FIRST EVASION AND
REPLY
The woman said to him, "Sir, give me this water so that I
won't get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water."
He told her, "Go, call your husband and come back."
"I have no husband," she replied.
Jesus said to her, "You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact
is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband.
What you have just said is quite true."
"Sir," the woman said, "I can see that you are a prophet. Our fathers
worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must
worship is in Jerusalem."
Jesus declared, "Believe me, woman, a time is coming when you will worship the
Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You Samaritans worship what
you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews.
Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship
the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father
seeks. God is spirit, and His worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth."
The woman said, "I know that Messiah" (called Christ) "is coming. When he
comes, he will explain everything to us." John 4:15-25
These opening words, "Sir, give me this water so that I
won't get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water," have received
varied and almost conflicting interpretations. We dismiss at once, as
unsatisfactory, that which would represent them as the expression of a
childlike faith, a further development in the woman's dawning convictions,
which were soon to culminate in perfect unwavering belief. Two other
interpretations appear alone to be tenable. Her answer may have been simply
dictated by stupid, ignorant wonder; it may have been the utterance of a
carnal, sensuous heart, dull and dead to all spiritual apprehension—unable, as
we have already seen, to rise above earthly things, or to extract any higher
meaning from the sublime and gracious declaration of the stranger than a poor
material reference to the well at her feet, and the economy of time and toil
in being relieved of the necessity to "keep coming here to draw water."
An alternative interpretation is perhaps more in harmony
alike with the woman's character and with the tenor of the narrative, that is,
that her response was neither the dictate of wonder nor of faith, but rather
an attempt, by evasion and banter, to trifle with divine realities—that it was
uttered in a sarcastic, frivolous spirit, in a tone of playful irony. As if
she had said, purposely to evade the spiritual application, 'Yes, truly, this
mythical living water of yours would be a good thing indeed! it would
really be worth knowing and having. Lord, give me this water, that I thirst
not, neither keep coming here to draw water.'
She had, it is true, in an earlier part of the
conversation, given promise of better things. She had seemed, at all events,
impressed with the unwonted courtesy of this Jerusalem Pilgrim, and to have
reciprocated it. But the impression, on a heart in which pride and sin were
dominant, was only momentary—the wave only touched the living rock to retreat
back again amid the eddying waters. The old nature and the defiant tone return
and resume the mastery. She petulantly spurns a style of discourse at variance
with the whole current of her carnal thoughts and carnal life. She has no
belief in, no patience for, such serious talk as this. Her answer is in the
taunting, skeptical, scornful spirit of the scoffers in Ezekiel's time, "Ah,
Lord God, they say of me, Does he not speak parables?"
Although of comparatively little importance which
interpretation we select, we are inclined to think that the latter is most in
consonance with the immediately subsequent dealing which our Lord deems it
necessary to employ. When He thus saw that she was trifling, or affecting to
trifle, with the profoundest needs of her soul, He resorts to the use of
strong means in order to rouse her from her apathy, and guilt, and awful
peril. 'The wind, and the earthquake, and the fire' must follow 'the still
small voice.'
He therefore breaks off the conversation abruptly, and
pursues a new theme. There is nothing more said now in connection with the
beautiful similitude of the well and the living water. If she cannot be
approached by imagery and figure, He will come home to her hardened conscience
by the use of facts from which there can be no escape. She may misunderstand
and misinterpret symbolic teaching, but there can be no misunderstanding about
the stern and sad realities of her own life. He drags to view her besetting
sin. Suddenly terminating the figurative conversation, he sends home this
arrow of conviction, "Go, call your husband, and come here!"
In a light, bravado spirit—the reflection of her character
and history—she replies, with no sense of shame or sorrow, "I have no
husband." Or, it may be, ignorant of the omniscient Being she confronted, who
then read the blotted pages of her heart, she tried to evade the truth
by the utterance of a lie. But she was soon convinced that He in whose
presence she stood, was one 'from whom no secrets are hidden'—the discerner of
the thoughts and the intents of the heart. In one brief sentence He unfolds a
terrible life-story with its crowning act of present guilt. ''Jesus said unto
her, You have well said, I have no husband, for you have had five husbands,
and he whom you now have is not your husband; in that said you truly."
We might have supposed that after this, evasion was
impossible; that, as the timid bird cowers under the glance of the falcon or
the eagle, so would this convicted sinner have trembled under the revelations
of that infinitely pure One, who, from the deep well of her polluted life, had
drawn up the evidences of impurity and debasement; and that casting herself
convicted and condemned at the feet of her Divine Censor, she would have
exclaimed, "Have you found me, O my enemy?"
The barbed arrow indeed could not fail to reach its mark;
but even now, as it pierces her seared conscience, she makes a bold and adroit
attempt to turn the subject—to evade the scrutiny. This she tries to effect by
a twofold deception. The first only of these two efforts, and the manner in
which our Lord meets it, we shall be able to examine in this chapter.
By a dexterous shift and diversion she starts a
controversial topic. It is only those who have stood by the actual spot, with
all the old, unchanged surroundings of the Well of Jacob, who can fully
realize and picture the scene, as, pointing upwards to the heights of the
sacred mountain close by, she exclaimed, "Sir, I perceive that you are a
prophet. Our fathers worshiped in this mountain, and you say that in Jerusalem
is the place where men ought to worship." She had already, in the context,
adverted to religious differences—the old feud existing between Jew and
Samaritan. She had passed from that, to historical and ancestral questions
regarding Father Jacob. Now she invites discussion on the controversy between
the rival temples of Gerizim and Zion, and their comparative claims to
superior sanctity.
What does this teach; but how possible it is to talk
fluently on controversial themes, to start speculative questions—points of
religious debate—to fight sectarian battles, defend to the death every letter
of party shibboleth, exclaiming, "The temple of the Lord, the temple of the
Lord, the temple of the Lord are we," and yet to live godless lives.
Here was one; not only outraging the laws of heaven and earth, but also
utterly indifferent to her own abandoned career; and yet, apparently with a
martyr's heroism, she enters the lists as a sectary; she could speak readily
on semi-religious questions; she could talk, with all the fiery zeal of a
partizan, of "our fathers," and gloried in being a separatist from the tribe
of Judah.
Picture, alas! of multitudes still, who are living in
deepest ignorance of their own guilt and danger, their corruption in heart and
life; who are yet great champions in some denominational battlefield; who,
with stern self-isolation, entrench themselves in sectarian pride and
formalism—blow loud the trumpet of religious partisanship; valiant athletes in
some debatable question of creed and sect, plying their weapons with untiring
ingenuity so long as the personal and practical issues can be evaded
and eliminated; very tolerant of their own frailties, but very intolerant of
the frailties and short-comings of others—loyalty to party, usurping the place
the gospel assigns to charity, in covering a multitude of sins. Such, then,
was the woman of Samaria's first attempt at evasion.
Let us listen now to the Savior's memorable reply; the
order of which, for the better elucidation of the meaning, we may somewhat
transpose. He first gives a bold and decided answer to her question, and then
grounds upon it some grand truths, whose comfort and consolation were intended
for all ages of the future. To her query as to the rival claims of Mount
Gerizim and Zion, He affirms, without hesitation, the orthodoxy of the
Jewish and the heterodoxy of the Samaritan worship: "You worship
you know not what; we know what we worship, for salvation is of the Jews." He
thus unflinchingly condemns the defectiveness of the Samaritan creed—their
rejection of the entire succession of inspired prophets, as well as their
partial toleration of the half heathen ceremonies which had been incorporated
in the worship of the God of Israel on Gerizim. By assimilating their
religious ceremonial to the rites of Phoenicia and Greece, they had
practically set up an altar with the inscription, "To the Unknown God."
Moreover, Zion being the appointed city of solemnities
where the tribes were to go up, they were guilty of breaking, unsanctioned,
the old historic unity of worship. On the other hand, Jesus adds, as Himself
of the tribe of Judah, "We know what we worship." The Jews were the divinely
accredited custodians of the truth; "Unto them were committed the oracles of
God." Apostate, in one sense, as the worshipers on Zion had become from the
living faith of their forefathers, they at all events retained intact and
unmutilated their monotheism, as well as the ancient Mosaic and Levitical
institutions. Along with the Pentateuch, they reverenced the authority of the
prophetic voices which age after age had been preparing the way for the new
Gospel era. They were uncorrupted by Baal worship. The temple courts were
undesecrated by the arts of the magician and necromancer. More than that,
"Salvation" (literally, in the original, "the Salvation," or, as some would
render it, "the Savior," the promised Messiah, "is of the Jews." Of them, as
concerning the flesh, Christ was to come. From the tribe of Judah, not from
Ephraim, He was to spring.
The fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness was, in the
first instance, "for the house of David and for the inhabitants of Jerusalem."
The Lord had chosen Jerusalem as the place to put His name there. Ezekiel's
living waters, emblematic of Gospel grace and blessing, were to go forth from
the Temple of Zion to refresh and fertilize earth's waste places—the moral
wildernesses of humanity. No, farther, not without note and significance is
the tense of the word here employed. It is not "the Salvation" shall be,
but "is," of the Jews, probably indicating to the listener that that
Savior or "Salvation" had already appeared, and thus forming a preparation for
the more distinct and unqualified assurance which follows, when He declares
Himself, without reserve, to be the promised Messiah.
But having thus unhesitatingly vindicated the claims of
Jerusalem and Zion, He at the same time announces two truths of world-wide
interest, regarding alike the object of worship and the manner
of worship. We may invert also the order in which these stand in the
narrative. As to the OBJECT of worship, He gives to this ignorant woman a
revelation of the Supreme Being under two distinct aspects—
(1.) "God is a SPIRIT," or "God is spirit." He may, in her
case, have had a double reason for thus adverting to the immaterial nature of
Jehovah. Material forms, as we have previously mentioned, had been sanctioned
in the compound mongrel-worship on Gerizim, in accommodation to the tastes and
propensities of the heathen colonists—forms that were of necessity
localized, and which were supposed to exercise no influence save in the
vicinity of their shrine or temple. Moreover, the pure faith had been farther
corrupted by combining with this material, a spurious spirit-worship. The
votaries of Baal had a spirit presiding over the scenes and elements of
nature—woods and mountains, fire, air, and water. Jesus reveals the glorious
truth, of which this latter was the debasing counterfeit.
God is a spirit. Not a local God, restricted
to that neighboring hill; but the Great Universal—not presiding over any
favorite haunt or segment of the globe, but according to the beautiful
description of one of those Psalms which the Samaritan had rejected, "If I
ascend up into heaven, You are there. If I make my bed in hell, behold You are
there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of
the sea, even there shall Your hand lead me, and Your right hand shall hold
me." In opposition to spirit-worship—the false teaching of their magicians and
enchanters—here was the glorious unseen reality. These spirits,
supposed by some of them to haunt the woods and groves and streamlets of
Gerizim, or, in demon form to take possession of the human soul—were the
phantoms of their own brain, the forms of a credulous superstition. But here
with the Jews, was the only true (the Omnipresent) Spirit, who needed no
temples made with hands.
And, yet once more, the Samaritan worship, either of the
material symbol or of the local spirit, had become a heartless form.
Religion had degenerated into the most worthless and debasing ritualism—a
round of externals, in which true worship, the worship of the heart and the
obedience of the life, had no place. Not so was it in the worship of this
spiritual Jehovah. "Those who worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in
truth." Thus, then, the Savior's declaration was a needed counteractive to
false views on the great elementary truth of all religious creeds—the
nature of the Supreme Object of worship.
This woman may have been conversant, probably from infancy,
with some of these strange, extravagant beliefs in a spirit-world. She had
been surrounded by lying prophets, and credited their lying wonders. Christ
directs her to the true spirit-worship. "You worship you know not what."—You
have conjured up a spirit-land and a dream-land which have no existence. But I
now reveal to you the great truth you have overlaid by your demonology, and
desecrated by your practice: "God is a spirit, AND those who worship Him must
worship Him in spirit and in truth.
(2.) He makes a second and still more glorious—still more
novel and startling revelation of the nature and name of the Supreme Being.
God as a FATHER. "The Father." It was a new name—a new apocalypse of the
Almighty Ruler of her nation. She had just spoken in sectarian pride of "our
fathers," and of Father Jacob. In emphatic contrast with this, Jesus can tell
of the true Father—the eternal Father—the Father of His universal Church and
people. It was a name, not indeed unknown in the books of the Jewish prophets,
but it was a name which specially belonged to the new and dawning Gospel
dispensation. "The hour, (that is, the Gospel hour), comes, and now is, when
the true worshipers shall worship the Father."
The woman of Sychar had done foul dishonor to other most
sacred ties of earth. Could no muffled harp-string in her soul wake up in
trembling melody, as to an old familiar strain, by the mention of this new
name? Debased as she now was, might she not, amid the memories of
childhood-innocence, recall the hour when she loved to lisp that word? Amid
the wreck of all other human relationships, might she not think of, and cling
kindly to, the oldest and tenderest of all?
God was such to her—God was her Father—that universal
Spirit was the universal Parent of all who worshiped Him in spirit and in
truth. The thought would bring Him near as He never was before. It would
invest Him with a new attractiveness. It would unteach in a moment many of the
falsities of the Baal creed; and specially, its tendency to cause the Jehovah
of Israel to be regarded with repulsiveness and terror—a Being of wrath to be
appeased, but not of love or beauty in whom affection and trust might repose.
Of this Almighty Parent, Jesus adds, "the Father seeks such
to worship Him." May not these words have further endeared to her His new
name? The term "seeks" is not in the sense of 'wishes' or 'desires,' but of
going after, to search and find. It is the Shepherd "seeking his flock that
are scattered in the cloudy and dark day." "Behold I, even I, will both search
my sheep and find them out." Was she not one of that scattered flock, the
worst truant of all the fold? The Shepherd was seeking her—or rather, that Old
Testament figure and simile is superseded by the more touching Gospel symbol,
"The Father" seeks his prodigal child—yes, and the Father waits not in his
palace halls for the wanderer's return, but he goes forth on his mission of
parental love. New and glorious step in the ladder by which she was brought up
out of the horrible pit and the miry clay!
'Father, my Father;' 'He seeks me.' That earthly name, as
we have just said, may have been to her, a fading remembrance. One of the
rocky sepulchers at the base of Gerizim may now have been all that could
recall it; and she may have felt thankful that he who claimed the relationship
had not lived to see it disgraced in her own immoral life. But the old and
hallowed earthly tie may be revived in a new and more enduring form. The God
of Gerizim, the God of Israel, the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob—He is my
Father. I may cry unto Him, "You are my Father, my God, and the Rock of my
salvation."
If unable yet to grasp the blessed truth, she came before
long to do so. Perhaps long after this interview was over, she may have lived
to read in future years, in a letter from one, who, like herself, was a
monument of Redeeming grace and divine parental love, "I will receive you, and
will be a Father unto you, and you shall be my sons and daughters, says the
Lord Almighty." (2 Cor. 6:18)
But it is not only a revelation of the Supreme object of
worship the Redeemer makes to the woman of Sychar. He has an equally glorious
and important revelation as to the PLACE AND MANNER OF WORSHIP. "Jesus said
unto her, Woman, believe me, the hour comes when you shall neither in this
mountain, nor at Jerusalem worship the Father," (or rather, "not in this
mountain only, nor in Jerusalem, you shall worship the Father.") All local
worship is to terminate; all old things are to pass away, and all things are
to be made new. Hitherto, under a preparatory dispensation, God had chosen out
a people for Himself. Jerusalem had been His earthly audience-chamber, the
repository of the true faith; the mystic cloud, the symbol of Deity, had
rested in the holy of holies within Zion's temple. But the Gospel hour
has now dawned, the substance has come, and the shadows are fleeing away. Soon
the symbolic veil of that Temple shall be rent, intimating not only the
abolition and abrogation of all ceremonial worship, but the extinction of all
exclusive religious localities, privileged "holy places"—the inauguration of
an era of worldwide blessing—the brotherhood of the nations under the one
universal Spirit—a church gathered out of every country, under one Father.
The Great Shepherd will go forth, not as of old, on the
mountains of Judah or Israel, but out amid earth's pathless wastes, from
distant east to distant west, wherever the lost and the wandering are to be
found. And no one spot in all the vast circuit will be more sacred than
another. Gerizim—that boasted "mountain of blessing" is now to give its name
to the whole earth. "In all places where I record my name, I will come unto
you and bless you." The round globe, with the blue vault of heaven for its
canopy, will henceforth form the stupendous temple of the great Unseen and
Invisible. The true and accepted Israel—the "Father-worshipers," will be found
in every corner of the habitable world—in those glorious climates of the sun
where idolatry has long reigned with undisputed sway—where the mosque and the
pagoda have for ages frowned defiance on the Christian sanctuary—in the
distant isles of the ocean—amid the prairies and pastures of the far west, the
arid sands of the tropics—or amid the icebergs of eternal winter—yes, and not
more under the gorgeous church or fretted aisle, than in the crude garret of
the city, the humble hovel of the country, the secluded cavern of the
mountain, the pathless forest of the settler, the solitary craft or deck of
the fisherman and seaman, the lonely chamber of the poor, the sick, the
bedridden, the dying—
"Wherever they seek You, You are found,
And every place is hallowed ground."
The woman of Samaria pointed, with the pride of sect and
tribe, to the locality as if that were everything. But, in His brief
answer, Jesus proclaims the great truth, that the locality is nothing. The
material offering was unimportant, but the acceptable and grateful incense to
this Great Spirit and Father was the fragrance of a broken heart and a holy
life. All outward symbols, Gerizim and Zion, and their conflicting claims, are
to be merged in the sanctities of a nobler temple, an inner shrine—"You are
the temple of the Holy Spirit." "The temple of the Lord is holy, which temple
you are."
Among other solemn and urgent lessons these magnificent
utterances bring home to us, surely one is, the duty, not only of moderating
the wild excess of religious exclusiveness, but the folly of putting
external forms on the same level or platform with eternal principles of
faith and obedience. When will men take down this complicated scaffolding
which obscures and obstructs the grand proportions of the Temple of Truth?
When will the sun arise to quench these fires of our own kindling? When will
the material give way to the spiritual; the human and the incidental to the
divine and the everlasting? When will individuals and Churches, as the
children of one redeemed family, come, in childlike faith and childlike love,
to worship 'the Father?'
What a different world would this be, did these two eternal
words—eternal 'articles'—assert their glorious sway, and be allowed to perform
their limitless errand! "God is a SPIRIT"—this is the first and fundamental
teaching of the missionary in overturning all idolatries and gross material
forms and sensuous worship—demanding 'spirit and truth,' purity and
earnestness, the homage of the heart and the consecration of the life. "God is
a FATHER"—this is the Gospel's precious and consolatory message to the
prodigal, the disinherited, the lost.
Do we know the preciousness—do we ponder alike the
solemnity and the consolation, of this twofold name? God is a SPIRIT! How
soul-stirring, how awe-inspiring would be the habitual recollection of this
simplest but truly greatest of elementary truths; that that august Being, that
Great unseen, unknown, untraceable, intangible—is everywhere present, beneath,
around, about me—the witness of all my actions, with the eye of unerring
scrutiny searching the secret labyrinths of my heart! "Where shall I go from
your spirit, or where shall I flee from your presence?"
God is my FATHER! The feeling of awe encompassing
the Supreme Spirit melts into affection. The cloud and the darkness
resolve themselves into a halo of softened tenderness. That all-seeing One is
the prototype of the dearest of human relations—the earthly parent is the
shadowy image of the heavenly. "The Father"—but it is the Father in Christ
the Son; "My Father," and therefore "your Father." Not the Father of
universal humanity, that modern travesty of the true Fatherhood of God—but
the Father of that redeemed humanity which has its representative elder
Brother now before the throne, and who gives, in one glorious sentence, the
condition and qualification of sonship: "As many as received Him, to them gave
He power (the right) to become the sons of God, even to those who believe on
His name." "If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that says unto you,
Give me to drink, you would have asked of Him, and He would have given you
living water."
Could the revelation of the God of Christianity, the God of
the Gospel go no farther than this? Yes; yet another name and title of the
Almighty, flowing from this paternal relation, was reserved for one of these
apostles (who had now gone into the city to buy food,) subsequently to unfold
to believers and the Church. This woman of Samaria, now groping in the
darkness, may, too, have one day read in his epistles, its letters of living
light. With it, the evolution of the Divine character terminates. Heaven knows
no more—can give no more. The archangel can climb no higher. It is the
loftiest expression of the august Fatherhood; and Jesus leaves it to the lips,
we may reverently say, next best qualified to His own to pronounce it: "God is
LOVE."
This bright pinnacle of faith—this third and last step in
the golden ladder, may we also be enabled to reach. Rising in the sublime
gradation, may it be ours to grasp the threefold name—that trinity of divine
attributes, with all their elevating motives and everlasting consolations. The
triple theme of meditation in the Church on earth, it will form the triple
theme of adoring contemplation and immortal praise in the Church of the
glorified—
God is a SPIRIT,
God is a FATHER,
God is LOVE!