Sir, I see that you are a prophet.

T HAS To be one of the great toss-off lines in the Bible. Jesus shows up, proclaims his messiah-ship and then accuses the woman of serial monogamy. (Why else would she be coming to the well in the middle of the day if not to avoid the gossip of housewives?) and she turns and says, “I see. Yer a prophet.”

Or maybe, “I get it: yer a prophet.”

When this pericope of The Samritan Woman is read properly we should even get a laugh there.

While these stories of the lectionary may or may not be historical, they are certainly not presented in historical order. This lesson is given to us now, leading us to the baptismal time of post-pentecost: and it is a teaching lesson. The laughter we hear should be directed inwardly – for which of us ever arrived at “Jesus is Lord” without first deciding “this man is a prophet”? And as we laugh at our own short comings in perceiving Jesus, we can hear the rest of this story.

There are a couple of things going on here – one I’m quite good at, and one I’m horrible at.

There have been many times in my journey when I’m convinced that Jesus is a prophet or a “Good Teacher” as the saying goes. I’m especially thinking of the times when I was a pagan and, convinced that all religions teach the same thing, I lumped Jesus in with Confucius, Plato and Moses. And anyone is welcomed to do so. Our woman here is lumping Jesus in with Moses, Isaiah and Jeremiah. “Worshipping God in Spirit and Truth”, “Loving Enemies”, “Seek God first and all things will follow”, these all make good sense.

But we have to mutilate the Gospel to get there – cutting out the passages where Jesus says annoying things like “I and the Father are one” and “I am the bread of Life” and “Before Abraham was, I Am”. And, to do so, we have to assume we know a lot more about Jesus than did the earliest Christians (and even one generation away, some of them were taught by people who knew this man in the flesh.) Or else, you have to say, this man was clearly a raving lunatic. Because if he is a prophet, he’s also making some looney-tunes claims on top of everything else.

And while even the itinerant schizophrenic man on the corner might occasionally say something very wise, he’s still not the sort of person you’d trust for showing you the way to God.

But what if itinerant schizophrenic on the corner actually is God?

One of the hymns for Matins today says

Finding the woman of Samaria by the well of Jacob, Jesus, who covers the earth with clouds, asked water of her. O the wonder! He who rides on the Cherubim converses with a woman who is a harlot. He who hung the earth upon the waters, asks for water. He who pours out springs and pools of water, seeks water, as he wishes truly to draw her who is hunted by the warlike foe, and to quench with the water of life the thirst of her who is aflame with foul desires, as he alone is compassionate and loves mankind.

God has come to earth asking for water: coming to us to ask for care and sustenance. How astounding is that? God stands before us and asks our help. What do we do to learn from him?

And that’s the important point in the first part of the story, I think. This man is not just “a prophet” but the “Savior of the world” as the other Samaritans say at the end of the story.

But there is something else going on here.

His disciples came and were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, but no one said, “What do you want?” or, “Why are you speaking with her?”

Speaking with a woman – without a chaperone – is a bit of a risk for a Jewish man. But full daylight and out in public and all, it’s ok. And his disciples show a proper respect here to their teacher’s decision: John Chrysostom says,

Still in their amazement they did not ask Him the reason, so well were they taught to keep the station of disciples, so much did they fear and reverence Him. For although they did not as yet hold the right opinion concerning Him, still they gave heed unto Him as to some marvelous one, and paid Him much respect.

The Apostles know enough not to Question Jesus about what he is doing in reaching out beyond his own people to draw these others to God. And, indeed, elsewhere (for example, in the ER Apostolic reading for today) when God reaches out to strangers it is God’s faithful followers who know best to keep their mouths shut and watch God’s work in silent praise.

I, on the other hand…

I must confess that most often I want to make sure that God’s going it right, you know – that he’s drawing you along the right path and, by that I mean that he’s drawing you along the same path that he drew me. This says less about God than about me – because, minus God in that equation, I must be right, yes?

I read recently about a survey of people leaving Church for various reasons. The reasons most often cited were Judgementalism and Hypocrisy among Christians, failing to live up to the teachings of Jesus. Then this same survey gets cited by clergy, “church growth” specialists, liturgists and cultural critics as clear evidence that we need to “fix” church, make it “relevant” and “more accessible”.

Anyone see the humour in this yet?

A group of people who claim to follow God in the way of Jesus are judging their sisters and brothers for judging.

And then others come along and say, “See, we told you we needed to change things!” And start to judge those who were there first.

The level of hypocrisy goes up geometrically rather than arithmetically.

Of course, wanting to spread things around, I’m sure the first group judged the second group too.

And I’m either calling people on their BS or else judging them as well… Without naming names:

A lot of folks in the liberal and conservative camps of most denominations (including Orthodoxy and Indy Catholicism) are quite happy to judge one another.

A lot of folks on the liturgical spectrum (from traditionalist to revisionist) are quite happy to judge each other.

A lot of folks in the “Emergent Church” and the “Institutional Church” are quite happy to judge each other.

A lot of folks in various ecclesial communities are quite happy to judge each other across denominational lines.

Romans and Orthodox are quite happy to judge the rest of us (and then say, “Well, if it’s true we’re not being prideful and judgemental”). But a lot of Protestants are quite happy to judge the RCs and EOs as well.

And if you’re wondering how I’m using “judge” here: we’re daring to question Jesus about the way his followers are working out their salvation with him. We’re quite willing to cross a line the Disciples were not willing to cross in Samaria. We’re failing “to keep the station of disciples” out of our fear and reverence. We’re quite happy to KNOW how God will act in someone else’s life – and to point out God’s missteps if he should shatter our expectations.

Maybe God is really working in the lives of Fred Phelps and Peter Akinola, Robert Duncan and Ted Haggard. Maybe God is really working in the lives of Jack Spong and John Dominic Crossan, Jay Bakker and Kevin Thew Forrester. Maybe God is really working in the lives of “them”. And we have to explore the slightest possibility that “we” are wrong.

Maybe.

In the RCL Lections for today, Philip is sent to teach the Gospel to a Eunuch.

Philip is both Jewish and a Hellenised citizen of the Roman world. While Eunuchs are a common part of his Roman life, Judaism, at least, teaches that to be a fully active participant in the Jewish community one had to get married and produce offspring. Eunuchs, of course, could not do that. Although my available references conflict as to the status of Eunuchs in the Jewish tradition, this much is true: they could not have children. Philip is breaking a cultural barrier in reaching out to a non-Jew and a Eunuch, no less. And doing so firm in the knowledge that, following his departure, God will continue to work out the salvation of the Eunuch in his own time and way.

How many of us trust God to do that without judging God for doing it?