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Chapter Seven

The Woman At The Well

When Jesus said that we would begin preaching tomorrow, we assumed we would do so in the villages and towns of Judea or southern Galilee. We had no idea he would detour through Samaria to continue spreading the word. After Jesus awakened us and instructed Peter to give us our rations, he dropped this plan on us as we ate our morning meal. It was, of course, an outrageous notion in my brother James’ mind. In fact, all of the disciples, except me, found this route unacceptable. As we sat around the morning fire in discussion, Jesus was out of earshot praying. A few pilgrims, who would follow us during our journey, two of whom would become part of the ‘seventy,’ were encamped nearby. Anna, the old woman and Barnabas, the large, swarthy fellow Jesus and Peter baptized, respectively, were among this small group, as were a young man named Marcus and two Gentile-looking strangers: Arrius and Marcellus. To Jesus dismay, Deborah, who would become a distraction to us on the trail, was also among this small group.

It wasn’t clear to us why Jesus didn’t accept them into his inner circle. The six new followers had all been baptized and saved, which should have made them good candidates. None of the Galileans had been baptized and perhaps he thought James and I, as his brothers, didn’t need emersion. The fact was Jesus had his own reasons. He told us constantly that he was led by his father. At the time, I wondered why he was instructed to choose this bunch, but as it turned out, with the exception of Judas Iscariot, they became able missionaries themselves. One day, of course, this would also be true for Barnabas and Marcus.

That morning following the baptisms in the River Jordan I wasn’t impressed. So far, in spite of his great potential, Jesus had, as his support, a motley group of fishermen, and only a fraction of those baptized were present that day. I couldn’t have imagined how great a multitude would be attracted to him in the near future. But I was beginning to accept my fate. These weren’t such bad fellows. Who was I to question Jesus’ strategy? Unlike my brother James, I really had no important place to go. Feeling very optimistic that hour, I joined James and the fishermen in their criticism of Jesus, as his advocate. Ironically, when I looked over at the six converts, I saw happy and content faces as they sat around their fire, and yet the seven other disciples were filled with misgivings.

Jesus deserved better. Those moments, as we waited for him to finish his prayers, I felt sorry for him. After several proofs of his special powers, he had to put up with such faint-hearted men. Even Peter, whom Jesus had shown preference to, was confused and dismayed.

“Why Samaria?” he groaned. “That’s enemy territory. What if they waylay us? Would will Jesus do then?”

“It’s the shortest distance to Capernaum,” I explained to him. “Why not Samaria? No one’s going to know we’re Jews unless we tell them. It will take us twice as long if we travel around it. It’s the quickest route.”

“That’s not the point.” My brother James frowned. “You know their history. If it were three times the distance, we, as Jews, must go around not through their land. It’s accursed and filled with brigands.”

“Who cares?” I waved dismissively. “Our father once sold furniture to a Samaritan. He wasn’t defiled. The Samaritans have lived there for centuries paying taxes to the Greeks and then the Romans, just like us. Jesus once told me not to blame a child for his father’s sins.”

“Don’t you have it backwards?” James shook his head. “Isn’t it ‘the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon their children?’”

“That’s the old religion,” I reminded him. “Isn’t Jesus preaching something new?”

“Yes, of course.” Andrew raised a hand. “The important matter, though, is safety. Peter’s right, Jude. Defilement or not, it’s not safe. What’s the hurry, anyhow? Taking the longer route would allow Jesus to stop and preach to towns on the way.”

“Yes,” Philip nodded, “what’s the rush? There’s hundreds of towns. This is madness—purest folly. We have no weapons. We could be attacked!”

“Then Jesus will strike them dead!” I blurted in frustration. .

“What?” Bartholomew came awake. “Jesus is a man of peace. Would he really do that? What if they clubbed us to death?” Would he raise us from the dead?”

Dead silence followed. The six converts looked expectantly over at us that instant. At that point in our spiritual development Bartholomew’s last question sounded absurd, and yet, of all the disciples, he gave Jesus one correct label. After his fiery attack on the temple and his no-nonsense attitude on the march, however, the title ‘man of peace,’ he once gave himself, seemed inappropriate. As if they thought I was Jesus spokesman after my defense of him, the other disciples looked to me that moment.

“You think he’d do that?” Philip asked hopefully. “Would he strike them dead?”

“Sure, why not.” I answered dubiously.

“Yeah,” John pursed his lips. “He turned water into wine. He stood up to priests without being stoned. Why not?”

“I dunno, Jude” Bartholomew scratched his beard. “You really believe that?”

“Let’s put it this way,” I retreated slightly, “he could if wanted to. He won’t let anyone harm us. We’re the chosen.”

“Yes,” Peter said thoughtfully, “we’re the chosen. Sometimes we forget that.”

“We should trust Jesus,” I replied lamely, wishing I hadn’t opened this Pandora’s box.

For a few moments more, we discussed the possibility of Jesus striking men dead and the more enlightened subject of our discipleship. I knew that Bartholomew was right. It seems strange that a once violent man like Bartholomew would say such a thing, but it was true. With the exception of the righteous anger we saw in the temple, Jesus wasn’t a violent man. I was glad he hadn’t heard me make such a boast.

When he had finished praying and meditating, Jesus returned. Because we could see him from a distance, we had time to change the subject. Despite this deception, Jesus knew about our doubts, and he knew of my boast. The fishermen were talking about the new converts as he stood there by the fire, as if this subject would be pleasing to him. During this conversation, John and his brother James couldn’t hide their interest in Deborah.

Looking out at the six men and women, Peter exclaimed, “It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

“Hah!” Philip tossed his head. “Compared to John’s numbers, it’s a pittance.”

“Yeah,” Peter snorted, “but the Baptist was doing it for months. This was a training session. We’re like apprentices. Next time we’ll do better. Our numbers will grow.”

“Still.” Andrew shook his head. Why didn’t the others stay on? Only six converts stayed behind.”

“Most of them were idlers, pure rabble.” My brother made a face. “Two of the new converts look like Gentiles. That old woman looks like she’s a hundred years old.”

“Well, Deborah’s a good catch,” piped John. “I’m no longer just a fisher of men!”

That moment Jesus appeared in our midst, peering at our brother and then at John.

“There are no rabble or fair maidens among the sinners,” he gently scolded. “Everyone is equal in God’s eyes.” “Peter’s right,” he said, looking around at the group, “you’ll do better. Those who returned to their homes—the baptized and spectators—will take the message home with them. Be patient. This is a new message. Not everyone who hears will be saved. The farmer sows the seed, and the fisherman casts his net. In the days ahead there’ll be more harvests and more fish. You’ll be tested and face temptation and fear. Conquering temptation from sloth, avarice, and passion will make you strong. Resist evil in thought and dead. I know you’re afraid, but fear is also a weapon of Satan. Often, fearful men are faithless men. I prepare you as sheep, protected by God’s grace, and send you out as rams among wolves. It’s not for you to question our mission. You must trust in the Lord. God, mysterious and infinite, leads me. Do you dare question his mind? Would I send you out, knowing you would be harmed. When fear and temptation come to you, pray, as I’ve taught you. Prayer is your shield against both Satan and men!”

Similar words as these, reworded but in the same spirit, would be given to us throughout Jesus’ ministry whenever he saw us display doubt, yield to temptation, or weaken in our resolve. Today it had been inspired by his disciples fear and lack of enthusiasm for our destination. It had also been motivated by our attention upon Deborah, seen especially in young John. Jesus was our shepherd, and, seen in a pastoral sense, we were his herd. Resigned to our fate, in quiet obedience, we said nothing. While the other men stood with their packs slung over their shoulders, waiting by the road, I led Bartholomew’s mule down to the water’s edge for his fill and then let him forage in a nearby patch of grass. I had grown attached to this gentle beast. He reminded me a lot of my own mules retired now in our backyard in Nazareth. I had decided to purchase the mule from Bartholomew when our mission was over. I didn’t realize that the mission to spread the word would never be over. Today as the disciples and new converts followed Jesus north into Samaria, I realized, as did all of his followers, that it had only begun. Everything that Jesus had done before our detour into the land of the Samaritans, was but a rehearsal for the journey ahead.

******

Contrary to the expectations of the fishermen, Samaria wasn’t filled with brigands wishing to ambush us nor, as my brother James feared, were we defiled by Samaritans who passed us on the road. As we stopped on the outskirts of Sychar to rest and give Bartholomew a chance to step out of his bumpy cart, we ate a few morsels of bread and dates and sipped from our water skins. The fisherman and my brother James had, for different reasons, no desire to enter Sychar. Nevertheless, after a short rest, Jesus ordered Peter and Andrew to go into town to buy food. Where Jesus got his money is a mystery to me, but he presented the pair with a tinkling bag of coins. Upon their return, the food was placed in the mule cart and, with Bartholomew onboard, we finally entered the town. In the center of Sychar, in an area resembling Nazareth’s village square was a large well. Once again James reminded us of what we were doing. Would we really fill our water skins from that forbidden well? He asked us. The well was tainted. Samaria was filled with infidels who had sullied Israel’s religion. We listened with irritation to him, as Jesus walked over and peered down into the well. I wasn’t sure whether or not he was praying but he seemed deeply moved.

The six men and women converts now mingled with us as equals after Jesus words on tolerance. Though John was self-conscious and tried appearing aloof, I could tell that he was smitten with Deborah, whose shyness had disappeared after her baptism. Jesus subtle rebuke had not dampened his ardor nor kept the rest of us from gazing at this wench. All six converts, especially Deborah, were emboldened by their status. I thought that Anna, the old woman might be slightly touched at times and found Arrius and Marcellus to be a bit strange, but, in general, the six converts were an agreeable bunch. With Jesus watching them constantly, the fishermen also treated them in a friendly and even differential manner.

After arriving in Samaria without a hitch and finding little hostility among the citizens in town, the disciples appeared to relax and let down their guard. Only my brother James was bothered by where we were. Sychar was, he informed us, like Nazareth and Capernaum, once an Israelite city. Long ago, before the Samaritans polluted their land, this is where Jacob lived. That moment, as he gave us his historical sketch, a woman approached, as Jesus stood by the well.

“So that’s Jacob’s well?” Andrew exclaimed with surprise. “Right in the middle of Samaria?”

“Yes.” James nodded, glancing over at the woman. “I’m certain of this. Nicodemus showed us students a map made before the conquests. It was here in Israel, the northern Kingdom. Now the Samaritans lay claim to it. They have their own temple, their own laws, and have re-written our history. It’s a shame, a terrible shame!”

“Now James.” I waved dismissively. “The Samaritans aren’t demons. I’ve met a few. Papa did business with them. There no different than us.”

“Yeah, that woman at the well’s not bad looking.” John pursed his lips.

“So, James.” Philip looked at my brother. “Why are the Samaritans unclean? Is it just were they live?”

“No,” he snarled, “it because they’re mongrelized—a mixture of Syrians, Greeks and Jews.”

“What?” Peter’s mouth dropped.

“My mother’s father was a Samaritan,” Deborah muttered indignantly.

“Our fathers were Greek!” Arrius pointed to Marcellus.

“Mine too!” Marcus frowned. “We’re still Jews!”

“Greeks, you say?” James prodded. “Converts or mixed?”

“Neither.” Marcellus glared at him. “If you knew our history, you’d know there’s Jews everywhere—even in Rome!”

“I know our history,” James huffed, “but you’re not fish or foul. I know you Greek Jews play lightly with the law.”

Anna, the old woman, now cackled with mirth. “That’s why them Greeks wear sissy clothes and don’t have whiskers! They aren’t proper men!”

“Stop this!” Peter wrung a finger at them. “That’s not true, Anna. Shame on you James! Jesus doesn’t care about this. Why do you think he brought us here?”

“To make a point!” I chimed, folding my arms. “Jews come in many shades!”

“It’s true,” Barnabas stepped forward. “I met a black Jew once—a fellah from Egypt.”

Hearing Barnabas’ claim, Andrew and Philip laughed. The converts, John and his brother James looked at Barnabas in disbelief. Bartholomew, my brother, and I, who had seen more of the world than them, thought nothing of this. Once, in Antioch, I had met a Eunuch claiming to be a Jew. While the disciples chatted amongst themselves, Jesus approached the woman at the well. At that point, her back was turned to us, allowing Jesus to signal to us with a toss of his head. It seemed clear he wanted our silence. Sensing the significance of the encounter, we drew closer to the scene. Though my brother James felt that he was defiling himself, it wasn’t unusual for Jesus to stop and chat with strangers, whether Gentile or Jew, but this moment seemed especially important.

“I’m Jesus of Nazareth,” he introduced himself. “May I drink from your well?”

“Not a good idea,” James mumbled.

“How is it,” she asked amazement, “that you, a Jew, asks a drink from a Samaritan woman? The Jews have nothing to do with Samaritans. You think we’re unclean!”

“They are unclean!” James whispered in my ear.

Jesus spoke to all of us then: “No one, who seeks the Word is unclean. If you knew the gift of God, and who it is who asks you for a drink, you would have asked me to give you living water.”

“Living water?” muttered Bartholomew. “What’s he talking about now?”

Holding the handle of her empty pale, the woman was probably asking herself the same question. Seeing that Jesus had no pale, himself, she wrinkled her forehead, uttering a self-conscious laugh. Jesus waited patiently for her reply. Not understanding his meaning, she shrugged her shoulders and retreated a few steps. “Sir,” she said, pointing at the well, “you have nothing to draw water with. This well is deep. Where then do you get this living water?

I understood what his point was, but everyone else scratched their heads. The woman seemed especially dense.

Jesus answered now. “Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well, and drank from it himself, as well as his sons and his livestock? Whoever drinks of the water in your well will thirst again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. The water I’ll give you will become for you a fountain springing up into everlasting life!”

True to his aim to reach everyone, Jesus now offered salvation to a group even more problematical to Jews than Gentiles. I was deeply moved. I could hear the other men grumbling amongst themselves, and yet the woman’s face was radiant, reminding me of the converts’ expressions after baptism.

“Sir,” her voice caught in her throat, “…give me this water that I won’t thirst.”

I heard Peter mutter to Andrew, “Is he going to baptize her?”

“Sure.” Andrew nodded thoughtfully. “Why not?”

I thought the same myself, as did most of the others, but Jesus said, “Go find your husband and bring him here.”

Shaken by his answer, the woman replied, “I have no husband.”

“It is well that you said, ‘I have no husband.’” Jesus pointed accusingly. “You have, in fact, had five husbands, and the man you’re living with now is not your husband at all.”

“Whoa, this is getting good!” blurted John.

The fishermen and converts held their breaths, as the woman reached out with shaking hands. “Sir,” her voice trembled, “you are a great prophet of the Jews. My people worship on Mount Gerizim, but you Jews believe the proper place to worship is in Jerusalem—”

“Woman,” Jesus interrupted, “a time is coming when you’ll worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem.  For now, you worship what you do not know. We worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews.” Looking over at the nucleus of his congregation (a title I give us in retrospect), he added for our benefit, too, “…. The hour is coming when true worshipers will Him. God is spirit. He resides everywhere. Those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth.”

Hearing what seemed like a dismissal of the old faith again, James groaned, while the other followers, myself included, smiled knowingly, favorable to his outreach to our old foes.

The woman then said to Jesus, “I know the Messiah—the Christ. When he comes, he will tell us all things.”

And Jesus replied quickly, “I, Jesus of Nazareth, who speak to you, am he!”

After what John the Baptist had called Jesus—the Lamb of God and the Anointed—the woman’s declaration didn’t surprise us. The words the woman used were, after all, basically the same words. What surprised us, was that Jesus had broken down the barriers of our faith, allowing non-Jews to hear and receive the good news. Not even my brother James questioned his reasoning now.

The issue of the woman’s five husbands or the fact that she was living in sin with a sixth man didn’t seem to bother Jesus now. He didn’t baptize her nor did he even find out her name. All of these matters were troubling to the disciples and converts. James had thought it was a bad move in the first place. I tried to explain to them that Jesus purpose was to instruct, not merely save the Samaritan woman.

******

After filling our water skins from the well, which James strongly objected to, we left Sychar for a campsite in the nearby hills. Perhaps, I suggested to the others, Jesus, in spite of his fine words, was uncomfortable with staying overnight in this town or was concerned with our state of minds. With the exception of James’ thinking, none of the others were worried about defilement so much as danger. I was just anxious to get on the road. Only the woman at the well had greeted our company, which seemed strange to Peter and Andrew. The converts, particularly Deborah, saw this as a threatening sign.

When the women returned with other townsfolk, curious to see this Jesus, for themselves, we were safely on the road out of Sychar. Jesus left our company that moment, walking quickly back to greet them, as if to dismiss them or tell them to go away. None of us heard this exchange. I was curious, but the others continued walking to put distance between themselves and the town. Whatever Jesus said, however, caused them to nod their heads and depart peacefully back whence they came. This was fine with the disciples and converts who had been alarmed by their arrival. In spite of Jesus’ overture, we were all certain that Jews and Samaritans wouldn’t live in peace and harmony in our lifetimes. Thanks to the woman at the well, we now had another titles for Jesus: Messiah. Though it had, because of the Baptists earlier claims, not made a great an impact on our minds, it was the first time that Jesus admitted openly to being the Messiah or Christ (the Greek equivalent of this name.)

I suggested to them, as we detoured into the hills, that this was, after all, the purpose of our detour into Samaria: to demonstrate to us the universality of Jesus message that was open to all. My brother James snarled at this suggestion, but the fishermen and converts thought it was a good reason. Bartholomew, happy to be back in his cart, was just glad to be returning to Capernaum. But then, just as we thought we had made our get-away and Jesus was in our midst, a much larger group of Samaritans began marching up the hill on which we had pitched our camp. The disciples’ optimism about the Samaritan people suddenly vanished.

“Look!” John pointed excitedly. “I knew it. That woman’s a spy. They’re coming back—lots of them this time.”

“Oh no,” John’s brother wailed, “why’d we stop in this town?”

“What did we expect?” Peter said in resignation. “They warned us. You can’t mix Samaritans with Jews!”

Ignoring our fears, Jesus ran back again to meet them, his hands raised up as if to say, “Halt!” My brother James shouted with great bitterness now. “Are you satisfied, Jesus? There must be a hundred of them. That woman is leading them. You can’t cast pearls before swine!” Jesus would use that phrase later when he sent his disciples out on their own, but for now it had a negative meaning.

“Who cares about being defiled?” I said to James. “Those people might stone us!”

“I for one think we better run!” suggested Philip.

“Where?” Andrew looked around himself frantically for an avenue of escape.

“Up there!” John pointed to the trees.

John’s brother James was the first to scramble up the hill. Taking his cue, the fishermen and converts dashed away with little regard for the women in their midst. In an act of gallantry it seemed, John took Deborah’s trembling hand, pulling her along with the others. There was no time to prod the lazy mule. Bartholomew thrashed hysterically in his cart as I help him out, muttering bitterly, “I should never have let that numbskull Philip talk me into this! I could be home in Capernaum safe and sound. Hear I am running for my life!”

“Have faith,” I tried reassuring him. “Jesus will quiet the mob!”

“Jesus doesn’t know Samaritans!” he wailed.

The truth was I was terrified too. Drawing on all my energies to appear calm, I led Bartholomew behind a thicket of bushes while the others scrambled every which way, peeking fearfully through its limbs. What I saw was typical of Jesus in a crisis. I couldn’t hear him from this distance, but I could see him gesturing wildly to the men and women surrounding him. He had, I recalled, many times softened the mood of townsmen in Nazareth, was able to prevent the stoning of Ada in Cana, and was fearless in the temple while attacking the money lenders and priests. And yet, I reminded myself, Jesus was still a man. One day his overbearing attitude might just get him into trouble. Was this that day? These were not Galileans as in Capernaum, Cana, or Nazareth or Judeans as in Jerusalem. These were Samaritans, who were, as far as temperate, far worse than devil-may-care Gentiles. With my last bit of courage, I forced my legs to move back down the hill in order to hear what was going on.

“Look,” Philip cried, “he’s going back down!”

“Jude, Jude, come back!” my brother James shouted frantically.

“W-what are you doing?” Bartholomew’s voice quaked. “Are you mad?”

Listening to their pleas for reason, I walked ever so slowly. I could hear John say with grim certainty, “This is what I was afraid of. They’re gonna tear us to bits!” then hear Peter say forlornly, “We must help Jesus. Jude shouldn’t do this alone. Come my brothers and sisters.” Both the fishermen and converts argued over this issue, until finally, in a fit of conscience, Peter called through cupped hands, “Jude, wait a minute. Let me join you. We’ll go down together.”

It was at that point that my opinion of Peter began to change. Timid by nature, he overcame his fear, as I had to do. We had apparently set good examples for the others. When we looked back, we saw them trickling down the hill. Even Bartholomew was moved to emerge from his bush.

We will never know what Jesus said to the people, but, as we crept up to him, they stood a stone throwing distance from him, mumbling amongst themselves. What had seemed like a mob surging toward him now seemed like a group of curious minded citizens. In the front of this gathering, stood the woman from the well, her face radiant with joy.

“Rabbi,” a graybeard called out from the crowd. “Mariah told us you are a great prophet or teacher. Word had come to me before about a man, who cleansed the temple in Jerusalem, turning over the tables of the moneylenders and animal sellers, and scolding the temple priests. Are you that man?”

“I am he.” Jesus pointed to his chest.

“Good for you!” he cried, clapping his hands.

Jesus’ audience followed the man’s example, clapping and cheering for his controversial deed. The Samaritans had their own variation of Hebrew religion, with its own holy site on Mount Gerizim and its own priests. Because of their resentment for our temple’s authority and the airs of its priests, this reaction was expected. Most of us resented temple and priests too. We were therefore delighted by the graybeard’s reaction. Once again, Jesus had won over a crowd—this time, of all places, in Samaria. As the crowd continued to chuckle and chatter amongst themselves, a second, younger man, beside Mariah, now stepped forth, bowing respectfully to him.

“Rabbi,” he said, gesturing to the crowd, “many of us have heard about you. A merchant, who does business with my father, told us about a man who turned water into wine. Was that you?”

“Yes.” Jesus nodded. “That was I, too.”

Again everyone clapped and cheered. Mariah ran up to Jesus now and kissed his hand.

The young man who stood next to her might very well have been the man she was living in sin with, and the graybeard who mentioned her name might have been her father. I wondered then how many people knew about her sordid past. At that point another graybeard, hobbling on a cane, stepped forward, frowning and smiling at the same time.

Studying Jesus, he stroked his beard, his dark eyes filled with hope. “Is it true Jesus,” he chose his words carefully, “… My people don’t have a Messiah like the Jews, and yet the Baptist preached about such a man, who would come for all peoples—the Promised One of Israel. Are you he?”

“Yes, I am!” Jesus answered with a bow.

As he had done when meeting the woman at the well, he used this opportunity to preach, this time to her fellow citizens, many of whom were probably her family members and friends. As he preached, Mariah stood beside him, gazing up at his face. Had we not known better, we might have thought this unseemly, but, as we noticed at the River Jordan, Jesus had this effect on men and women alike.

Raising his arms, as if to embrace the crowd, he exclaimed, “Men and women of Sychar thank you for coming. I’m Jesus of Nazareth. Behind me are my disciples: Peter, Andrew, Philip, James, John, Bartholomew, and my brothers James and Jude. We arrive as strangers in your land with great tidings. Most of you may have wondered why would we would be foolish enough to detour through Samaria? Aren’t the Samaritans enemies of the Jews? This is what most people believe. The reason I stopped at Sychar was revealed to me by my Father. The Spirit of the Lord, through Mariah, brought you here. It is the Lord’s well that we spread the good news to our cousins, who’ve been divided from too long from the Jews. Some of you have heard of John, the Baptist, my kinsman, who called out as a voice in the wilderness, ‘Make way for the coming of the Lord.’ His message was clear to all: Repent of your sins, ask the Lord for forgiveness, and live a blameless life. He promised his followers, whom he baptized in the Jordan River, salvation for this covenant. He also promised Israel, as a whole, that a day would come when a Servant of the Most High would come, whom he called the Lamb of God, the Anointed One.” “… I am he,” he added after a pause. “…. In your presence, I bear out John’s claim. John was the forerunner introducing the message, that I must share with the world. There is much more to the good news I bring Jews and Samaritans, our brothers and sisters and equals in faith—news even for the Gentiles. Did not Isaiah say, ‘I will also make you a light for the Gentiles, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.’ I am the cause and definition. I bring you the promise of spiritual rebirth and life everlasting.”

After this introduction, Jesus explained, as he had at the river, the expectations of the saved, which John had glossed over, including a summary of the Ten Commandments and the resistance of the seven sins, adding the rules of marriage, which Mariah had failed to keep, and a sermon on tolerance, in which he reminded the Samaritans of the ancient custom of hospitality to strangers, which seemed absent when we entered Sychar. Mariah, in spite of her sins (which Jesus didn’t cite), was blessed for being at the well, showing us hospitality, and taking to heart to his words. For this his father would remember her and bless her people for welcoming us here today.

The fishermen and converts were greatly relieved that Jesus had control over the crowd. Even my brother James was impressed by the Samaritan reaction. An awkward period followed Jesus’ sermon, in which some of the people who came out to greet us began to slip away and return to town. Turning to Peter, Jesus motioned for his water skin. Quietly saying the words of grace to her, he baptized her as he had others, but with a personal touch as he kissed her forehead and murmured, “Woman, you are reborn. Go and sin no more!” Mariah stood there before Jesus, a nimbus of sunlight on her dark hair, looking like a bride before her groom, not caring what her family and friends thought. The rite that had just taken place made no sense to the Samaritans, and yet they watched quietly with great respect. Her face streaked with tears and lips quivering, inspired by the Spirit, Mariah spoke as a psalmist:

“I was broken, tainted, and lost. Now I stand straight, cleansed, and with purpose. Like a seedling blown in the wind, almost uprooted, I’m renewed, raised up right, and made strong. You’ve made me whole again, Jesus—worthy of life and the kingdom to come. I am reborn!”

******

Nowhere in the writings collected by Luke are these words recorded, and yet they summarize for me more than any passage what being born again meant. Though she was the only convert made that day, Jesus was deeply moved by Mariah’s faith. The other Samaritans, however, remained on the sidelines looking on. That moment, as Jesus waited for a response, the first graybeard to question him, finally spoke. “Please, rabbi.” He clasped his hands expectantly. “Stay a few days with us. You have much to teach, and we have much to learn.”

Upon hearing this offer, a groan rose up from some of the fishermen and converts. Because I would have to listen to James complaining about being defiled, I wasn’t too happy myself. Nevertheless, no one protested aloud Jesus’ agreement to stay for two days. Considering his desire to return to Capernaum, our home base, he might have shown some reluctance, but he responded amiably to the man’s offer, agreeing to stay in his house. Comfortable with the fact that not all Samaritans were Jew-haters, we were more irritated than afraid. We had no idea what waited for us in the graybeard’s home. Though our fears were greatly reduced, the notion of being inside a Samaritan house still made us squeamish. What changed our minds was the accommodations we discovered in our host’s house, for it was even grander than Nicodemus’ and Jethro’s estate. Our host had introduced himself as Asher, one of the elders of Sychar. As we suspected, Mariah was his daughter, whom he had made peace with that very day.

For those two days, which, as far as food and living arrangements were concerned were, like Asher’s house, better than in Nicodemus’ or Jethro’s homes, we rested up for the adventure ahead. It turned out that Asher and the elders of the town would test Jesus knowledge of the law and history of the Hebrews and Israelites, and endeavor to find out how the good news he preached differed from sacred script. Jesus began his defense after our feast with a claim he would repeat again and again: “I won’t change one bit of our law or holy script. What I offer adds to; it doesn’t distract from our faith. The message of salvation that I bring is for all peoples whether they’re Jews, Samaritans, or Gentiles. Though the latter inclusion brought frowns to some of the graybeards at the table, the Samaritans elders weren’t as stubborn and thick-headed as Pharisees.

On one point, however, they proved to be intractable. The Samaritan relatives and friends who visited Asher’s house, unlike Mariah, shrank from the notion of baptism. Like the Gentile god-fearers of old who honored our religion, they would, Jesus explained later, after we departed Asher’s house, stand back respectively, too timid to go the extra mile, many of them not yet convinced of our message. Mariah, for that matter, he admitted sadly, while dazzled by his ability to read her mind, would remain, in spite of her baptism and fine words, a sinner nonetheless. Though straightened and momentarily cleansed, he explained, the ground on which she lived, with its briars of carnal temptation, was too great. But the seed was planted, he reassured us. For Mariah, Asher, and members of the crowd, and many of the observers at the River Jordan seeking the truth, they would, like the converts we’ve made, become committed believers.

“As gardeners who plant the seed, he exclaimed, looking at the converts, Bartholomew, James, and I, “you must wait for it to grow. Be patient. Many gardens remain fallow.” “For those casting the net,” he said, turning to the fishermen, “wait and see what you we catch. Not everyone called will listen. Many who listen will not believe. You are gardeners and fisherman now—servants of the Lord. “One day,” he added, with a sweeping glance, “God willing, many of you will do great things. Already, I see among you, the makings of shepherds to tend my sheep. You are the first of my flock. Some of you will return home and share the news with your family and friends, but most of you will remain and one day go forth as herdsmen yourselves.”

******

Jesus’ colorful speech impressed the simple fishermen and converts. James and I were reminded of how well our brother wove words. Bartholomew, who agreed it was a fine speech, who was just anxious to return home. Apart from the point Jesus was making, however, which was easy for us to understand, were the great expectations he had for us, particularly for his disciples, at which his speech was aimed. Speaking for myself, these expectations were overwhelming. I wasn’t a gardener of men; neither was James. I could tell by the dubious expressions on Peter and his friends faces that casting a net for human fish was still a frightening prospect, and I wasn’t sure if James could overcome his mental imprint of the law. Jesus had much greater faith in us than we had in ourselves. It was easy to make someone a disciple or ‘servant of the Lord’; being one was a different matter. Of the fishermen, only Peter and possibly Andrew and Philip, appeared very promising. John seemed too immature to be a disciple. His brother James barely spoke now, and Bartholomew, though also a member of Jesus’ inner circle, could barely walk.

More questions plagued me on the way back to Capernaum. One in particular was ‘why were the converts tagging along?’ They had been baptized, and yet Jesus hadn’t selected them. Would they one day become disciples, too. I couldn’t imagine how the lumbering Barnabas, young Marcus, or Arrius and Marcellus (who looked like clean-shaven Romans) fit into Jesus’ schemes. They were, after all, only converts, as were the two women, who appeared traumatized by their experience. Deborah was too delicate to be a disciple, let alone a shepherdess, and it was surprising that Anna, the old woman, was still alive. That we were the beginning—foundation and bedrock—of what was essentially a new religion we couldn’t have imagined. All things considered—the attitude, likelihood, and small size of our group, it was a humble beginning: a mixed bag of men and women, who would, Jesus promised that day, help spread the good news.

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