He (still) Waits at Our Wells

At noon, beneath the blazing sun,

In the sweltering heat,

her journey begun.

Alone she walked,

a solitary quest,

Her heart whispered secrets,

her spirit distressed.

The weight of silence, heavy and near,

Each step a rhythm of thirst and fear.

A well ahead, but deeper still

The aching void no jar could fill.

That tells you almost everything!

Women in Samaria typically came to Jacob’s well in the early morning, chatting and gathering before the sun grew heavy. But not her. She came when no one else would. Perhaps she was tired of the whispers, or worse—the silence. We don’t know the full extent of her shame, but we know what it feels like to avoid people out of fear they’ve already made up their minds about us.

There are wells we all return to.

The ones we visit when we’re tired.

When our strength is frayed, our pasts too loud, our hope thinned to a whisper.

The Samaritan woman knew that kind of well.

She came to it at noon—not for company, but to avoid it.

Not expecting change, but just getting by.

Then came a voice,

beside that ancient well,

"A drink?" he asked,

her heartbeat fell.

A Jew? To me?

Her thoughts took flight,

Such words, by custom, didn't sit right.

She came with her jar and her past.

But what she didn’t know was that Jesus was already there, waiting—not just beside the well, but at the deepest point of her story.

Jesus Waits

John 4 reads like a slow unraveling.

A stranger speaks.

A conversation stirs.

A thirst deeper than the desert heat begins to surface.

John tells us that Jesus “had to go through Samaria” (John 4:4).

Geographically, that wasn’t true. There were well-worn Jewish routes that circled around it. But Jesus chooses the harder way—not to save time, but to save someone.

He waits at the well, weary and thirsty. And when she came, he said to her:

“Will you give me a drink?”

And so begins a conversation that will change everything.

The Samaritan woman came to the well burdened not only with a water jar, but with invisible walls—constructed from cultural division, personal shame, and spiritual confusion. These barriers were well-fortified and familiar, yet Jesus begins to gently dismantle them, one barrier at a time.

She belonged to a people long despised by the Jews. She would not have expected kindness, let alone conversation. She lived with the daily weight of social rules and silent limits, compounded by the sting of social ostracism that left her feeling isolated and unseen. A Jewish rabbi should have ignored her. But Jesus sees her, speaks with her, and invites her into meaningful conversation with him. His words are gentle and open, kind and disarming. By reaching out, He gently invites her to explore deeper truths beyond societal barriers, addressing the thirst in her soul while lowering her defenses.

And when she protests, “You don’t even have a bucket, and the well is deep,” he doesn’t push; He invites.

He crossed the lines that men had drawn,

Where race and rank let love be gone.

A Rabbi speaks?

In broad daylight?

To me, a woman shamed by night?

No pail he bore, yet Living Stream

Called forth a spring she never dreamed.

And he does something that only he can do: He takes her past and offers her a future.

Jesus alone can take our brokenness and make it beautiful; transform our barrenness into the bountiful beauty befitting his glory.

He names her truth, the loss, scandal, even abandonment, not to shame or embarrass her, but to let her know she is understood. Her story, despite its brokenness, doesn't cause him to withdraw. He was there to provide her with hope and a future—bringing healing where there had been hiding, and nothing would deter him.

Even when she changes the subject, raising a long-standing religious debate, Jesus doesn’t argue. He lifts her eyes higher: true worship of the Father. And finally, when she speaks of the Messiah, still uncertain and distant in her mind, Jesus speaks plainly: “I who speak to you am He.” Jesus doesn’t just answer her questions—He reorients her life.

Her soul was laid, bare and wide,

No need to run, no need to hide.

Through tangled past and silent cries,

He spoke with truth that opened eyes.

No more walls.

No more waiting.

No more pretense; just sweet presence. Just loving truth; his truthing in love.

In that sacred encounter, Jesus did tear down barriers with force. He breaks them with gentleness, with truth, with compassion. And when she finally sees Him—not just as a prophet, but as Messiah—everything shifts.

All Things New

She came to the well to avoid people. She left it as a messenger. One encounter with Jesus changed everything. The woman who had hidden in shame began to mirror the very grace she received. Jesus makes all things new!

Culturally rejected, she returned to her village with boldness. Socially shamed, she spoke to those who had likely avoided her. Relationally isolated, she offered invitation. Spiritually uncertain, she became a witness. Her words were simple: “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Christ?” (John 4:29). She didn’t preach. She didn’t prove. She just opened the door.

The unnamed woman became a reflection of Jesus—crossing barriers and building bridges. That’s what grace does. It doesn’t stop at forgiveness. It forms, sends, and empowers.

Jesus is still at the well. Still meeting the weary. Still making disciples who reflect His love in ordinary moments. You may feel dry, burdened, or unchanged—but He is present, inviting you to drink deeply.

With Him, you are not just forgiven—you are formed.

Not just seen—you are sent.

Not just healed—you become a healer.

Discipleship is not a spiritual add-on. It’s a daily response to the One who turns shame into testimony and hiding into purpose. You were found to become a finder. So don’t walk away from the well.

Press in.

He’s still speaking.

Still shaping.

Still sending.

And those who receive His grace are always called to reflect it.

He (still) Waits at Our Wells

Because Jesus is the Gospel, and the Gospel breaks barriers and builds bridges, being followers of Jesus transcends mere admiration of His teachings or alignment with His morality. It calls us to be active participants in His mission. This is not just a passive belief; it is a dynamic engagement with the world around us. When we embrace this truth, we become agents of change, empowered to heal divides and foster unity. Together, with Jesus, in this transformative journey, we embody the love and grace of Christ in every interaction, recreating the world as it was created to be––home.

She saw at last: the Promised One.

Her striving stilled, her shame undone.

A heart made whole began to sing—

“Come see the Christ––could he be King?”