Asking for a cup of water

I heard a great sermon the other Sunday on John 4. The preacher highlighted many things in the passage, including the shame the woman at the well experienced. She was a Samaritan, avoided by the Jews, and she came to draw water at midday, perhaps because she had been shamed by her community. She carried the weight of shame, and Jesus welcomed her. She was hiding, and Jesus saw her. She knew the judgement and condemnation of the community, and Jesus released her. She became the first evangelist. The very person shamed and pushed out of society sent back to be the messenger of the Messiah. Jesus does seem to like turning the social hierarchy upside down.

If we think about church life and who we would welcome and commission as an evangelist, who would it be? The holy man who knows how to live and speak the gospel accurately? The charismatic woman who can capture the attention of a crowd? The popular child at school who can reach many people? Jesus chose the forgotten, the cast out and the sinner. I am not sure I have ever seen that in a job description: “Are you neglected, ignored, and forced to live a different life to cover up all your faults? Come and work for us!”

Jesus did not ignore all that she had done, but he saw it and still loved her. He met her in her shame and revealed who he was to her, something Jesus does not do readily. This is a deeply vulnerable moment, which led many to come to know Jesus.

Brené Brown describes shame as “the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love, belonging and connection.” She distinguishes shame from being held accountable for something and being shamed. The first is an emotion and a reaction to accountability, whereas the second becomes oppressive. Fundamentally, when we are shamed, we feel that we are no longer worthy or good enough for belonging and connection. According to this definition, there is no doubt that the woman at the well may have experienced shame to the extent of being oppressed and cast out. I wish I could say that the church has learned from this history, but we are all flawed, and shame still causes us to oppress and hide.

I have been processing some shame that has been placed on me through the Church, the shame that tried to hide, but which has slowly eaten away at me over the years and made me nervous of certain leadership in the church. It is hard to name shame. It is an emotion that does not like to be named, and sadly, it often masquerades as righteousness. If righteousness can be described as right relationship, then shame is the opposite of that. Once again, Brené Brown uses a powerful phrase and calls shame the fear of disconnection. In our faith, that means disconnection from one another, from the church community and from God. Shame robs us of relationship.

Those who were shunning this woman at the well thought they were following the rules and keeping to the right level of purity. It was not righteousness at all. By shaming her, they judged, pulled away and cut her off from community. Jesus shows us the exact opposite through drawing close, being vulnerable and showing the way forward. Righteousness does not say, “Look at me, I am perfect, and you need to match my standards.” It says, “I see you, I know you, and I love you.”

In this kind of relationship, truth is not ignored, but is spoken within a loving relationship, offering not judgement and oppression, but hope. Jesus sat at the well with the woman who carried shame, and asked her for a drink of water. He was not the judge and jury, with all the rules, inviting her to fit into his way of life. He was the guest sitting at her table, joining her in the heat of the day and asking for her help. They could be vulnerable with each other and talk about life, truth and living water because he met her where she was and even lowered himself to ask for her help. Jesus offers truth with hope, from a place of radical acceptance.

What if we mirrored Jesus in moments of shame?

I can recall people who have refused to judge me, but who pointed me to Jesus, who knows my heart, and then still offered to be there for me both prayerfully and practically. We see this kind of radical acceptance from people we meet in this network, who choose to place the other person before themselves in the way they work, who they work with, and by sitting at the well with those on the margins. Thank you.

This also begs the question: who have we judged, shamed and caused to hide away? Who are we called to sit at a well with? Depending on where we live in our rural context, it could be the Reform voter or the Green Party voter. It could be those who live in static homes at the end of our road, on the council estate, or in the expensive houses. What about the family with the unruly children, the child with neurodiversity, or the teenager struggling with sexual identity? What about the villager or the farmer who can never make a local gathering? Or the working parents who cannot be on the PTA or the Parish Council? We all judge one another and draw our lines of engagement, and it causes the other to be cast outside our circle and shamed.

I’d love for us to consider shame together, to take a moment to think how we may have shamed others or felt shamed ourselves. Let’s mirror Jesus, notice where shame has caused someone to hide or be on the outside of our community. Let us sit at the well at midday, and ask for a cup of water. Then, perhaps, we will see shame replaced with vulnerability, truth and acceptance, and then maybe a few more people could bring their whole communities to Jesus.

If you have experienced being shamed, consider reaching out to someone you can truly trust, perhaps an independent counsellor.

Jo Allen

Joint CEO, Rural Ministries