With Fr. Mel's permission, here is a wonderful sermon he offered at the monastery on Sunday of the Samaritan Woman.
This sermon was preached at the Monastery near the day on which some Americans expected “the
Rapture” to occur.
In the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
A few short days ago some of us present here were in a town called Nablus, in the West Bank, in the Holy
Land. There we visited the Church of the Samaritan woman, whose feast it is today. In the Church we saw
the well, and we drank water from it.
It was good to be present in the place whose identity few could dispute. Over the years, the human race is
capable of moving all sorts of things, of losing all sorts of things, but no one can easily move a well. This
was the place where Christ met the woman of Samaria, and it is in Nablus.
Nablus is, and has been since the time of Christ, a place of sorrow and division. Then it was the division
between Jews and Samaritans, now a place of separation between Jews and Arabs. Actually, it is in heart
of Palestinian homeland, surrounded with all the tensions and sorrows caused by that particular conflict. It
is also a sad place, since it is the site of a recent Christian martyrdom when a former priest was murdered
there some years ago by a religious fanatic. However, scenes of martyrdom become, in God’s time, places
of hope and happiness, and we could already see the transformation taking place. Since the death of
Father Philoumenos in 1979, the church has prospered and under the guidance of its present pastor, the
Church is being transformed into a beautiful place of pilgrimage.
The story of the Samaritan woman is one of those stories where we actually get to see a fairly good look
at someone who comes to Jesus for healing. Sometimes the Gospel writers are so intent on showing us
Jesus that they fail to show as much about people that come to Him. In this case we have something of
the character image of the Samaritan woman. In the Gospel she is not named, but in Christian tradition,
and in quite early Christian tradition at that, she is given a name. In Greek it is Photini, based on the Latin
word "phos" which means light, in Russian/Slavonic countries it is Svetlana, based on the word "svet",
which means light. In Celtic countries the name is Fiona, based on the Celtic/Gaelic word "fionn" (light)
and in the world of languages derived from Latin, she is called either Clair or Lucia.
So we have a woman called “Light”. There are two occasions when the Church presents us with the
themes of “light” and “water” together. This is one of them. The other is the Theophany of Christ, on
Jan 6th, when we see the Baptism of Christ and the blessing of water, but which is called - throughout
the Greek world at least – Ta Phota, the Lights. In today’s story we have Jacob's well and its water, upon
which is transposed a strong theme of light. This is a paradox, which we need to enter into our hearts in
order, not to understand (there is nothing to understand), but to appreciate.
The historical details surrounding this story are not entirely necessary to see its significance. Once you
have gathered that Jews and Samaritans don't get along, that as a rule Jewish men don't talk to women
that they don't know, and that it is not possible for a Jew to observe the laws of ritual purity and to eat
anything in Samaria, let’s then look at the relationship between the woman and Christ himself.
It is an encounter, an unexpected encounter. The woman isn't on any great spiritual quest; she is simply
going to the well to get water, which she does quite regularly. But on this occasion she meets God. There
is an interchange between them in which Christ shows to the woman that He is not just some ordinary
bystander. The encounter happens. And, as her name implies, in this encounter she becomes radiant in the
Light of Christ, much as the three Disciples were bathed in the light of Christ at the Transfiguration on
Mount Tabor. In her case, not in any obvious visible way, but in a symbolic or figurative way.
And the first thing the Light does is to shine upon her and suddenly we see her in a rather bleak situation.
We don't know the reason why she has been married so many times, but the hint in the Gospel is that she
is not particularly faithful to anybody and that her acquaintance with truth is somewhat sporadic. We see
that she is a broken, broken woman, spiritually, socially, ethnically. And she doesn’t even seem to notice.
Each time we encounter Christ we can expect the same thing to happen. Since the Light of Christ shines
first of all upon our own brokenness, then we realize just how broken we are. And this can in turn lead
to depression and sadness, since every time we meet Christ the same thing seems to happen: we see
ourselves in the shadows of His light. It never seems to get better. Every time we see Christ, we are
reminded of the darkness that we have to live with.
But that isn't the end of the story. The Light of Christ isn't simply an object outside the Samaritan woman,
it's something which enters the life of that woman and has a dynamism, a power of its own. The Light of
Christ begins to heal the woman where she most needs it.
She then leaves Christ and goes back to her countrymen to tell them what has happened. Not in any subtle
or spiritual way, she is simply impressed by someone who tells her about her past without knowing it,
and she wants to share that with other people. But we know from the Church Tradition that it was the
place of St. Photini to bring the light of Christ to whomever she met. And this is the second part of this
"light" theme. We don't stop with the light shining on our darkness so that we can see how dark it is, we
continue then to allow the Light to penetrate us so that we indeed can become a living thing. Having
been touched by Christ (in case of the Samaritan woman literally, in our case in and through the Holy
Mysteries of the Church ) we are illumined. And then we carry the Light of Christ (we are not necessarily
at this point made worthy of anything) but we carry the Light of Christ wherever we happen to go. And
the Light of Christ has the potential to enlighten all those whom we meet, whether or not we realize it at
the time.
To be a Light-Bearer is perhaps the highest aspiration of the Christian soul. The process works best when
we are aware that whenever we go into a place, a school, a shop, in a monastery, in the guesthouse, to
our neighbours, to our friends, wherever it is that we are, we are carrying the Light of Christ whether we
know it or not. And sometimes we simply have to let the light of Christ do its work, and having carried it
to its destination, get out of the way.
As far as we know, the encounter between Christ and the Samaritan woman did not bring about any
resolution to any of the historical problems in that part of the world. Those problems are now different
problems, with little chance of resolution on the level where we most commonly look. However, the
world was a different place, since the Light of Christ now shone in this woman, and that Light was not to
be extinguished by mere political difficulties.
In this Divine Liturgy we are also going to encounter Christ; we also are going to be illumined as she
was, and this will bring to the world a spiritual, a deeply-grounded, sense of what it means to enter the
Kingdom. It is through Christ touching our lives that the “Rapture” will occur, not in empty calculations
or false prophesy.
Maran atha. Come, Lord Jesus.
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