Reflection 3rd Sunday of Lent '08

Reflection for the Vigil of the Third Sunday of Lent 2008
Eleanor Suther, OSB

Isaiah 12:1-6; John 4:5-42
“With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation” Isaiah 12:3 NRSV

One of my early childhood memories was walking with my brother down the hill through our pasture to turn on the windmill which pumped water to our farmyard. The water was pumped to a wooden barrel, a holding tank for our drinking water, and the overflow was piped to the stock tank. We would fill a bucket from that barrel and carry the water to the house. When I was old enough, that became my job. I remember how excited we were when the men came to dig a new well, closer to our house. And I remember the disappointment we felt when they were unable to find a strong source of underground water. Usually that well would be sufficient for drinking water and the water we used around the house, but we were always concerned to not use too much water because the well would run dry. And in the summer drought, it often did. So in the summer months we would carry water from the stock tank to the chickens, to the fruit trees, the vegetable garden and Mom’s flowers. Carrying water was not something you could put off. It was a matter of life or death.

When I was about 9 or 10 years old, one of my brother’s friends gave him some duck eggs. My brother would have been in high school. My mother helped him find a cluck hen who would sit on the eggs—a surrogate mother. I don’t remember that my brother had a lot to do with them after that, but my mother and we three little girls delighted in the fluffy yellow ducks as they emerged from the eggs. For the first few days we kept them in a box behind the kitchen stove – a wood stove in those days. We little girls were very protective of those little ducks, keeping them away from the cats and dogs and other possible predators. Knowing that ducks like to swim, we created little swimming pools for them, and cleaned up after them. As the ducks grew, and feathers replaced their yellow fluff, they outgrow our makeshift ponds and became more adventuresome. And one day they found the farm pond—a long trek through the pasture. When we saw tthem plunge into the pond, swimming and diving and having a great time, we were delighted. They seemed to be saying “THIS is living. THIS is what it means to be a duck!”

My dad rented and finally bought an 80 acre pasture which was about a mile away from our farm on the edges of the Flint Hills. The only road was a path through our pasture and a neighbor’s pasture. So when Dad went to check on the cattle we sometimes road along in the pickup, to open gates, but mostly to play in the creek. While Dad checked out the cattle, we checked out the minnows, the frogs, and the little schools of fish, and drank cold spring water from what seemed like a magic pipe. The pipe, installed by a former owner, reached deep into the rocky bank to the underground spring to bring out clear cold spring water. The water ran continuously (a little slow in times of drought.) and you didn’t have to pump it. It just poured forth constantly. It was simply gift.

Water and fullness of life form the theme of this Sunday’s liturgy. The Israelites wandering in the desert have become disconnected from the memory of who they really are. (Judy Conato “Quantum Grace.”) The presence of water, was a matter of life or death. And here in the desert with no water to be found, they wonder, “Is the Lord with us or not?” And God supplies water out of the rock. A rock becomes a wellspring from which fresh living water flows. And they remember and know for themselves God’s presence and care for this chosen people.

In the Gospel, Jesus is passing through Samaritan territory. He comes to a well and he is thirsty. He finds a Samaritan woman there, alone. (Why is she alone? Is she an outcast?) Even outcasts and sinners need water… Jesus’ compassion moves him to connect with her and her deeper longing. He keeps pushing the conversation toward connection, and she, wary, tries to keep it on the surface. She wants to talk about a more convenient water source, but he presses beyond.

“Go call your husband.”
“I have no husband.”
“That’s true, but you’ve had five.”
“For what were you seeking?” he seems to say.
She wants to talk about religious differences, but he is interested in her, and continues to ask questions of the heart…
He will give living water.
“ You won’t have to thirst again.“

And she lets herself be drawn in—and the living water flows—out to the other villagers as she brings them the good news.

And they come to see for themselves, to this Jesus who is a wellspring of living water. And they stay for three days.

Like the Samaritan woman and the catechumens we seek the source of our deepest longing, water from the rock, the water that flows from the temple, a pure gift, drawing water with joy from the fountain of salvation. We seek the water which is part of our very nature. At Baptism we plunge into the water, the communion of life with the God who is the Source of our Being, with Christ the Wellspring, with the Living Water of the Spirit.

We have set out on our Lenten journey in quest of the Source which draws us, the Source in whom we live and move and have our being. “Sing for joy, O daughter Zion, for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel.” (Isaiah 12:6)