(Note to reader: This retelling of Jesus and the woman at the well is written from the woman’s firsthand perspective. Later Eastern Christians called her Photini. Whether her true name or not, the biblical account speaks to the many outcasts in our society who find hope not in worldly acceptance, but in heavenly rebirth.) 

​

John 4:1-32 

​

Others quoted the phrase, “Time heals all wounds" but my wounds were deep. Could mine heal? I always thought not in this life. Until that unexpected meeting. 

 

My life existed almost completely of misfortune, except for my beauty. My skin held a bronze glow, and the crowning glory was my radiant black hair. I learned at an early age how to walk to gain attention, and my goofy little smile appealed to the men, young and old. Long before I was old enough to marry, men were gravitating to my front door with a considerable dowry. 

​

My first husband? A commanding dowry payment. So, at the age of fifteen, I became his wife. Joachin ruled the home with an iron fist, demanding the paid servants take care of our every need. Cooking? No need for my learning. Caring for the home, that was the job of others. His only wish for me? Be available. The life of grandeur ended with a heart attack. When his grown son refused to care for me, I returned to my parents' home. The cycle repeated itself through two more marriages with illnesses to the older men ending both. 

​

My fourth and fifth marriages were in my late thirties. Not much of a story. The men tired of me and found reasons for a divorce. That is how I found myself living now in Sychar with a man whom I tolerated. He was fat, ugly, and hated by most, but I had a roof over my head. We don’t always get to make lemonade from lemons. 

​

Sychar, in Samaria, was a lovely place to call home. Situated in the valley next to Mount Elba, the land was rich and fertile. Because it was now spring, the valley was filled with its own spring flowers--Dominican sage, the Syrian thistle, and the bright blue flowered bugloss plant. The wildflowers represented my life: beautiful for a period but then lost its luster. I was now the one with the faded beauty. 

 

Since I was referred to as Sychar’s tramp, days amongst people were challenging. Going to the community well was always in the afternoon. Others were resting from the heat. When I arrived Tuesday afternoon to fill my water pitchers, there He was. Just sitting there, as though He was waiting for me. Nothing drew me to Him. He had on the garb of a simple Jewish teacher, sitting there by Himself. Neither extremely handsome, nor bad looking, He had the muscular body of a man who took care of Himself. Nothing exceptional stood out, except the eyes. The eyes were piercing deep inside of me, as though they were trying to pluck something out. It was a disconcerting moment, but I needed to fill my jugs with water and return home. The evening meal needed to be started. 

​

Then, with just a touch of a gravelly voice, He had the audacity to ask me for a drink. I barely kept from laughing. “You are asking me for a drink? You, by your dress, a Jew, asking me a Samaritan woman for a drink. Get serious. You know even talking to me makes you unclean, let alone using a Samaritan vessel to drink.” 

​

“My travels have been long, but I am where I need to be,” Yeshua replied. “I have come from Jerusalem purposely to Sychar. Yahweh has a special message for you and the villagers."

​

Then He uttered my name. “Photini, Yahweh wants you as one of His children. He seeks to quench your inner thirst.  Anyone who drinks this well water will thirst again, but I offer you a drink that will quench your thirst forever. It will bubble up inside you, giving you eternal life.” 

​

As we talked during the next thirty minutes, He told me He had a message from His Heavenly Father. This gift of eternal life, the unquenchable water was for all, Jews and Samaritans.  As a life-long Samaritan, I had learned how much the Jewish adherents hated us. Stories were told of Samaritans savagely beaten and followers of Judaism refusing to help if they happened to walk by. Stories like this resonated deep inside. Now He was telling me this is not what the Heavenly Father wanted. The Heavenly Father did not care about where we worshipped–Jerusalem or at the Temple on Mount Gerizim---but that Yahweh wanted to be our source of life.  

​

Then he shocked me as He recited my history: the five husbands, the guy I was now living with, and even mistakes that no one in the village knew. Then the craziest words, “I am the Messiah, the one you long to meet. Get others, let’s break this barrier between us. Let’s just talk.” 

​

Others came out of curiosity, until He started revealing events. First was his telling Amos that Yahweh was ready to heal his wife. Miriam was not to worry any longer; her long-lost daughter was almost home. Even seven-year-old Zeke was ecstatic when told where to find his lost pup. 

​

For two long days Yeshua and His followers stayed with us. As everything He prophesied to us came true, individual after individual came to believe in Him. The greatest miracle, though, was His breaking down the wall between Judaism and Samaritan beliefs. Regardless of where we called home, Yahweh was there with open arms. Others might doubt Him as the Messiah, but the people of Sychar had no doubts. He was truly the gift of life that we needed.