The Third Sunday of Lent – Mark S. Winward
This coming Saturday will mark the twenty-eighth anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood – but the beginning of that journey goes back to a call to ministry when I was but 15 years old. Looking back over these fifty years, I find myself asking what I’ve learned. Today’s Gospel, the story of the woman at the well, gives me one answer. And it says something important about who Jesus is and about how we are meant to live as his followers.
Usually, when we hear this passage, we focus on the woman from a distance. But it may help to picture the moment as she experienced it. Imagine it is noon near Sychar. She has come to draw water in the middle of the day, alone. It is hard work, and she is by herself for a reason. Her life has left her isolated, even within her own community the Jews viewed as outcasts. Then Jesus speaks to her and asks for a drink. That may not sound unusual to us, but it would have been unusual to her. Jews and Samaritans did not relate to each other easily, and men did not normally start public conversations with women this way – let alone a Samaritan woman. Jesus ignores those boundaries. He speaks to her directly and treats her as someone worthy of attention and respect.
That matters because it reflects something basic in our life of faith. The Bible repeatedly calls God’s people to care for the stranger, the foreigner, the immigrant, and the vulnerable. This is hardly a minor theme in Scripture – it appears again and again. Our Baptismal Covenant expresses the same calling when it says that we are to seek and serve Christ in all persons, love our neighbor as ourselves, and respect the dignity of every human being. So concern for vulnerable people isn’t separate from the Gospel – it’s part of what faithfulness looks like.
But then Jesus moves the conversation deeper. He offers the woman living water, shifting the focus away from the old dispute about the proper place of worship. Instead, he points instead to worship in Spirit and in truth.
That part of the passage speaks very directly to me. Over the years, I have increasingly come to believe that liturgy matters, theology matters, and the outward practices of faith matter – but none of them is enough by itself. As important as they are, they aren’t the core of our faith. That center is a living relationship with God that calls us, sustains us, and changes us. If that’s lost, everything else becomes a hollow shell. And that relationship is most often brought sharply into focus when we meet Christ in people who are afraid, vulnerable, or pushed to the edges.
That’s why this Gospel feels so relevant at this moment in our history. We’ve all seen reports of immigration enforcement in other cities, and many people in church communities like ours are worried about what may happen next. Families, especially those from Hispanic backgrounds and other immigrant communities, live in fear, uncertainty, and real distress. Some are worried about separation. Some are living with ongoing instability. Some are simply trying to make it through each day without knowing what comes next. When that’s true, the Church cannot ignore it. Prayer is necessary, but so are compassion and practical support.
I agree with our bishop that a country can maintain secure borders, remove dangerous criminals, and expect law enforcement to do its work faithfully and with integrity, while also providing a haven to those who are fleeing danger and a path to stability and citizenship for those who live and work among us. I hardly think those commitments cancel each other out. What I believe is that a more compassionate immigration policy is possible, and I believe it can be pursued without losing sight of anyone’s dignity.
Later in the story, Jesus reveals his identity in striking way. He doesn’t begin with the powerful or the respected. He reveals himself to this woman, someone on the margins of her community. And this outcast Samaritan woman, rejected by Jesus’ own people, becomes the first proclaiming to her community what she has seen. That is one of the things ministry has taught me over and over again: God often works through people we might overlook. Insight, faith, and grace don’t always reveal themselves in ways we might expect. But regardless of the nature of the encounter with God, it always changes us. It changed the woman at the well, and it affected the people who listened to her. The same should be true for us. If we open our hearts to hear Christ’s voice, then we should expect that something in us will need to change.
Please know that I deeply appreciate the diversity of perspectives on this crisis in this nation and in our own parish. My hope is that the Holy Spirit may strengthen what needs strengthening among us, soften what needs softening, and draw us more deeply into devotion to God in Christ for the sake of all God’s beloved children. So I invite you to join in continued prayer and faithful action: for adults and children in detention, for families living in fear, for a more just and merciful immigration policy, and for our own deeper obedience to the commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves. That tension between justice and compassion isn’t simple, and it’s not always comfortable. But rest assured, God’s grace is present in it – and present more fully than we might know this side of heaven. Amen.