I am Samaritan Woman - Found the living water

It was an ordinary day when my friend came rushing toward me in early morning with exciting news. "The son of our village head has returned from  India after 33 long years of travel and graduation from University in Taxila at India!" she exclaimed. "He will be giving a lecture on his education and life there. Let’s go and hear his stories." I felt a stir of curiosity within me and decided to join my friend. Together, we set out on foot toward the village head's house, eager to listen and learn.

The village was buzzing with excitement. As we settled among the crowd, the middle aged  man began his oration. He spoke passionately about life in India, painting vivid images of a society very different from our own. "In India," he said, "people are divided into four castes. Brahmins are priests, Shatriyas are warriors, Vaishyas are traders, and Shudras are workers. Then, there are the Nishadas—forest dwellers—who exist beyond the reach of these social classes, treated with little regard."

The caste system, he explained, was deeply rooted, with strict rules governing each group. He paused, his voice taking a softer, reverent tone as he shared the story of Gautama Buddha. "Buddha was born into a royal family but renounced his comforts in pursuit of enlightenment. His teachings challenged the rigidity of the caste system, advocating for compassion and universal brotherhood. In his honor, a new religion—Buddhism—was born, spreading the message of equality across the land."

The audience sat enthralled, but it was his next story that left me with a sense of wonder. "While traveling to India," he continued, "I encountered four royal men riding camels, moving westward. They looked not like traders, so I asked them about their journey. To my surprise, they told me they were following the guidance of a star. Their astronomical readings foretold the birth of a great king—a Son of God—who would rule the world. They were traveling with gift to the infant and witness this divine moment, guided by the heavens."

His words lingered in my mind, filling me with a strange sense of yearning. As I left the gathering that noon, my thoughts were consumed not only by the wisdom he shared but also by a deeper, unspoken longing—to seek something greater, to find my path toward God.

As I returned home that day, I noticed the water jar was empty. Only then did it hit me, I had completely forgotten my morning routine of fetching water from Jacob’s well. It was nearly noon, and although it was late, I still needed water for the day.

So, I set off toward the well. The sun blazed high in the sky, making every step heavier. When I finally reached the well, I saw a man sitting by the side of the well. He looked like a Jew. I hesitated for a moment.

Then, he saw me and asked, “Would you give me a drink?”

I stopped in my tracks, surprised. How could a Jew ask me, a Samaritan woman, for water? Everyone knew Jews didn’t associate with Samaritans. My voice reflected my surprise as I asked, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask me for a drink?”

But the man’s response puzzled me further. “If you knew the gift of God,” he said, “and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”

I laughed quietly to myself, thinking he must be delusional from the heat. Glancing around, I replied with a bit of playful skepticism, “Sir, you have no bucket or rope, and this well is deep. Where will you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us this well and drank from it himself, along with his sons and livestock?”

His eyes held mine steadily as he said, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again. But whoever drinks the water I give will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give will become a spring welling up to eternal life.”

Curiosity sparked within me. “Sir,” I said eagerly, “give me this water so I won’t get thirsty again and have to keep coming back here.”

He smiled gently. “Go, call your husband and come back.”

His words made my heart sink. I lowered my gaze and mumbled, “I have no husband.”

His next words shook me to my core. “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 said is true.”

My breath caught in my throat. How could a stranger, a Jew, know the secrets I kept buried? I stared at him, part in fear, part in awe, and whispered, “Sir, I can see that you are a prophet.”

To shift the conversation, I brought up the long-standing debate between our people. “Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews say that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.”

The man’s response was unlike anything I had ever heard. “Believe me, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. True worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks.”

His words stirred something deep within me. Could it be? Hesitantly, I said, “I know that Messiah—called Christ—is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.”

The man looked at me with a gaze so deep it seemed to pierce my soul. Then, he spoke the words that changed my life forever: “I, the one speaking to you—I am he.”

In that instant, everything fell into place. I abandoned my water jar and ran back to the village, heart pounding with joy and disbelief.

“Come! See a man who told me everything I ever did,” I shouted to the villagers. “Could this be the Messiah?”

Many of them followed me back to the well. By the time we arrived, the man Jesus was talking with his disciples. We stayed with him for a while, and from that day, many in our village believed in him, not just because of what I said, but because they had seen and heard him for themselves.

A few months after meeting Jesus Christ near Jacob’s well, a man from our village returned from Jerusalem and shared distressing news, Jesus had been sentenced to crucifixion by the Jewish authorities and the Roman governor of Judea. My heart sank upon hearing this. I couldn’t bear the thought, and I resolved to travel to Jerusalem. Some people from my village joined me on this journey to find out what had happened to Jesus. 

We reached Jerusalem in the evening. When we asked about Jesus, the people of the city told us Jesus had already been taken by Roman soldiers to Golgotha for crucifixion. Upon hearing this, my heart was torn in grief, and I rushed to Golgotha.  

When I arrived, the cross stood empty. Near it, I saw a man who appeared to be a foreigner. I approached him and asked, “What has happened to Jesus?”   With sorrow in his voice, the man replied, “I came here with three others, following a star that announced Jesus birth. Thirty-three years ago, we believed He had come to save the world from sin and establish the Kingdom of God. But somewhere along the way, I lost my path. I wandered all these years, hoping to find Jesus again, only to learn that Jesus  died on the cross before I reached here and taken for burial. Now, I have lost the gifts I brought for Him, and I am not even  fortunate enough   to see Jesus face once” .

Then I came to know he is he one among the four who was mentioned by the village head son travelling to India then  I gently told the man, “Jesus visited our village a few months ago and spoke to us about the Kingdom of God and the way to eternal life. Nothing is lost. Jesus message lives on. Let us spread His teachings on the Kingdom of God and show others the way to eternity.”