THE GIFT OF GOD AND THE
LIVING WATER
Jesus answered her, "If you knew the gift of God and who
it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked Him and He would have
given you living water." John 4:10
In the preceding chapter, we considered the astonishment
expressed by the woman of Samaria at having her religious scruples so
tampered with, as to be solicited by a member of the rival tribe for a
draught of water from the well of Sychar. We saw to what painful excesses
these neighboring kingdoms had pursued their jealousies, social and
ecclesiastical; indulging in mutual anathema and excommunication, such as
has seldom been equaled in the war of race, and the often fiercer war of
opinion. To such extremes, indeed, was this repulsion carried, that it would
doubtless form matter of wonder to this female, how He who now sought the
boon, unless very different from others of His countrymen, should have no
conscientious scruple in touching rope or pitcher that had been defiled by
alien hands. While, on the other hand, we might have expected her to
repudiate the thought of these being polluted and desecrated by the fingers
or lips of a Jew.
His answer in the circumstances must have sounded
startling. Instead of the retort and retaliation for which she was doubtless
prepared, He arrests her attention, and at once softens and subdues any
resentful feeling by the reply, "If you knew the gift of God and who it is
that asks you for a drink, you would have asked Him and He would have
given you living water," and He would not have refused you; He
would not have been so ungracious as to reject the request given by a
toil-worn traveler. Uninfluenced and unbiased by any such selfish and
contracted feelings, "He would have given you;" and given you something
better, nobler than that earthly element: "He would have given you living
water."
Living water! The mysterious suggestive words could
not fail to arrest her attention; and more arresting still, as it always is,
the magic power of kindness. Who could this be, in Jewish attire,
speaking in the Jewish dialect, yet in words strangely conciliatory? so
different, probably, from other Judean pilgrims she may have met, time after
time, at the same spot, with whom she was used to engage in virulent and
fiery debate and banter, meeting and parting with expressions of mutual
contempt and scornful hatred. "Living water"—The expression may have
stimulated better, profounder thought. She was evidently not a stranger to
religious truth. Apart altogether from her knowledge (derived from their
revered Pentateuch) of Father Jacob, and the great theme of ecclesiastical
dispute as to the worship on Gerizim and Zion, she expected "Messiah, who is
called Christ," one greater than the greatest of the prophets, who was to
"tell all things," and the blessings of whose kingdom she may have heard
that these prophets had, again and again, described under the similitude of
refreshing water.
Be this as it may, the Divine Speaker, in rising above
her sectarian prejudices, seemed at once to secure her interest. With a
divine sagacity, He seizes on what was most likely to rouse and sustain her
attention and gain the great end in view, her everlasting salvation. He
makes nature His text. He who, on other occasions, took the sower at
Gennesaret, the bread at Bethsaida, the vine on Olivet, the golden goblet
and its contents at Siloam, to discourse of Himself and spiritual truths,
takes the water at their side to symbolize and illustrate the better "wells
of salvation." No more is said about the quenching of His own thirst. He
merges His own lower needs in the higher, deeper necessities of one who has
never as yet risen above the material to the spiritual. "Living water!" How
that image from that day forward must have been enshrined in her heart of
hearts. It must have been to her like the never-to-be-forgotten look which
the Savior cast upon Peter; or the "Do yo love Me?" on the shores of
Tiberias or the pronouncing of her own name to Mary on the resurrection
morn; or the "Peace be to you!" breathed on the gathered disciples. Yes,
ever afterwards, when, as a new creature, she trod her native valley, the
ear of faith must have caught in every murmuring brook divinest music, every
stream that furrowed the mountain sides must have sang the song of redeeming
love, or been like an angel whispering to her, and beckoning her nearer to
her Savior-God!
But giving these words a general application, let us
refer more particularly to the two salient points in this reply of
Christ—the two hinges, so to speak, on which this golden gate turns: "THE
GIFT OF GOD, and THE LIVING WATER."
First, THE GIFT OF GOD. There is nothing in this world
which is not a gift of God. Every morsel of the bread which perishes, the
sunlight which gladdens us, the atmospheric air which sustains us, the fuel
garnered deep down in earth's storehouses to warm us, the succession of
seasons, the living streams which fertilize our fields, the waving harvests
which crown the year with their plenty, the thousand tints of loveliness and
beauty in garden, and dell, and forest; far more, the blessings which
rejoice and consecrate social life—the wellsprings of gladness in our
domestic circles; these are severally and collectively "gifts of God."
"Every good and perfect gift is from above."
But what are these to the gift here preeminently spoken
of?—the Gift of gifts—a gift whose magnitude transcends all thought and
illustration—the Son of the Highest to become of human virgin born—the
lisping babe of Bethlehem's lowly cradle—the God of eternity condescending
to be a pilgrim on life's highway, that He might open living streams for the
lost and the perishing? "God so loved the world (and who can ever fathom or
exhaust the meaning of that so?) that He gave His only begotten Son."
God's "Gift"—it was unpurchasable by money, the unmerited benefaction of
Heaven—free as the desert pool to the thirsty wayfarer, who has only to
stoop and drink!
And this greatest and mightiest Gift, moreover,
consecrates and sanctifies all minor ones. As the sun glorifies with his
radiance the tamest landscape and transforms the barren rock into a pyramid
of gold; so are all earthly and material blessings glorified and beautified
and sublimated by the beams of the Sun of Righteousness. Christ gives a new
and enhanced value to every subordinate gift. He has been well likened to
the numeral which, put before the unmeaning ciphers, invests them with
peerless and untold preciousness. The very outer world of nature wears a new
aspect when seen through eyes spiritually enlightened: all earthly
discipline has a new meaning and when the minor gifts are blighted or
diminished or withdrawn, there is ever the imperishable Gift remaining
beyond the reach of vicissitude or decay so that we can say, as the woman of
Samaria doubtless could, in all time following this devout conversation, as
she looked around the beautiful valley of her habitation, "Although the fig
tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labor of
the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no food; the flock shall be
cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: yet I will
rejoice in the Lord, I will rejoice in the God of my salvation."
While feeling alive to God's goodness in His diverse
other gifts, can we heartily join in the transcendent estimate of the
apostle, "Thanks be to God for His unspeakable gift!" Truly
with this gift, having nothing "we possess all things." In Christ's
glorified person as the God-man mediator "all fullness dwells." No earthly
gifts can compensate for the lack of this. But the Gift of God can make up
for the absence of every lesser earthly mercy. "All my springs are in You!"
"Oh bounteous Giver of all good;
Who are, of all Your gifts Yourself the crown,
Give what You can, without You we are poor
And with You rich, take what You will away."
The second main topic of the Savior's reply in this
beautiful verse, is THE LIVING WATER. As by the expression "the Gift of
God," He points to Himself, to His glorious Person and character and
work—so, by "living water" He would seem to designate all purchased
blessings of His salvation, beginning with pardon and acceptance here,
and culminating in eternal glory and bliss hereafter. The twofold symbol or
similitude seems to accord with a striking kindred figure in the closing
chapter of Revelation, where this Gift of God, the glorified Mediator, is
represented under His apocalyptic name of 'the Lamb,' as seated upon His
throne; while proceeding from these sublime recesses there flows "living
water," "the river of the water of life, clear as crystal." It is the
magnificent stream of gospel salvation to a dying world, life and
luxuriance and beauty up-springing wherever it wends its way. In other
words, the expressive symbol of those priceless spiritual benefits which
flow from the Person and meritorious work of the divine
Redeemer—forgiveness, peace, adoption, sanctification, tranquility in life,
victory in death, triumph in eternity.
And observe, it is living water. There is no glory
in anything from which life has departed. The tiniest mountain stream that
sings its living song on its way through moor and rock, has more true glory
and beauty than the dark, inky, stagnant lake or pool. The tiniest flower or
moss, or grass, have more true glory in them than the inanimate trunk of the
giant tree lying prone on the ground. Why? Because the one is living and the
other is dead. "A living dog is better than a dead lion." So is it with all
dead lifeless things, wherein the soul has no part, and which are of the
earth earthy, springing from the earth and returning to earth, the mere
accidents of this fleeting existence, such as wealth, possessions, rank,
worldly honors; in one word, mere material good and prosperity. You may call
them streams, but they are not living streams. They dwindle and
evaporate as they flow; they warble no music in the ear in the hour of
waning nature; they are only summer brooks which are congealed in death's
wintry, sunless valley. But these blessings of salvation are
living, they touch the immortal part, they belong to the soul, they are
deathless as the God who gives them.
And as the blessing of salvation (the water) is living,
so also is the Fountainhead—He who is here called "the Gift of
God." "If you knew the Gift of God, and who it is (the Person)
who says to you, Give me a drink; you would have asked of Him." It is
not dead doctrine, dry formulated dogma which the soul needs, but a living
Being. "My soul," says the psalmist, "thirsts for God, for the living God."
Paul, in words often misquoted, and in the misquotation their sense and
beauty mutilated and destroyed, thus exults, in what may be called a dying
testimony, "I know," (not "in whom") but, "I know whom I have
believed." It was not sects, or creeds, or doctrines, or churches, or
ecclesiastical organizations, that the dying hero clung to, in the hour of
departure, but the glorious Person of the divine Immanuel, the living
Presence of the ever-living, ever-loving Savior—the Brother, the Friend on
the throne, whom he had learned to love more dearly than all the world
beside!
Two other thoughts still claim our consideration. We have
incidentally likened this verse to a golden gate on two hinges. Expanding
the figure, it may be added we have here two keys to open that gate.
First, There is the key of FAITH. How was the
woman of Samaria to appropriate that "Gift of God" and that "living water,"
symbolizing the blessings of a priceless salvation? If she had apprehended
at the moment, which she did not, all the meaning of this divine utterance,
how many conflicting thoughts, we may well imagine, would rush to her soul,
ready to overwhelm her in confusion and despair. What a barrier between her
and mercy must be her life of flagrant guilt; lock upon lock, bolt upon
bolt, must exclude her from all participation in these spiritual privileges.
Truly, in her case she had nothing to draw with, and the well was deep—too
deep for such a sinner as she! Or, if she can dare dream of pardon and
peace, what a long process of preparatory reformation and self-mortification
must be undergone; how often must she climb the heights of Gerizim to load
its altars with penitential offerings and costly expiatory sacrifices. It
must be through long months of tears and penances before she can weave the
rope of creature-merit to reach the living water!
What says that Divine Being standing before her, and who
has made to her the glorious revelation she as yet so dimly comprehends?
Belief in His word, in His ability, in His willingness, is all that is
required. "If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that says to
you, Give me a drink, you would have asked and He would have given you." It
was in figurative language what Paul translated into plain words in an
analogous case of conversion, "Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and
you shall be saved." Yes, Faith can remove mountains—mountains of sin!
Faith is a key which can fit the wards of every lock, the intricacies of
every heart. Faith brings the soul into immediate contact with the
Savior. It reveals salvation as a glorious free gift, without works, or
preparations, or merits, or penances; no rope to weave, no "golden goblet or
jeweled cup" to fashion, before the living water can be brought to quench
the soul's thirst.
As the beggar kneels by the running stream at the
wayside, and bears the refreshing draught—the free gift of bounteous nature
to his lips on the rough palm of his hands—so the vilest spiritual beggar in
the rags of sin—nothing to draw with, the well of his own sins deep—can
partake, without money and without price, of a free, full, everlasting
redemption—"the gift of God which is eternal life through Jesus Christ our
Lord."
Like 'Christian', immediately on reaching, with the
outstretched hand of faith, the cross on the top of the hill, the load of
sin rolls down to the bottom. Oh for faith, simple faith, to credit the
divine testimony and accept the free invitation. If not at this stage in the
narrative, the woman of Samaria could, doubtless at least subsequently, and
that too until her dying day, thus sing of the "living water" and the "Gift
of God," in the Spirit of the Simple words of Cowper—
"E'er since by faith I saw the stream,
Your flowing wounds supply;
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be until I die."
And as Faith is one key here spoken of, so
PRAYER is another. "You would have asked, and He would have given
you."
How many blessings are forfeited by failing to use this
key? How many are doomed to a life of spiritual poverty and starvation, for
this reason, "You have not, because you ask not." While, on the other hand,
how often is the divine saying verified and fulfilled, "I have not said to
the seed of Jacob, Seek my face in vain."
We have, in another scripture example, a beautiful
illustration of the combined power of these two instrumental means—faith and
prayer. Blind Bartimeus, despite of his sealed, rayless
eyeballs—despite of the thronging crowd that would intervene between him and
the Great Physician, and drown his suppliant cry for help, knew the
Gif of God: "When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry
out and say, Jesus, son of David, have mercy upon me." See how faith and
prayer together arrest the ear and the footsteps of Christ! See how,
together, they bring the blind soul, like this blind wayfarer, near to the
Savior! In the sublime simplicity of the narrative, "Jesus stood still."
"And he, casting aside his garment, rose and came to Jesus. And Jesus
answered and said to him, What do you want Me to do for you? The blind man
said to Him, Lord, that I might receive my sight. And Jesus said to him, Go
your way, your faith has made you whole," (Mark 10:46-52.)
Faith and Prayer! Would that we may know,
experimentally, this blessed composite—the two golden keys of the
two-leaved gate of salvation! To use the homely figure suggested by
Sychar's well, Faith is the rope and Prayer is the bucket let
down for the living water. The two are joined in the briefest and simplest
of creeds and confessions—"Lord," (that is prayer)—"I believe," (that
is faith)—"Lord, I believe;" and deep conscious unworthiness adds the
supplementary petition, "Help my unbelief!"
Have we known, do we know, the Gift of God? or,
sad alternative, are we among the number of those of whom it shall be said,
"They knew not, the time of visitation;" over whom a despised Savior
will utter the wail of rejected mercy, unrequited love, "If you, even you,
had known in this your day?" "This your day." Blind Bartimeus, and
the woman of Samaria, had, each in their different experiences, probably but
that one day, the one chance of a Savior passing by; in the case of
the former, to have the eyes unsealed, and in the latter to have the deeper
blindness of the soul removed. That one opportunity, foregone and forfeited,
might never have been renewed.
Doubtless, with respect to this female of Sychar, the
Savior saw how all-important was her immediate acceptance of the gift of
salvation. As the omniscient Shepherd, He discerned her infinite danger—how
this erring sheep was plunging deeper and deeper amid the wilds of an ever
sadder ruin—how a few more days or months of wandering, among these bleak
mountains of sin would have made her irrevocably and irrecoverably, "the
sheep which was lost." But He has followed after her "until He finds her."
He pleads with her—reasons with her—tells her of her dreadful danger and
peril, amid these savage deserts of her wandering, and of the peaceful
pastures and living waters she was guiltily disowning. In the beautiful but
expressive imagery of the Song of Songs, thus does the Heavenly Bridegroom
address her—"Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, with me from Lebanon;
look from the top of Amana, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, from the
lions' dens, from the mountains of the leopards."
And what is her experience, as, obeying His summons,
these perilous mountain heights are left forever? She is enabled to exult in
the Gift of God, under the very image of these verses—"A fountain of
gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon,"
(Sol. Song, 4:8, 15.)
And the same grace that was free to her is free to us;
the same living water offered to her is offered to us. The gospel is replete
with invitations to the Fountain of life. The vision of Jacob's Well mingles
with the closing utterances of inspiration: the last accents which "He who
sat on the throne" bequeathed to the Church, when the vision and the
prophecy were on the point of being sealed up, were these: "Let him who is
thirsty come, and whoever will, let him take of the water of life
freely." We are empowered and warranted to echo, in His name, the words of
the Great Inviter—no barrier, no condition, no qualification is there in
approaching that living stream:
"Just as you are, without one trace
Of love, or joy, or inward grace,
Or fitness for the heavenly place,
O guilty sinner, come.
Come, here bring your boding fears,
Your aching heart, your bursting tears,
'It is mercy's voice salutes your ears—
O trembling sinner, come.
Come, say 'the Spirit and the Bride;'
The stream is full, the channel wide;
Who wills may drink the living tide;
Your Savior bids you come!