At the beginning of today’s gospel reading John has Jesus do something extraordinary, something that defies two of the most rigid, most firmly established social conventions of the day. In the first place, no Jewish man would ever strike up a conversation with a woman he did not know; yet Jesus did just that. And the situation was even more extraordinary because Jesus was a teacher and Jewish teachers never held a conversation with any woman at all in public; yet Jesus did just that. And secondly, the woman in question was a Samaritan— you know, one of THEM, one of the other, the alien, the enemy. No Jew would have anything to do with a Samaritan; yet Jesus did just that. Jesus was always big at breaking down walls and including everyone in the embrace of his love.

The woman was flabbergasted at this overture, which may go a long way in explaining why she seems so slow in catching on to what Jesus is talking about. And Jesus, we have to admit, did not put things as simply as he could have. “Living water” is the Greek idiom for what we call “running water”— water in a stream rather than water in a well. Jesus, of course, was punning and the woman simply didn’t get it.

But finally she does get at least a glimmer of understanding, not only about what is being said but of who it is that is talking to her. She finally admits she knows that Messiah is coming, at which point Jesus makes a full revelation of himself. “I am,” he says— not, “I am he,” as our translation has it, but just “I am”— the Name that was revealed to Moses in his first encounter with God at the burning bush, “I AM,” the Name of God.

When the disciples come up, they too are floored that Jesus is speaking to a woman, and in their embarrassment at this patent violation of social taboos they maintain a discreet silence. The woman, however, makes a hasty retreat back to town. But she is a changed woman, as we can tell by the fact that she leaves her water jar behind; for she has had a taste of that “living water” which gushes up into eternal life; she has had a taste of faith.

So she hurries to her neighbors in town and tells them, “Come and see.”

This is the third time in his gospel that John has put these two simple commands together. They clearly then carry more weight than what appears on the surface. Earlier the evangelist describes how Philip, whom Jesus had already called to follow him, told Nathanael that the prophet foretold by Moses was Jesus of Nazareth. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nathanael said desparagingly, and Philip replied, “Come and see.” And even earlier, two men began to follow Jesus. When he saw them, he asked what they were looking for. They, in turn, asked him where he was staying. “Come and see,” said Jesus. Come and see. Come and find out who this Jesus is for you. Come and drink the living water. Come and share in the life of faith.

She was a strange missionary, that woman of Samaria, but she was a mssionary of the first class. She hadn’t come all the way in the life of faith by any means. Her witness was tentative— “He can’t be the Messiah, can he?” is the way she puts it, and not surprisingly, since Jesus is so different from everything she had been taught to expect in Messiah. But still she urged that “come and see” on her neighbors, and come and see they did. And hers was the lot of all good missionaries. She got other men and women to come and to see for themselves and learn for themselves who this Jesus was and what he was about. And after they had done that, they didn’t really need her any more, for they heard for themselves and once they had embarked upon the life of faith they were their own men and women who hopefully themselves would go out to other towns and other people and offer that same invitation to life eternal that she had given them: “Come and see.”

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