area of expertise. Living and moving in a world of theological argument and debate, he stands out as a learned scholar. But somehow he has missed the most elementary of lessons. He has not learned that the spiritual life depends not upon his own theological knowledge about God but upon his relationship with Him. He has not learned that it is possible for a person to obtain the high title of Doctor of the Sacred Scriptures without a personal relationship with the God revealed in Scripture.

“You should not be surprised,” Jesus says, “at my saying, ‘You must be born again.’ The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit” (John 3:7, 8).

The spiritual rebirth changes violent men into apostles of peace. Those formerly consumed by hatred can now forgive and love. The erstwhile mean, self-indulgent and egotistical person now volunteers his services in the most generous enterprises… One doesn’t need to understand the process of regeneration. The important thing is that it occurs, and for it to occur we must respond to the love of God in our hearts, constraining us to surrender to Him. The powerful energy of grace supplies the rest. No one knows how it occurs, but in a given moment it breaks into our lives and transforms us. The new birth cannot be explained. It can only be experienced. And not just once for all time, but each and every day (1 Cor. 15:31; 2 Cor. 4:16).

Suddenly, Nicodemus realizes the shallowness of his knowledge of God. He has tried to understand from his own point of reference, but divine creativity cannot be enclosed within the framework of theology. The fault does not lie in his sources but in his interpretation. The Old Testament is a continual lesson on the incredible initiative of divine love. But just as it is difficult for the materialist to imagine a reality apart from things, the legalist cannot imagine a relationship with God other than in terms of obedience to law.

Revealing his confusion, Nicodemus asks, “How can this be?”

These are his last recorded words of that night encounter. From here on Nicodemus silently listens to this unusual Friend. Jesus tells him, “We speak of what we know, and we testify to what we have seen” (John 3:9-11).

Nicodemus came looking for a messiah to rule over Israel. But God has decided to rule over all people. His Envoy will be king over all who wish to be born into a life without end in a kingdom of love without frontiers. “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).

If God loves without barriers and wishes us happiness without limits, His objective—when He sent the Messiah—could not have been judgment, as Nicodemus and his colleagues believed. The judgment is the ultimate consequence of human choice. The mission of the Son was to bring life, now and forever. His aim was not to destroy some and save others, but to bring hope to all.

Jesus prefers volunteers to pawns who are forced into compliance. His kingdom cannot be established by force, but by loving persuasion.

Jesus reads Nicodemus’ mind as he wonders, “What must one do to have this life? How can one be born again?”

Humanity, suffering from a deathblow deep within, needs only to grasp the new life as one with a serious wound pins his hope on any available cure.

And Jesus had the answer. “Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him” (John 3:14, 15, NIV).

The human race condemned itself to death by separating from God, the only Source of life. Our only chance of survival is to connect our mortality with eternity. Our destiny depends upon our final choice: to give in to the Light of life or to separate ourselves to pursue the clouds of nothingness. There are no other choices. In some dangerous births the only solution is surgical intervention. So we, too, can see the light only through the intervention of the Surgeon “from above.” It’s a radical solution, but in just such a solution is our salvation.

“Whoever lives by the truth comes into the light” (John 3:21, NIV). With these words of hope echoing in his ears, Nicodemus leaves. This restless intellectual has found more than a teacher. However, though he exits marked forever by this disconcerting message, it will take time before he will act on what he has learned. His will be not a rapid “birth,” but a prolonged “gestation.”

He could have become a new man right that night, entering into the service of the gospel. Instead he continued to work as a lawyer at the service of the law.

Nicodemus waited three years before making his decision. Only when the Sanhedrin decided to arrest and finish once and for all with this revolutionary Preacher did Nicodemus finally risk himself in the Teacher’s defense. He waited, not for lack of conviction, but lack of courage. Too afraid of what others would think and of

how a decision for Jesus would affect his career, he admired Him from a distance. Nicodemus ran the risk of never leaving the lukewarm group which God will eventually spit from His mouth. He waited to declare himself until he saw Jesus hanging on the cross that terrible Friday.

Finally, remembering Jesus’ allusion to the serpent lifted up in the wilderness, he dared to stand and align himself with the crucified Jesus. When Pilate gave permission for Joseph of Arimathea to take the body of Jesus from the cross and give it an honored burial, Nicodemus contributed about 75 pounds of myrrh and aloes. Then, following Jewish custom, he and Joseph bound the body of Jesus with linen and spices. It was a final tribute to the One that Nicodemus had followed from afar, covering with perfume the wounds that his own cowardice had helped to inflict.

After his first meeting with Jesus, Nicodemus returned to his own world. But beyond the shadows, in the distant horizon of his life, an inescapable sunrise had begun to dawn.

By the Well

Unquenchable thirst

The fierce sun blazes in the midday sky, stifling and suffocating in the still air. Heat rises from the stones surrounding a well, and a dusty traveler tries in vain to protect Himself from the sweltering rays. He sits alone by the wellhead, for at this hour everyone has retreated to the relatively cool darkness of their home.

Why has He chosen such a solitary time to wait by the well? Either morning or evening was the logical time. A chill envelops the plaza at dawn, bravely challenging the rising sun. And in the evening, almost imperceptibly at first, the coolness steals back as shadows lengthen and the heat slowly subsides.

These are the hours when all along the path brown pitchers are seen bobbing above dark heads and white veils. Women’s laughter fills the air. Boys, wishing to be men, cluster bashfully upon the stepping-stones of the plaza, awaiting the maidens who come to draw water. Men sit in the shadows discussing politics and business. The well is the center of town life at these times. But not now. Not at midday. So why has Jesus stopped here?

He has trekked through Samaria to Sychar to confront the pain and prejudice of human hearts. Jesus knows that Jews and Samaritans share only the rivalry of separate religious ruins. They share only the common ground of hatred, pride, arrogance, and grudges. Scarred by years of mistrust and insult, the people of these neighboring countries will not even speak to one another. Today, Jesus chooses to reach beyond the hatred and the hurt to the hated and the hurting.

He has come at noon because He knows the Samaritan woman will be there. And so He sits waiting.

She trudges up the hot, dusty path accompanied only by her shadow. Her lonely arrogance is as visible as her bracelets glinting in the sun. No one knows what she hides behind her aggressive look, but her midday trips to the well have long been a topic of conversation among the townspeople.

She ignores the Stranger, but He is there to meet her, and addresses her in a way she is sure to understand. He looks up. “Give me a drink,” He says.

The woman pauses. Why has this Jew spoken to her? What can He want from a Samaritan woman? Jews considered Samaritans less than dogs. His request is nothing more than an overworked line. Asking for water beside a well! She knows the Old Testament. Almost all the love stories in Sychar begin this way. When Abraham decided to find a bride for his son, he sent his servant to a well. Way back then his strategy was the same.

“May it be that when I say to a girl,” Abraham’s servant prayed,

“ ‘Please let down your jar that I may have a drink,’ and she says, ‘Drink, and I’ll water your camels too’—let her be the one you have chosen for your servant Isaac” (see Gen. 24).

That was how Isaac and Rebekah came to be married. And today this strange Jew sits at the well that had been dug by Jacob, the son of that famous couple, and asks her for a drink.

The Samaritan woman knows the line by heart. She has participated in the scenario alongside the well with five or six men, each time hoping that her dreams would finally come true. But that had been when she could still dream. Is this Man any different? Can He offer her hope for the future? Will she encounter her destiny here today? Can she dream just once more?

She eyes Jesus cautiously, still unconvinced. Unwilling to trust again yet just as unwilling to end the conversation, she teasingly plays with her words. She speaks of water as one would speak of the rain when it is torrential or the sun when there is good weather. She speaks merely to fill the silence until she can decide what this Stranger has to offer.

An abyss, seemingly impassable, spreads between Jesus and this woman. It separates their worlds, yet Jesus reaches out to her. Samaritan and Jew; sinner and sinless. Her world is one of unstable relationships in the night. This Man presents her with an encounter at high noon.

He chooses His words carefully, each one calculated to spark hope where there is none. Apart from His genuine thirst, He knows that to ask for water is to say, “I’ve come to talk about your future.” How else could He interest a woman like her?

“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, which would never run dry. He would give you water that overflows all boundaries and that cannot be channeled by any system of irrigation. He would give you a fountain of life, a spring of hope. My water brings life to the spirit and to the body. It cleanses inside and out.”

It is not strange that when Jesus offers the Samaritan better water, she thinks in concrete terms. Can this Man offer her a house with a water storage tank? Can He offer her a tap, a sink, or perhaps even a bathroom of marble? No. He does not seem able to offer her any of these. And so the woman sidesteps involvement and continues to draw water.

Time is precious for Jesus. In the distance He already sees His returning disciples. And so He dispenses with the small talk of new acquaintances and offers her, from the depths of His compassion, water much more valuable and refreshing. He speaks of living water. Jesus believes the Samaritan is capable of following the spiritual lesson.

By talking with her of spiritual things, Jesus shows her the respect not often shown to women of that time, and thus places her above social barriers, religious taboos, sexist exclusion, and racial borders. He frees theology from its last straitjacket and puts it to work on behalf of this woman. Will He be understood?

In order to clear up any misunderstanding, Jesus turns toward her once more. “Go, call your husband,” He suggests, “then come back.” He is really saying, “Show Me your true identity, your social status. Introduce Me to the one who gives you a name and legal standing.”

She ducks her head. “I have no husband.”

“You are right when you say you have no husband,” Jesus kindly confronts her. “The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”

Jesus does not condemn her. He speaks neither of adultery nor of divorce. Neither is His simple statement meant to humor her. He simply reads her heart.

Five husbands, five unclosed wounds. How many disappointments? How many times can a heart break?

“It is not strange that in order to avoid more suffering you commit yourself less and less. You have buried five dreams. Five times you planted gardens where there was only desert. You cannot take more failure, but the ground is still parched. If you have given up on human love, could it be because you are actually looking for eternal acceptance?”

The woman begins to understand. “Sir,” she says, suddenly seeing Him for the first time, “I can see that You are a prophet.”

For a brief moment she drops her mask of frivolity, allowing Him to glimpse her broken heart. But she recovers quickly.

“I am not a practicing believer, although I have always wanted to believe. But what should I believe in?” she asks. “You Jews say that you possess the truth. And your God can be worshipped only in your Temple. But the Samaritans say that one can find God only in Mount Gerizim.”

This quick-witted, intelligent woman knows that religions tend to envelop themselves in the cocoon of their own beliefs. She knows that the religious too often argue among themselves out of fervor, fanaticism, and pride. She also knows that religious leaders are men. As a Samaritan, the woman understands men only too well. So she asks a question meant to draw Jesus from her own personal case to much less dangerous issues.

But Jesus sees through her strategy. And since His bias is toward neither the Jews nor the Samaritans, He avoids both options. “God is higher than our ecclesiastical systems and larger than our theological debates. In order to find Him, you need not make a pilgrimage to a temple or climb a mountain. You need only to search the depths of your own heart.

“Religion without love as its core is nothing more than an empty cistern. To try to worship God without the indwelling spirit of truth is neither realistic nor, indeed, possible. For this reason, we find only emptiness in so many sanctuaries. They are no more than ancient dwellings on the verge of collapse. Only when we hunger and thirst after righteousness will we be satisfied, our thirst quenched. Only when we drink of living water can we truly find eternal life.”

The Samaritan woman sighs. “I know that Messiah [called Christ]

is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us” (John 4:25, NIV).

“The time has come,” Jesus tells her. “I who speak to you am He.”

The great revelation is made. Not to a dyed-in-the-wool Jew, but to a foreigner. Not to a devout, pious woman, but to a lost soul. Jesus reveals Himself to the outcast. He offers the covenant to the scorned and thirsty one.

The Samaritan woman no longer dips for water in the same old well. By its edge she leaves her empty pitcher and runs home to tell her neighbors about Jesus.

Today healing water has begun to flow. There is enough to cleanse all the wounds that the human heart has borne. Its abundance not only satisfies all Sychar and Samaria, but runs free for all, healing wounds and quenching thirst wherever it goes.

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