Speaking in circles around the deep water

A poem about that flirty Bible story. (What?)

Photo by Roy P. on Unsplash

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Come on. Read this story yourself, and tell me it’s not a flirtation. Surely more than that as well, true enough, but come on. These two are lighting each other up.

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AT JACOB'S WELL                                                                      2002

(John 4:5-42)


Here’s what I want to know about the woman
carrying her water-jar to Jacob’s well
outside the town of Sychar, in Samaria:
what charms, what freshness bubbled up
from which corner of her heart, and made her the oasis
that she was? Five husbands, then a lover
come one by one to slake their thirst in her,
and still some water-truce holds in Sychar, protects
this frank green spring from all polluting shame;
and now one more thirsty man, this foreigner,
sits asking, and again her charms bubble up
like the water, like her questions. Could that be
what enchants them all, her way of asking
straight to the heart of things? And did she know,
before he spoke, how long her heart had thirsted
to be answered the same way? Hear the dance
of their talk, these strangers, as they sit together
on the path to Jacob’s well, speak in circles
around the deep water: thirst and drinking,
husbands and lovers, mountain and temple,
Spirit and truth — askings and answers
bowing in, leaning back, swayed and spun
to the beat of two hidden drums. Here’s what
I wonder about the woman, dancing back now
to the village, her water-jar left behind
for him to drink from: did she notice
what the disciples half-saw, how deep he had drunk
from their talk, from their dance? See the gleam
in his dark eyes, like sunlight sparking deep
on well-water; see his toes tap inside dusty sandals
in time to the dancer’s steps; now see him rise
and laugh, shake his head, rinsed by her charms,
sated by her questions, enchanted by her thirsty
generous heart, a vessel after his own heart,
a dancer to match his own steps in the dance
of ask and answer, of Spirit courting soul.

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So how about giving me a drink?

Excuse me? You asking me for a drink?

If you knew who was asking, you’d ask me. I’d give you a drink that’s something special.

Uh huh. No bucket, no bottle … just how special are you?

I’m so special that if you drink what I give you, you won’t ever be thirsty again.

Well, I could get interested in a drink like that. Let’s have a taste.¹

This story shows up in the Sunday readings during Lent, possibly because The Church™ wants us to hear it as an account of a notorious sinner who miraculously repents. Okay. Maybe. Or … maybe it’s a story about someone with a wide-open heart and damn few options, who’s somehow managed to stay curious and unafraid. There’s a miracle, if you’re looking for one.

Let’s have a taste of that special water. Show me what you’ve got.

Let’s see if your husband wants some too. Call him, why don’t you?

Husband? I don’t have a husband.

For a fact. You’ve had, what, five so far … and the guy you’re carrying water for now, he hasn’t married you yet. No husband, check.

Oh, I get it — you’re a prophet! So can we talk about religion for a minute? Because there’s something I’ve always wondered about….

Unbothered. Unashamed. Flirts as easily as she carries that water-jar, and thirsty all the time for some real talk. I love this woman to bits. I think it’s abundantly clear that Jesus does too.

Anyway, that’s how Lent is going over here. 💟

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1. Reimagined dialogue is from a sermon on this story that I gave at my church back in 2017. They take deep breaths when they see me step forward on Sundays.