In His Hands Are the Depths

Exodus 17:1-7
Psalm 95
John 4:5-42

Recently I discovered the work of an artist whose depictions of events from the Hebrew Bible and New Testament speak to me in a new and challenging way. Dr. He Qi is the first person from mainland China to have received his Ph. D. in religious art after the Cultural Revolution and is currently an artist in residence at Yale Divinity School. His works are featured regularly in curricula created by Faith Inkubators and his future plans include the creation of an illustrated Bible that will be published in several languages, including English. In his artwork, He Qi presents Christian stories and themes to the people of his homeland through images that draw on traditional Chinese painting techniques and folk customs. The manner in which he combines familiar narratives and unfamiliar imagery produces a kind of parabolic effect, evoking the sort of unsettling emotions that Jesus' disciples must have felt upon hearing his perplexing stories.

This week I have returned again and again to He Qi's interpretation of Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well. Actually, the artist has two versions of this scene from the Gospel of John, but the picture I have displayed is the one that has spoken to me most powerfully over the last several days. Often He Qi uses very vibrant primary colors to give his paintings the impression of complex movement and life, but in some instances he relies on the more elemental shades of green, yellow, and umber, allowing only an incidental tone of red to nuance his canvas, as is evident in this scene. Here Jesus is seated at Jacob's well and a young woman is standing before him; their red mouths accentuate the improbable dialogue that is about to take place. But not to be overlooked – indeed, it is the central focus of the painting itself – is the outstretched hand of Jesus set against the backdrop of the opening of the well. In one simple gesture – Jesus' reaching out in both compassion and spiritual direction – He Qi summarizes the fundamental import of John's narrative.

There is much about this story that can be said from both a theological and historical perspective. The attitude among Jews towards Samaritans is well known among Christians today, but the cultural depths of this animosity are not often emphasized. The source of the bitterness extended as far back as 700 years before the time of Christ when the Assyrians destroyed the Kingdom of Israel, displaced its inhabitants, and relocated communities from five different regions of its growing empire. These outsiders settled in the land and intermarried with the few Israelites who remained, and thus began a syncretism of religious traditions that persisted right up until the time of Jesus. The Samaritans were not Jews, of course, but their claims on such prophets as Moses and Jacob, and on such traditions as Abraham's near sacrifice of Isaac on their own Mount Gerazim, were close enough to Jewish orthodoxy to infuriate those who had spent the last five centuries making sure they got it all right, from their worship of God in the Jerusalem Temple to their strict observance of the law.

How unlikely it is, then, that Jesus the Jew would find himself in the company of a Samaritan, and a woman reviled among even her own. She was the quintessential outsider, but as such she was in the most likely position to hear and respond to the good news that Jesus came to proclaim. And here is the irony that John wants us to see in all its elemental glory: though it was Moses to whom God, the great "I am," spoke in the fire of the burning bush -- Moses the most exalted prophet among the Samaritans, Moses who struck the rock at Horeb so that the thirst of the Israelites might be quenched -- it was to this lowly woman, this Samaritan, that the Son of God would first reveal his name and mission. There had no doubt been ample opportunity for such a disclosure prior to this time -- with his disciples, for example, or even with one who might best understand the theological significance of his calling, Nicodemus. But in the Gospel of John Jesus speaks the first of his "I am" sayings to the one who, in the eyes of nearly everyone who could be asked, was the least deserving of all: "I am he, the one who is speaking to you" (John 4:26).

And this brings me back to the outstretched hand of Jesus framed so neatly in He Qi's painting by the circular mouth of Jacob's well. "I am he." In Jesus' confession of his messianic calling, so much more is being intimated than what this woman could possibly imagine. It hearkens back to the prologue of John's Gospel where we are introduced to the wonder of the incarnation itself, the spiritual Word becoming flesh, taking on the elements of creation as his own. Jesus had been with God in the beginning as the Spirit brooded over the face of the deep and called forth order out of chaos. "He was in the world, and the world came into being through him" (John 1:10a). This is the very hand that fashioned Adam from the dust of the earth, and the hand that directed Moses toward the rock at Horeb where water would save the Israelites from their anguish in the desert. "In his hands are the depths of the earth," the Psalmist assures us. And what we know as readers of this narrative, this hand, offered to the most unlikely of God's servants, will soon be the one from which the blood of death, and thus the promise of life, will spring forth on the cross.

Though she had little else to cling to, the Samaritan woman placed great faith and hope in the narratives of her tradition. She knew that despite her appalling reputation among her kindred she could still rely on the integrity of her distant past to give her strength. The well from which she drank was in many ways the source of her very identity. But as Jesus makes quite clear, all of this would have to be set aside in the presence of the Messiah.

Jesus' words still ring true to us today, and their urgency must not be minimized in a world where more times than not we rush to our own wells of nationalism or religious and ethnic pride for what we hope will be the water of life. "[T]he hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him" (John 4:24). From the outstretched hand of Jesus, and from extending our own hands to the quintessential others in our global midst, we indeed drink from living waters and offer to God our most holy praise. But the point that we need to remember, and now more than ever, is that this faithful response to God issues not from Gerazim or Jerusalem, not from Israel or Palestine, not from Baghdad or Washington, but from the very image of God which we all bear, regardless of our national or religious origin.

Despite Jesus' frequent references to such abstract notions as "spirit" and "truth," John still holds its own as the most elemental of the gospels. The evangelist works in shades of earth, air, water, and fire in the same way that He Qi is able to illuminate his canvases with the Word of God itself. Having said this, I think it is important that in this narrative we not overlook the elemental symbolism that reaches all the way back to the dialogue that Moses had with God-made-manifest in the burning bush. The story of Yahweh's calling that began in the mystery of fire now ends in the cool and calming waters of life. At Lent, this means for us that the stories of our own lives, fraught as they are with the kinds of shortcomings and failures that could make even the lowliest of Samaritans blush, are cleansed and renewed in the living water of our baptisms. But the process does not end here; on the contrary, this is where we begin. Our reconciliation with God must be mirrored in our sanctifying work in our homes and communities. "Preach the gospel always," Saint Francis once told his confreres, "and if necessary use words." Our hope for peace in our lives and in the world today lies at those wells and watering holes, complete with their unsavory Samaritans, that we tend more to avoid than to seek out. It will only be here, as Jesus demonstrates so well, and as He Qi reminds us so beautifully, that the hand of friendship can be offered and accepted.

Questions for Further Discussion

1. What features of He Qi's painting above most speak to you?

2. If you were to paint the story of Jesus meeting the Samaritan woman at the well, what aspects of the narrative would you be sure to include? What colors would be most prominent in your work?

3. In what ways do we as Christians tend to worship God on our own holy mountain instead of "in spirit and in truth"?

4. Where is your "local well" and what Samaritans are you likely to meet there in the coming week?