“Water, Water, Everywhere”
March 8, 2026
Rev. Rebecca Migliore
We are in our second week of listening to the stories told by the writer of the gospel of John. I reminded us last week that the gospel of John is full of signs and conversations--of layers upon layers upon layers. And so, I’d like to spend a little time today looking at the dance that happens within this gospel, of meanings that deepen and widen as other stories add their experiences and their ideas.
What do I mean? Well, we could focus on our reading for the day: the story of the Samaritan Woman at the well—there is certainly enough to keep our attention. But I think we miss some of what the gospel is trying to teach us if we see it only in isolation. I’m not an artist, by any means, but I have been fascinated by reading some novels about artists. I never knew that painters, especially those who work in oils, would paint their whole canvas (it’s called a gesso) and then they painted on top of it. They say that Salvador Dali painted as many as 15 layers of gesso, allowing each to dry and sanding each layer before applying the next. It would “build color” and provided a “reflective layer” for the subsequent paint. That’s all to say that I want to peel back some of the layers that John is inviting us to contemplate.
I think that last week’s reading and this week’s reading are complementary. One informs the other. And together they give us a more complex picture of what John’s Jesus is saying to us. Last week, a leader of the Jews, Nicodemus, came to Jesus by night. Today, an unnamed Samaritan women meets Jesus at midday. Male/Female. Jew/Gentile. Rich/Poor. Night/Day. Religious/Not that into Church. It is as if with these two conversations truly “all the world” is exposed to Jesus. “For God so loved the world…”
These are not throw away chats about the weather or marital status. They quickly become pointed discussions—with Nicodemus about being born anew, and with the Samaritan Woman (let’s call her Samantha), about asking for and drinking of living water. And there is a connection since being born anew is (according to Jesus) being born of water and the spirit. Water, water, everywhere.
What is this water? Is it the water of the womb? Is it the water of baptism? Is it the still waters that the Psalmist tells us God leads us towards? Is it the raging waters of Amos that bring justice and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream? Is it fresh water or salt water? Are we to remember all the water images from the Exodus journey? Like the first plague of Moses when the Egyptian water turned to blood (killing fish and fouling the drinking water)? Or the parting of the Red Sea for the Israelites as they fled Egypt (and the subsequent drowning of the chasing Egyptians)? Or the striking of the rock by Moses’ staff that allows the wandering Israelites to find drinkable water in the desert?
Are we to remember all the well stories, where people meet and history is changed? Like Abraham’s servant meeting Rebecca at the well when he was looking for a wife for Issac. Or Jacob meeting Rachel at a well. Or an angel coming to Hagar in the wilderness to show her a well and saving her and her son Ismael. In our reading, we are told that this meeting of Samantha and Jesus happens at Jacob’s Well, a deep well to this day that provides refreshing water.
And, of course, we know that we cannot live without water. Our bodies are made up mostly of water. Our globe is covered with water. How about the mist that was in the garden of Eden, nourishing all. Life emerged from the waters. And hearkening back to that “in the beginning” at the start of this gospel, all creation was called out of the waters, out of water while the spirit hovered, glided, sailed over that chaotic cauldron.
We have water in our lives through the weather. They say that the Scottish language has over 100 words (and some say as high as 400) to describe various types of rain. Terms like:
Smirr—a very fine, light rain or mist
Drookit—being absolutely soaked through
Dreich—a combination of damp, misty, and gloomy
And my favorite
Dingin’ doun—a heavy, persistent downpour.
That living water (all those layers upon layers upon layers of what water means) doesn’t just fill up our thirsty bodies and souls, it also washes us clean, it makes us new. Nicodemus asks “How can we be born again?” and the answer doesn’t seem obvious in that encounter. But by the time we get to Samantha and her conversation with Jesus, we are maybe a little closer to understanding. It has something to do with our encounter with God, our conversations with Jesus, our willingness to ask, to listen, to accept what is offered in the end.
This way of absorbing Jesus’ message (from these conversations) feels very different from the Jesus who stands on the mount and delivers a sermon. Jesus is not afraid to meet us face to face, one on one—in the day or the night, regardless of who we are, or where we come from, or even if we believe. Each of us, all of us, are invited to find our moment—and they won’t all be the same. We can come timidly, or boldly. We can push back at what seems hard to understand. I think what I see in Nicodemus and Samantha are people who are willing to step into a relationship with Jesus. And like being born anew, it changes them. Like getting a long cool drink of water when you are really thirsty, it satisfies. But the satisfaction isn’t the end. This newness, this living water, this encounter, propels you into the world in a different way.
We can add another “binary” to our list of Male/female; Jew/
Gentile; Rich/Poor; Night/Day; Religious; Not that into Church; it is Taking time to react/Reacting immediately. Nicodemus’ journey seems to be methodical and slow.
But if we read the gospel in its entirety we see him get to the place where he is willing to question the powerful, and then eventually it is more important to him to show his love for Jesus, by anointing his body, than to hold onto his power.
For Samantha, it doesn’t take long. As soon as she finishes talking to Jesus, as soon as his other disciples appear, she sprints from the well to go into town. A town that probably looked down on her. Townspeople who had shunned her, or rolled their eyes, or made her feel unwelcome (so much so that she was drawing water from the well in the midday heat and sun). But she was born anew, she had been given living water that filled her up and so she could go to everyone she met and say, “Come and see a man who told me everything I ever did. Is he the Messiah?” And they listened. And they came. And they believed.
This being born anew, this living water we are offered isn’t just to make us feel good. It is to change us, to usher in a new world for us and for everyone around us. That trickle of living water that Jesus offered to Samantha gushed down into the village and into everyone who told the story, down even to those of us hearing it today. What a flood of change that wipes away all that came before!
And again, maybe we need to think of it as a little drop, that plunks into a quiet pool and makes a ripple that spreads and spreads and spreads until it hits the edge and turns back in on itself. Maybe we will have a Samantha experience. Maybe we are Nicodemus still trying to figure out what Jesus is all about. Maybe we are someone who drips drops of living water into stagnant pools whenever we can.
That is a glimmer of what it means to be born anew, to drink deep of living water. May we sip it, or gulp it, or savor it always.
May it be so, Amen and amen.
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