Some years back my priest-spouse, Dick Simeone, and I performed a dialogue homily using a script I’d written about a midrashic (interpretative) conversation between Jesus and a Woman from Samaria (John 4). In our drama, these two protagonists meet at the well to which she is coming to draw water, and Jesus, an inimical intruder on her territory, shows up and rudely demands that she give him a drink from her well. She refuses, thinking him arrogant. He confronts her with a few rude questions about her sexual behavior, her bad rep. What business is that of his? Hmph.
The gospel writer, John, goes on to proclaim that Jesus forgives her, gives her “magic” water, and preaches about eternal life. In our dramatization, however, the woman stands her ground; Jesus sasses back but he listens; and we all wonder who converts whom in the story? Is this a story about her bad rep (sin) or her bad rap (sexism)? Is it about the cultural/religious enmity between Samaritans and Jews? Is it about the humanity of Jesus? Or is it about ancient feminism emergent?
Familiar, right? What’s a woman to do? What’s a Jew to do? What’s an immigrant to do? What’s a man on a sacred mission to do? How do we heal our tug-of-war politics in church and state? How do we reconcile one with another? Perhaps we have to let go of “winning” or being “right.” “Shaming” or being “wrong.” What?
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Talk. Get honest. Allow what we think with our minds, what we feel in our hearts, and what we do with our bodies to align—yes align.
Such honesty is reached through the doorway of grief and loss. We get vulnerable about our fears and our own dishonesties, failures, dreams, truths we do not want to hear, unhealed wounds and memories. “We” means all of us in this drama called Life, with whatever biases we hold, according to whatever religion, culture, or nation we hallow, and through whatever prayers we pray.
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I remember a very anxious young client to whom, after much back-and-forth/dead-end counseling, I said: “In your vulnerability is your power.” She hopped up, ran out and slammed the door. I never saw her again. Later I heard she got a job.
What about my own frustrated passion to liberate gender from the gender harness? I keep talking about it. I read wise books. I “zoom” with women friends. I blog. I make friends. I talk with my spouse. I tell God to soften hearts hardened by fear. I know it’s not all my fault or my responsibility. I also know it matters. I feel impatient. I keep on writing. Then I remember biblical heroes like Jesus and the Samaritan woman who kept on being patiently impatient.
