Jesus and His disciples are making their way from Judea to Galilee, a 70 mile journey. Along the way, they come to a Samaritan town called Shechem (also known as Sychar, or modern day Nablus). Weary from His travels, Jesus sits down beside an old well while His disciples continue on into town to buy food. Jesus is resting His head when a lone woman approaches to draw water. Alone they engage in conversation. John (the writer documenting their interaction) is not there to witness what is said, so only later does John learn what transpired at the well that day.
The well has a history of its own. It was put down by Jacob himself likely when he “camped right in front of the city” (Genesis 33:18), hence it is called “Jacob’s Well.” It sits at the foot of Mount Gerizim, yet another important landmark. Atop this mountain, the Samaritans had once constructed a temple for worship (sometime between 400-500 BC). By the time Jesus speaks to the woman at the well, the Samaritan temple no longer exists, it having been destroyed by the Jews more than a hundred years earlier. But Mount Gerizim remains the backdrop with Shechem off in the near distance. (Pictured below is Jacob’s Well with Mount Gerizim behind it.)
The town of Shechem is an important character in the story, because it has a part in the conversation between Jesus and the woman. Shechem is a place where innocence is lost. To see this, we have to trace the well back to its beginning. The displaced mud dug out from the ground is still fresh when we encounter an event that we wish we could forget. We read about it in Genesis 33-34. The story surrounds Dinah, Jacob’s daughter. Dinah goes into Shechem by herself, and there she is raped. She is defiled in Shechem by no less than Shechem himself (the prince from whom the town gets its namesake). Shechem seizes her, lays with her, and humiliates her. He keeps her captive in his house until her brothers come and rescue her (34:26). But they cannot undo the damage: her innocence has been stripped away. Actually, her brothers worsen the damage: Simeon and Levi act violently in their zealousness to rescue her, a moment that will come back to haunt them. Later, when Jacob is handing down the blessing of the firstborn, the scepter passes over Simeon and Levi because of their actions at Shechem (49:5-7). So we see that not only is innocence lost at Shechem, inheritance is also lost. Great shame befalls the entire family in this place, shame that will have lasting affects.
The woman at the well is no stranger to shame. Ideally water is drawn in the morning or in the evening when the heat of the day has subsided. But this woman is drawing water from the well by herself in the heat of the day. It is because, in her small town, she is known for her less-than-ideal reputation! Her neighbors are well aware of her past. They know she’s been around. She’s had five husbands, and now she lives with a man who is not her husband. She is a woman without innocence, without inheritance, without nobility or respect. The water jar she carries to the well every day might as well hold the dishonor that she’s become so acquainted with. Not only is she an outcast among her people, her people are outcasts among the surrounding nation. As she mentions, Jews have no dealings with Samaritans like her. So the woman is utterly hopeless: she is an outcast among the outcasts, a true outsider. (It is fitting this story at the well takes place outside.) As Jesus looks into her parched heart, He senses her thirst to come inside again.
We flashback to when things first went wrong. We visit a time when Adam and Eve are naked, yet they feel no shame (Genesis 2:25). But then the woman eats the forbidden fruit. She passes it to the man and he follows along. Consequently, they lose their innocence, their eyes are opened, and they realize they are naked. Confronted by a new sensation (shame), they make themselves loincloths. God wants more for them, so He clothes them with “coats of skin” (kat’not or). Here we make an important distinction between a loincloth and a garment. A loincloth merely covers what is shameful to expose, but clothes fulfill a more noble purpose. Clothes serve to reveal the person inside. Consider a classic example: the holy veil, the garment that God rips in two when His Son dies (akin to Jacob in Genesis 37:34). Upon the veil are embroidered cherubim. Behind the veil (on the Ark of the Covenant) are cherubim. So the veil conceals what is behind it, yet it reveals what is behind it. This is the function of a garment. It conceals the person, but it reveals the personality, the value and character within. Bookmark this thought as we make another observation.
The Torah says that when man’s eyes are opened, they realize they are naked. How can we explain such a sudden realization? How can their nakedness go unrealized until this moment? The secret may lie in the opening chapter of Genesis. We see there something of interest: there is light on Day 1, yet the sun isn’t created until Day 4. The light of Day 1 predates the sun itself. Light before the sun? How can this be? Simply put, there are different kinds of light! The light of Day 1 is spiritual in nature. The light of Day 4 is physical in nature. Before the fall, in the perfection of the Garden, the eyes of man could perceive spiritual light as plainly as he could see physical light. In fact, there’s an idea in Judaism that the former light emanated from Adam and Eve themselves. If you looked at man in his original state, through his radiance you might be able to make out the wispy outline of a body. (I am reminded of Jesus at His transfiguration, or Moses after coming down from God’s Presence at Sinai, the skin of his face shining.) Today it is exactly the opposite: today you see only the body, and maybe, just maybe, you catch a glimpse of light exuding from the face of a joyful person. But in Eden, the light was primary, brilliant and beautiful. It acted as a garment, covering their nakedness but expressing the holiness within. This isn’t such a radical idea since Adam and Eve were created in God’s image and likeness, and we’re told in Psalm 104:2 that “The LORD wraps Himself with light as with a garment.”
Coincidentally, the Hebrew word for “light” and the Hebrew word for “skin” are homophones. They are pronounced exactly the same way, similar to the words “role” and “roll” in English, or “rays” and “raise.” In Hebrew, light is אור (pronounced or) and skin is עור (also pronounced or). To play on this, it’s like when Adam and Eve’s eyes are opened by the forbidden fruit, their eyes are simultaneously shut to the spiritual light they once perceived. When the holy or disappears, the fleshly or abruptly comes into view. In an instant, they realize they are naked. How humiliating! How diminished!
Standing there in their loincloths, we can only assume that Adam and Eve watch on as God tailors them a garment made of animal skin. It is here, in this moment, that they witness something they will never forget: the first physical death ever to occur, that of an innocent animal. It’s a sacrificial death dealt for man’s sake, performed by God’s hand as He prepares humanity for a life beyond Eden. It tells a profound truth: that there is one death even in the Garden.
Wearing their animal garments, Adam and Eve exit the premises. A sword comes down behind them, a sword that guards the way to the Tree of Life. It’s official: their actions have separated them from their inheritance, from the Garden that God wanted to pass down to them. Innocence lost, inheritance lost, they make their way into an alien world. As the years go on, there is no doubt that Eve, especially, feels extraordinary guilt for causing this chain of events to take place. Her husband tries to console her, insisting “Hey I ate it too! It’s not your fault!” Although appreciated, Adam’s words are not enough to relieve the burden that bears down on Eve. She carries it with her for the rest of her life like she carries that garment wherever they travel. Decades later, she can’t bring herself to wear it anymore because it reminds her of what she did, yet she can’t throw it away because God Himself made it for her. It is special, and yet it comes to represent the guilt she struggles to get away from. So what does she do? She keeps it folded up, hidden away in a place that only Adam knows about.
The woman at the well is a continuation of this story. She is Eve in a sense. Jesus sees Eve in her wounded disposition. He calls her “Woman” because He is speaking to the woman. At some level, it is here that God finally gets to do what He has been waiting thousands of years to do. He finally gets to sit down with Eve––the woman––and speak to her privately, one on one. Beneath the spoken words, He tells her, You have not lost your place with Me. You have not lost your inheritance. You can still worship Me, access Me, commune with Me––not in the Garden, but in spirit and truth. Forget the mountains; forget the temples. It’s not a place you need. It’s a Person. It’s Me, the One who has come outside to sit beside you. Look at Me! I’m tired and thirsty, but I’m out here, out here with you! I love you, and I brought you something. I think you’ll recognize it. It’s a gift from the Garden...
The gift He gives her is living water! Jesus speaks of it not as a well but as a fountain. He says, “If you knew the gift of God ... He would have given you living water ... water that will become a fountain of water within [you], springing up to eternal life!”
Observe the water system in the Garden of Eden. It is unlike today’s water cycle which operates as follows: it rains, the rain collects to form rivers, rivers empty out into oceans. But in the Garden, water does not come down as rain (Genesis 2:5). And yet, Genesis 2:10 says that a river flows out of Eden. It says nothing about a river flowing into Eden; it says only that a river flows out of Eden! Pray tell, if there is no rain, what is the river’s source? What feeds the river? The mist? Mist supplies each plant with exactly the amount of water it needs––no more, no less––a feature that’s indicative of the perfection of the Garden. So again, we ask, where does the river come from? Although the precise truth remains a mystery, I would contend that the river comes from a natural spring located somewhere inside the Garden. Spring water, welling up to the surface, forms the river that flows forth from Eden, a river with so much excess water that it divides into four separate rivers (Genesis 2:10-14). Yes, as far as I am concerned, Eden’s river is fed by a fountain within itself!
From the beginning in Genesis, we jump to the end. In Revelation 21 the New Jerusalem is revealed, dignified as a bride adorned for her husband. God wipes away the tears and the pain. The curse is no more. The shame is overcome. The rescue is complete. And the One seated on the Throne is surrounded by a multitude wearing white robes, robes that conceal but reveal what is within: purity, royalty, richness, forgiveness. Together the multitude embodies Isaiah 61:10: “I will greatly rejoice in the LORD; my soul shall exalt in my God, for He has clothed me with the garments of Yeshua (salvation); He has covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom dresses himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels!” These robes are made white by the blood of an innocent One––the Lamb. This time the sacrificial death prepares man not for an exit but for an entrance, an entrance into the City of God with its Tree of Life (Revelation 22:14). The One on the Throne declares, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will freely give from the spring of the water of life. The one who overcomes shall inherit these things...”
Living water from a spring! Freely given––a gift from God! An inheritance to those who overcome! It’s every element Jesus shares with the woman at the well. It’s a return to the Garden of Eden. As it is said in the Bible’s closing chapter, “The angel showed me a river of the water of life––bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb...” (Revelation 22:1-2a). I suspect this river is an outpouring of the spring of life that wells up beneath God’s Throne. The water of life nourishes the Tree of Life, a tree that is planted by the waters (Psalm 1:3 / Proverbs 11:30). This final scene in Revelation portrays the Garden’s remarkable cultivation. It seems that Eden has been seeded with so many mansions that it’s blossomed into a city! Cast in the light of creation’s first day (Revelation 21:23), the city will glow with its streets of transparent gold, its foundations of jasper and onyx, its gates of pearl and water as bright as crystal. Can you imagine it?
We cut back to the well: it’s midday and we’re on the dusty outskirts of Shechem. You can hear the wind rolling off Mount Gerizim in the background. There’s a lonely woman drawing water quietly when Jesus splits the silence. She turns her head in surprise. He smiles, and she notices that He looks at her as if He has known her for a long time. She cannot explain it. She does not know what He sees in her.
In her He sees Eve, alone in a tent looking down at an old garment. He sees Dinah, a prisoner at Shechem, ashamed and separated from her father. He sees His own Bride, burdened and isolated, thirsty for living water. He wants her to take in the life of the Garden––if only she will ask Him for a drink. She has to exchange what she has for what He has. And she does, as she comes to realize who He is and what He knows, where He’s from and what He promises. Whereas Dinah was saved physically, this woman is saved spiritually. Whereas Dinah was returned to Jacob in shame, this woman is restored to Israel in faith. The man she meets at the well is her Messiah. He knows everything there is to know about her, and yet still He wants to be with her. His words are light, and His light is tailored to her soul. Soon she doesn’t want Him to stop talking to her.
When the disciples return with food, they are amazed to see how Jesus is speaking with this Samaritan stranger. The two of them talk as though they are old friends reconnecting after some distance. The disciples don’t interrupt. They don’t ask her anything; they don’t ask Him anything. When she finally stands and looks at them, she doesn’t cower away from these Jewish men, because she is one of them now––a disciple of Christ, and in Christ, there is neither man nor woman, Jew nor Samaritan. There are only those set to inherit the kingdom of God. Leaving her bucket at His feet, she goes on to invite all of Shechem to come and meet the man they will soon call Savior. She speaks of the very thing she used to avoid––her past––and she holds it up without reluctance. “Come!” she says to the town, “and meet a man who told me everything I’ve ever done.” A number of men in the village exchange glances, thinking, “Everything she’s ever done?” She feels a stab of shame, but then she overcomes it. She overcomes it because she has changed. The change is so drastic that the townspeople hardly recognize the woman. What has changed? Her garment! God has given her a new coat of or––or of a different kind. When they look at her now, they see light. They see the spirit and truth of the Garden. They sense living water welling up out of her, and they are captivated. When I picture it, I picture Eve herself bounding into the village wearing a brand new, creaseless coat of or. Hemmed in by light, she is dazzling. She is holding up something for everyone to see. It’s the garment that she used to hide. She is pointing to it now, laughing. It looks different in the light.
Indeed, the woman at the well is part of a much larger storyline. She is part of the New Jerusalem, a bride dignified and adorned. It is there, under the shade of a mighty tree beside bright waters, that I anticipate meeting her someday. Like John, I will ask her to tell me the story of her encounter with Jesus on the day He changed her life, on the afternoon she and Shechem drank from Eden.
