Homily - Lent 3 Year A 19.iii.2017
(Lectionary: Exodus 17.1-7; Romans 5.1-11;
John 4.5-42)
We’ve just heard a Gospel reading that’s too long to
print into the weekly pewsheet - and so long that you might wonder where to
start unpacking what it’s about. It’s about Jesus,
of course, and more importantly again it’s about Jesus and his relationship to other people and to one
person in particular. It’s the story of an encounter - his meeting with a
Samaritan woman at a place known traditionally as Jacob’s Well. It’s a dialogue
which doesn’t follow one particular thread but goes off this way and that. It
breaks off as the woman goes away and later returns - with other people
including the disciples and the woman’s fellow-townspeople coming on the scene
as well. At the end you might feel confused. Where did the conversation get
them? What happened to that woman? What is the point of all that discussion
about the place of true worship? What might have happened next? - to the woman?
to the other Samaritans who come to belief in Jesus? What happens during the
two days Jesus spent with them? - but we don’t hear anything of what went on
during that time…
We’re not going to get all those questions answered in
just a few minutes now. Except to say that this is a human encounter. St.
John’s Gospel so often has a theological point to make. But here the point is
that critical issues about our faith have to be worked out in everyday
circumstances - in the encounter with strangers, in confusion as to what
anybody is talking about, in hospitality, in the need to break off to attend to
other things that demand our attention. If you wonder what is going on between
Jesus and the woman he meets at the Well, then perhaps you could ask what would
be going on if you were part of that
encounter. What would you think of
Jesus, what would he make of you, how
would your conversation go - and where would it get you? How would things go on
from there? These are questions to reflect upon, not to answer in a hurry.
If there’s one verse from all those long readings we’ve
heard today that might serve as a key to help our understanding, I think it’s
one in today’s reading from St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans: “While we were
still weak, at the right time, Christ died for the ungodly…” It’s part of a
bigger argument for St. Paul. What the death of Jesus does is something we’ll explore in the days of Passiontide before
Easter. But for now, it’s those words, “at the right time…”
Time and place are all-important. The distinctive thing
about the Christian faith is that it grows out of the relationship of God and
humanity. God is seen to be at work in human history, God is revealed in human
flesh, God meets us in Jesus - often unexpectedly as in the case of today’s
Gospel story - but always “at the right time…” - in the right place.
Jesus’ meeting with the Samaritan woman is at a
particular time in a very particular place. “Jacob’s Well was there,” we’re
told. That would resonate with any Jew - a place marker on the journey of Jacob
as he came to understand God’s purpose for him and for his people. But it’s
also a place which would emphasise the divisions
between Jews and Samaritans, two peoples with an ancestor in common, but
divided on how to practise their religion and put their faith into practice.
Jacob’s Well is in Sychar, to use the Biblical name. For
Israelis, it’s now known as Shechem; for Arabs, it’s the modern city of Nablus.
I remember nearly 40 years ago, having Samaritan residents pointed out to me as
I was driven through the streets - in 2015 there were only a total of 777
Samaritans recorded throughout the whole of Israel and the West Bank, a tiny
remnant, and since the 1990s they’ve been unable to live in Nablus itself
following the violence of the first Palestinian Intifada. But it’s likely that many of their ancestors were
assimilated into the predominantly Muslim population of this third biggest city
on the West Bank.
And the city of Nablus today is a bustling city. Visiting
it again last month as part of our pilgrimage, I’d carried preconceived ideas.
I’d remembered the first time I’d gone there - just a quick visit to the place
said to be Jacob’s Well, that place where Jesus met with the Samaritan woman.
I’d remembered looking up and seeing Israeli soldiers watching from the
rooftops. And I think that left me with a feeling that this was a town to get
in and out of as swiftly as possible for the sole purpose of visiting that
Biblical site.
But now I realise I was wrong. So much of the West Bank
is scarred by occupation by Israeli forces, by the incursions of settlers, by
restrictions placed on those who live there as to where they can go and when;
and they live with uncertainties about whether there’ll be water in the taps or
electricity to heat and light their homes - as well as lots of rubbish in the
streets. But as we drove through Nablus people were simply getting on with
life: in the centre the streets were choked with traffic; there were stalls on
the streets and shopping malls too; life and work were carrying on. I’d
expected hostility - but instead this was normality and if people in other
cities of the Middle East were able to live in such a positive fashion the
region would be the better and certainly more peaceful for it.
The Christian
presence is tiny - about 650 in a city approaching 200,000 - and Anglicans
are very much a minority amongst the Christians. There’s much we can learn from
them.
The majority of Christians are Orthodox and we visited
their church, built over the place where Jesus is said to have talked with the
Samaritan woman. We drew water from the Well - some were brave enough to drink
from it. We prayed and sang in the crypt around the Well - and then there was
time to look at the church. When I’d visited it five years ago, I couldn’t
remember it from my previous first visit. This time I found out why - it hadn’t been there 40 years ago. It
was built as a memorial to the parish’s previous priest, Philoumenos, a Cypriot
who had served his congregations in Palestine for over 40 years until he was
found murdered by the Well - probably killed as he’d said his evening prayers.
Jewish extremists had issued threats a week before, demanding that all
Christian symbols should be removed from the shrine. No one has ever been
charged with the murder. Distrust and hatred could have held sway.
But his successor, Fr. Justinus, dedicated himself to
building the new church which stands there now. It’s a fitting resting place
for Philoumenos who is buried in the upper church - and it’s both a place of
beauty and a living witness to Christian faith in this overwhelmingly Muslim
city. Philoumenos was not the first inhabitant of the city to have died for his
faith. In the middle of the second century a pagan Palestinian philosopher
called Justin came to faith in Jesus Christ. His was to be one of the most
important contributions to the Christian understanding of how Jesus could be
both God and human - and for the sake of his faith he died. He’s been
remembered ever since as Justin Martyr. The word martyr has a double sense: these days normally used for someone who
has died through religious mistrust and hatred; but the more basic meaning is
simply “witness.” It’s to believe something and act on that belief, regardless
of the inconvenience or cost.
So we visited that Orthodox Church which so visibly
maintains a witness built on a faith expressed in that city for 2,000 years.
But we also visited a rather smaller and humbler place - St. Philip’s Church,
which has been an Anglican presence in Nablus since the middle of the 19th
century. Its witness may seem less obvious, but the Anglican Church has
maintained a school - now a kindergarten - there since 1846, and during the
last 170 years it has provided for Jews, Muslims and Samaritans as well as
Christians. For over 100 years there has also been a hospital, built by the
Anglican Church: St. Luke’s Hospital with its 60 beds. Both school and hospital
are open for people of all faiths. The parish priest, Fr. Ibrahim, spoke of the
pressures of life in general and for Christians in particular. For such a small
community it meant a lot that visitors should come from other countries. For
our part, we could only be struck by how much he and his people were doing with
so many difficulties and constraints set against them. And perhaps we need to
recognise how our failure of perception has been part of the problem. There had
been an Anglican presence in Nablus since the 1840s, but the first Arab priest
was appointed only in 1901. The first Anglican missionaries preached only to
the Jews of the town - but they had the Bible in Arabic from 1865 and it was
the Arabs themselves who asked to learn more. And so now it is an entirely Arab
congregation - and one which works to foster harmony. The cloth on the church’s
altar had pockets sewn into it where people can leave their prayers. It’s not
only Christians who make use of it - Muslim visitors also leave their prayers
there.
Our visit was a humbling experience. How important is our
faith to us? How much difficulty will we put up with to practise it? What do we
hope to share with others? Do we trust that our prayers will be heard? - and
encourage others in their prayer?
Today’s Gospel reading - set in that city now called
Nablus - shows a clash of cultures, a confusion of faiths, deeply held and
contradictory convictions. But in the end the encounter of Jesus and the woman
at the Well is about two people who practise mutual hospitality, who overcome
suspicion, listen to one another - and so come to a better understanding. If
only we could do the same!
