We don’t know her given name, but I imagine that she was rarely referred to by it anyway and much more commonly by other words and phrases.  

We don’t know what she looked like, but I imagine that she was beautiful; although, her eyes were probably hollow, revealing an emptiness too vast to measure.  She’d had five husbands, a stretch even by today’s standards.

I imagine she woke up from a deep trance like sleep; albeit, one that had provided no real rest.  I imagine she looked over at the man in her bed, one she hardly knew or recognized, but was disgusted by nonetheless.  He was just another in a long line of failures and futility. 

I imagine she walked to her water pot, longing to drench a cloth and scrub away the sin of the night before, only to find the jar empty, just like her heart.  

I imagine that she threw on a tattered caftan and hoped that few people would be at the well where she must draw the water.  Shame must have filled her as she made her way through the town.  I imagine her eyes were cast to the ground, but even still, she could clearly see the condescending looks from the women, their bitter and chiding comments made one to another without even an attempt to whisper so that she couldn’t hear.  I imagine the looks from the men were different- condemning or roving, or even worse… both, the ones who undressed her with their eyes while disparaging her in their hearts.  Then there were those that didn’t look at all; she knew they were the ones that had come to her door under the cover of night. They thought the darkness had concealed their identities, but she could always recognize them in the daylight because of how quickly they turned away and how a bead of sweat formed on their foreheads as they quickened their pace in the opposite direction.

Her throat suddenly parched, thirsty and dehydrated, I imagine that she walked faster, longing to draw the water quickly and leave; somehow even the ever shrinking walls of her home suddenly seemed better than being here in the open, around the people.  She approached the ancient well grieved to see a man, and a Jew at that, sitting alone on its rock lined wall.  She turned her head away and lowered her water pot. 

Then she heard him, “Give me a drink.”  She startled.  No one spoke openly to her in public, so clearly this man didn’t know who she was, but beyond that, Jews and Samaritans didn’t have dealings one with another.  Raising her head, she reminded Him of that, but the look on His face perplexed her.  His features weren’t condemning; instead, in His face there was a kindness of a depth she’d never before seen in anyone.  He answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”

Confused, she looked at His empty hands; He held no water pot from which to offer this water and the well was deep.  Her curiosity peaked…Who was this man?  He continued, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

That’s what she wanted!  Her thirst satiated forever.  She’d never have to endure the agony of coming to the well again.  Desperately, she wanted this water He had!  She pleaded, “Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water.”

His eyes seemed to peer through her as He spoke next, “Go, call your husband, and come here.”

She sighed; as with everything else, her past prevented her future.  She was unworthy of this too.  Eyes again downcast, she answered, “I have no husband,”  

With tender compassion, He responded, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you now have is not your husband. What you have said is true.” 

She realized the One to whom she spoke was not an ordinary man.  Seeking clarity, she reached for what she thought she knew and gently, He instructed her, correcting and guiding her toward the truth.  

As the very last line of defensive measure around her broken heart fell, she muttered “I know that Messiah is coming (he who is called Christ). When he comes, he will tell us all things.” 

Jesus said to her, “I who speak to you am he,” and in His response, her understanding finally dawned.  She’d come to the well for temporary physical nourishment, but she had found that which she’d always been missing, an eternal sustenance for her spiritual soul.   

Leaving her water pot, her priorities and the course of her life’s direction changed, she went into the town.  Suddenly, the shame she felt around the people and their mistreatment of her were forgotten, for they too needed to come and see the One who told her all that she ever did, for He was the Christ.  Just as much as she, they needed this everlasting water.   Many Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony.

I think her testimony may have been something like this:

Come and see a man at the well who told me all that I ever did and loves me still, the One who can see beyond my past, the One who, despite my shame, found worth in me.

Come and see the One who came not to draw from the well, but brought there an everlasting water to quench my thirsty soul for all eternity.  

Come and see the water pot I left at the well; I’ve traded in an empty vessel for a living water not bound by a jar, that only He can give freely.

“Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters”, for now I know of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke long ago. This is He! 

Come and see the Christ, the Messiah, the Savior of the world!  Come and see! 

Written by Ashley Fountain