Hide-and-seek was my favorite game growing up. The strategy of securing the perfect hiding place, the thrill of the countdown, the heart-stopping anxiety that my six-year-old body endured, the frantic scurrying to hide and then holding my breath as I heard the seeker getting closer — it was almost too much pressure for my pre-adolescent heart to endure.
The lessons we learn from hide-and-seek are lessons we can carry with us throughout life: the importance of thinking under pressure, the integrity necessary to keep our eyes closed while counting, the ability to remain silent for long periods of time, and the joy derived from taking a break to play a game with friends. But, the takeaways aren’t just practical applications of moral development. The game offers a fundamental look at a timeless theological “dilemma” — namely, when it comes to God, are we really seeking Him, or is He the one seeking us?
No more games
Too often we treat our relationship with God like a game of hide-and-seek … at least, I do. At times I run from Him. At times I try to hide from Him and act as though He cannot see me. At times I even hold my breath and don’t talk to Him, hoping He won’t find me. The painful truth is that I almost think, if He can’t find me, He can’t ask me to change.
There’s just one obvious problem with this juvenile thought process: We can’t hide from God.
To God everything is exposed: all of our faults, imperfections, and little personal secrets. But God knows everything: all of our talents, traits, successes, and achievements — that’s the good news. The even better news is that God is always seeking you and me: “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost” (Lk 19:10). Ponder that Gospel truth for a minute, because it’s life altering. You might never miss Mass. You may constantly be reading different spiritual books about the Lord such as this one. You could have a disciplined — even vibrant — prayer life. The radio stations in your car could be preprogrammed to Catholic or Christian stations. You could wake up each day “seeking” the Lord and to grow in your faith. But, the soul-stirring reality is that it’s actually the other way around. You’re not seeking God even a fraction as much as God is seeking you. God doesn’t stop, either. He doesn’t want “part” of your heart, or life, or strength. No, God wants it all. He wants all of your heart, and He’s not going to relent. Christ won’t stop until you place your heart into His splintered and nail-scarred hands.
Jesus is the Good Shepherd, the one who goes out of His way for each of us silly, lost sheep. No sin is too great for this Savior; no lamb is worth losing to this Lord. He isn’t afraid of your past sins, current status, or social structure. We have a God who constantly draws near to where we are to bring us to where He is. The Living Water is flowing, and peering into Christ’s eyes reveals the dehydration of our souls.
A woman, a well, and a wish
One could only imagine the types of insults that were uttered about the woman at the well. So many ex-husbands would have left few souls in such a tiny village at a loss for words. The Samaritan woman we hear about in St. John’s Gospel would have been a small-town gossip’s dream. She is the type of soul few would expect much from, except sin, that is. No one wanted to engage a woman such as this. Certainly no prophet or respectable preacher would be seen in her presence, much less engaging her in dialogue.
Christ won’t stop until you place your heart into His splintered and nail-scarred hands.
Our Lord Jesus does precisely that, however, for when the Living Word draws near, He doesn’t see the sin; He sees the sinner in need of God’s mercy. In fact, the conversation between Christ and the woman at the well is the longest recorded dialogue Jesus has with one person in any of the Gospels. That fact alone ought to cause us pause and intrigue us to read the episode again, with fresh eyes and an open heart. The Holy Spirit inspired these words not for us to view them as a third-person “reader” but as a first-person “sinner” … for as the Lord seeks her, He is seeking us just as fervently:
Now when the Lord … left Judea and departed again to Galilee. He had to pass through Samaria. So he came to a city of Samaria, called Sychar, near the field that Jacob gave to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and so Jesus, wearied as he was with his journey, sat down beside the well. It was about the sixth hour. (John 4:1,3-6)
It’s vital to remember when reading sacred Scripture that no word is meaningless. God inspires every single word for a reason. Sometimes it’s very evident. Other times we may gloss over a phrase without giving it a second thought, such as here when the Holy Spirit reveals, “He had to pass through Samaria.”
Why is that so important? Is Jesus’s preferred route of travel really significant two thousand years later? Scriptural details are an invitation to go deeper into the mind and heart of God. Obviously, the Spirit wanted us to know this fact, so what are we to take from it?
In the time of Jesus, Jews and Samaritans didn’t interact with one another. There was a deep-seated hatred between them extending far beyond any Democrat/Republican dislike or even the Yankees and Red Sox vitriol. A Jew quite simply didn’t go into Samaria if he could avoid it. There were alternate (though, far longer) routes around the region that were preferable. Even if it were a searing hot desert day and you wanted to take the most direct route, if it meant you (a good Jew) had to interact with a Samaritan, you would go miles out of your way just to avoid the cultural disgust and social stigma. The best-case scenario meant a Jew wouldn’t have to see Samaritans, talk to them, or interact with them on any level. Try telling that to the God of the universe.
The carpenter from Nazareth was anything but politically correct. Christ paid no attention to cultural bias or racial tension. Repeatedly throughout the Gospels we see Our Lord shattering social norms. To put it simply, He had a divine appointment that day at the well, unbeknownst to the Samaritan woman fetching water.
We’re told by St. John that it was “about the sixth hour” of the day, making it about high noon for us twenty-first-century readers not savvy about Mediterranean and Hebraic timekeeping. Another seemingly unnecessary detail that offers intriguing insight into the woman’s cultural standing: Why would she go to the well at high noon? Why not earlier in the morning or right before sunset, when either time would offer cooler temperatures? You do not go to the well at the hottest part of the day without a reason.
The well was the proverbial “water cooler” of two thousand years ago. It was where everyone in the village would congregate and the best gossip would occur. Those desiring community (and social gab) would go at sundown, typically. Some biblical scholars and saints even offer that this woman went there at noon because she had a sordid reputation; this woman ventured out for a laborious task in the heat of the day just to avoid the crowds who judged and ridiculed her. Luckily for the woman, her past did not dictate her future … not with a God so limitless in compassion, one who breathes divine mercy. It was high noon, yes — the brightest part of the day — and it was against this backdrop, with everything exposed and nowhere to hide, that God came seeking:
There came a woman of Samaria to draw water. Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” For his disciples had gone away into the city to buy food. The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans. Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have nothing to draw with, and the well is deep; where do you get that living water?” (John 4:7-11)
Of course, this scene presented yet another problem. Not only did Jews and Samaritans not “mix,” but also, at the time, men and women would certainly not
