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I am musing about the woman at the well. Her story in
the Gospel is many-sided, but what catches me is the
part about water soothing our thirst.
In the
Gospel
Jesus asks the woman to draw some delicious well-water
for him to drink. She hesitates. She is Samaritan. Then
maybe she sees his need, and she moves into action.
Thirst is ever present on this blue planet. Sometimes
dramatically so. I remember bicycling with a friend out
in the countryside on a very hot day. We had not counted
on one particular hill that would continue to rise up
before us, a very long and unremitting one. We worked
and worked and worked and at last achieved the top.
Hurray! But the heat and humidity had sucked the
moisture out of us, so we were parched. Remarkably
parched. Off to the left stood a farmhouse or residence
of some kind. Hey, why not go ask for a drink of
water?
Because the house itself was at the top of another hill,
and we saw four hundred steps leading up to it. Ok not
four hundred, but very many. How could we put ourselves
through still another Olympic ordeal and mount these
steep stairs in order to subject some innocent citizen
to our begging?
No problem. We clambered up the steps, knocked at the
door, received greetings from a most gracious lady who
could think of nothing more delightful than to bring us
each a big glass of cool, wet water. Aaaaahhhhhh. Drink
it to the bottom. Savor it, be refreshed. Then off and
away!
Nothing else in the world could have tasted so delicious
and so satisfying. We were craving what our bodies ached
for, and we got a kindly answer.
It seems that human beings have a thirst for something
even more profound than such a welcome drenching. As St.
Paul puts it in the
Second Reading, we thirst for “the love poured forth from God
in Jesus through the Holy Spirit.” Love. This is a
primordial need, very like the need for water; it is
“a God-sized hole” within us, a yearning for
the greatest love there is.
Jesus says he will put a flowing fountain of such water
right inside the Samaritan woman. It will slake her
thirst forever.
Often you and I use other, lesser things to try and
satisfy this great need: food, work, looks,
accomplishment, other persons, sex, drink, and so on.
All of these are good in themselves. Yet taken to excess
they lose their effect. Even at their best they leave us
humming the famous line, “Is that all there
is?”
No, that is not all there is. We are each built in such
a way that we die without real love. If our small selves
have been fitted with a soul that opens wide to love and
especially to the greatest love of all, God, then we
have to open up this depth center within us. Whatever
careful steps will get us there, we need—Lenten
quiet, self-denial, re-fitting our lives, even being at
peace with our losses.
In other words, we must bicycle our way to the top of
the hill, clamber up endless stairs and get ourselves to
knock on the door and wait.
Wait. Lent.
Maybe Jesus will answer the door.
And give us “a spring of water welling up to
eternal life.”
Fr. John Foley, S. J. of the Center for Liturgy
You are invited to email a note to the author of this
reflection:
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Art by Martin Erspamer, O.S.B. (formerly Steve
Erspamer, S.M.)
from
Religious Clip Art for the Liturgical Year (A, B,
and C).
Used by permission of Liturgy Training Publications.
This art may be reproduced only by parishes who purchase
the collection in book or CD-ROM form. For more
information go to: http://www.ltp.org/
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