Stereotypes: Toss them Down the Well!

March 12, 2023—John 4:5-42

A few years ago, two employees named Nicole Hallberg and Martin Schneider worked at a company that fixes up resumes . Nicole and Martin decided to conduct an experiment. On their emails to clients, they would switch names. Nicole would become Martin and Martin, Nicole.

The real Martin soon found himself having email conversations that he found curious. They were unexpectedly snippy in their tone. Or over-explained simple issues. Occasionally, someone called him “hon.” Finally, to test what was happening, Martin pretended he was handing things back to “Martin,” and – as you probably guessed, the tone became immediately friendly.

On Nicole’s side, posing as Martin, she was having a great time. Her questions were all being answered. She wasn’t being second-guessed. Nobody was calling her sweetie.

This past week, as we celebrated International Women’s Day, that little experiment came back to me. It’s an example of how a name can change people’s perceptions. And how stereotypes and assumptions change not only the value we give people, as well as the learned wisdom we attribute to them, but even the subtle ways we talk to them. And so we have to ponder what has changed – and what hasn’t– when we consider our gospel story today.

Jesus meets a Samaritan woman coming to collect water at the town well. Let’s consider this woman for a moment: based on her exchange with Jesus, scholars have traditionally described this woman as a prostitute, pointing to Jesus’s shocking revelation that she was living with a man who was not even her husband! And here she was getting her water at noon, when everyone knew that “proper women” had already fetched their water in the morning and were partly done with their washing by then. So here she is – a lazy Samaritan woman with too many husbands, and of questionable morals. The narrative was right there in front of Jesus. The judgement is ready to fall.

So what does Jesus do? It is remarkable, really. He asks her for a drink, which is a big deal, as we know from her reaction: “Why would you, a Jew, ask to share a drink from a Samaritan like me?” The theological exchange that follows is one of the longest in the gospel. I guess John was either so shocked by the event that he had to get it all down, or perhaps he felt it might serve the followers of Jesus later. What Jesus basically says to the woman is: What’s a cup of water, when I have so much more to offer? You should be asking me for a drink from the living water of God. Now think on this: if it was shocking for Jesus to ask for a drink from this woman, how much more shocking must it have been for him to be offering her a drink back? And yet he does, and she accepts it.

They next have an interesting exchange about her marital history, as if Jesus is testing her. When asked to fetch the man in question, she admits that she has no husband, and Jesus confirms her history. But where is the judgement in his tone? Let’s set aside the fact that a growing number of scholars are questioning our interpretation of this woman’s past – she may have been divorced, she may have been widowed multiple times; we don’t know. The reality is: Jesus doesn’t care. The very way he raises it and then moves on to a welcoming discussion about grace and faith suggests he was actually clarifying to the woman how much he didn’t care about the stories being told, or the past that was nipping at her heels, or the stereotypes people were so keen to attach to her. He was saying: I knowwho you are. None of that matters. Because you matter.

It is really an extraordinary exchange in the Bible. Because what we have is Jesus breaking the rules of society without a thought, having an in-depthconversation with someone who would have been seen as outside the circle. And then, this Samaritan woman doesn’t just drift from the picture – she becomes someone who spreads the gospel to others. Jesus includes her, honours her, and empowers her. He crumbles up the stereotype in front of everyone watching and tosses it down the well.

What’s truly remarkable is how much this story challenges the biases that lead to discrimination and intolerance today. We often keep these biases quiet, or maybe they slip in unconsciously. We assume that poor people are lazy, or perhaps didn’t work hard enough. We assume that people who aren’t white must be from “somewhere else,” or don’t speak English well. We assume that old people are slow and young people are selfish. An outspoken woman is bossy; a kind man is weak. Even when we say we don’t think that way, these biases often shape the way we see people, how we speak to them, what we assume they need, or are capable of. And yet again and again, the gospel challenges the idea that people can ever be reduced to stereotypes. How many examples do we need to hear ofthe welcoming back of the prodigal son, Jesus urging aid for the GoodSamaritan, and, even this morning, conversing freely and with respect to the woman at well? Jesus sets repeated examples of throwing out stereotypes, of rejecting narratives that stomped people down, and casting wide the door to those who would be invited inside. If we must be careful about how false narratives slip into our own thinking, let us also be mindful when false narratives of our faith are just allowed to drift out there, to be picked up and used to wrongful ends.

This morning’s gospel is a feminist gospel. Jesus and the woman have adiscussion much the same as he would with the disciples. He refuses to accept – or even consider – the sexist gossip that the villagers are spreading. It is not whatmatters to Jesus; what counts for Jesus is our coming together in relationship, one of mutual respect and kindness.

It is such an easy trap for us humans to follow the stories that our experience, our prejudices, and our culture want to say to people that we don’t know. What results are sexism and homophobia, racism and Islamophobia. And each time we miss an opportunity, we miss the potential of a larger community, we miss a life-changing moment at the well of the living water. We miss a chance ourselves to experience more from the people around us.

Don’t fall into this trap. Remember this story in the gospel. And yes, indeed, ask yourself, each and every day: What would Jesus say? What would Jesus do? We know the answer. Amen.

Ground Rush

Parachutists have a phrase they call “ground rush.” Now I have never jumped out of a plane, so I can’t vouch for this personally, but apparently, when you first make the jump and you are falling through the sky, but have yet to open up your parachute, you have this feeling as if you are falling - dropping towards the ground at a completely reasonable speed. You have time to take in the scenery, and while it’s exhilarating, your sense of time slows down completely - the ground, after all, seems very far away. But once you fall a certain distance, your perception shifts - and it’s not the falling that you’re aware of - it is instead the ground rushing quickly towards you. In that instant, one might imagine that Time speeds up rather quickly. And you are probably awfully keen to pull your parachute cord. It has been suggested that this might make a good analogy for the way we experience life - the first half of which we might spend enjoying the feeling of time travelling slowly, and the second half, suddenly realizing that time is ticking down. Of course, time is always ticking down. It is only our perception that changes.

Lent, of course, is meant to be one of those perception-changing seasons of the church. Forty days to contemplate the passage of time, both to slow it down, like the parachutist first emerging from the plane, but with a sense of its passing quickly, like the second half of the descent. These are the two postures of Lent: slowing things down, then speeding up, or focusing on what is important. It is a difficult one for us to master, since we most naturally fall into the opposite pattern: that is, speeding up, or focusing on, all the things that are the least important. Much is of this is a matter of perception: from what angle do we see the world? Where is the countdown clock in our lives? Do we lament our lack of time with our kids, only to spend precious moments with them on our iPhones? Do we wish for a better marriage while devoting the best of ourselves to work? Do we write an ending for our lives without seeing the journey we have to take?

This morning’s gospel features a wordy debate between a Pharisee and Jesus. The Pharisee - Nicodemus - is trying to pin Jesus down, to get some specifics on heaven and the spirit. But Jesus dodges the questions: he leaves his answers open-ended. Clearly, this frustrates poor Nicodemus, who wants it clearly mapped out. To use our parachutist analogy, he wanted to know that when he jumps out of a plane, he will fall for exactly so many seconds, pull his chute at this time directly, and land in this place precisely. But Jesus denies him this kind of answer. “The wind blows where it chooses and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.”

Jesus speaks of us in two parts - flesh and spirit. The first, we understand better: it is the most animal part of it - hunger, thirst - even those baser human emotions such as anger. Love for our families and spouses we might add to the flesh side of our lives since they come naturally. But the spirit, as Jesus would say, works more mysteriously - it is that human quality that is harder to understand, the one that makes less sense in a Darwinian world, the acts of charity and kindness toward strangers, sacrifices we make not for ourselves, but for others. It is the feeling of euphoria when time does not seem to matter, when the wind is blowing us, but we don’t know where and are prepared to be led by it. Part of Jesus’s frustration with the law-oriented society into which he was born was just that: so focused on rules, they were not prepared to be led the way the wind blew them. They wanted to know the destination before they took the next step.

That’s hardly how life works, in any event, so it’s an attitude that holds us back from the real decisions we must make.

Certainly, this week, witnessing the horror of the migrant tragedy off Italy’s southern coast, we have seen people moved by the spirit. I think of the rescue crews who worked tirelessly trying to find survivors. Expressions of grief from around the world. And the demands for action that were split between the imperative of humanitarian treatment and a crackdown on traffickers. Sometimes it takes a tragic story to move our spirit. That is the unquantifiable element of humanity - the part that brings us closer to God - the part we cannot explain. It is not complicated to understand our definition of heroes and martyrs - they are the people that choose the spirit over flesh. They are the people that choose faith over law.

Let us return to that airplane, with us about to leap out of it. An analogy for life, but also for every day. And certainly, one that works for Lent. What Jesus wants for us is to experience, every chance we can, these two seeming contradictions of life - the ability to see the big picture, and the capability to respond in small and significant ways to improve that picture. Jesus wants to us feel both time moving slowly, and time passing by. This is also the discipline of Lent - both contemplation and action, which in partnership require an awareness of life at its largest, and an ability to distill it down to specifics. If we stay too long in the first, we forget to pull our parachute cord.

And I like the parachute analogy for one other important reason: who is our parachute, after all? Our gospel gives us this answer: For God so loved the world that God gave Jesus so that everyone who believes may not perish but may have eternal life. And just in case we didn’t get it the first time, we have this clarification: Jesus didn’t come to judge us or condemn us. Jesus came to save us - that is, to guide and comfort us. That is the parachute that helps us see life large, and act upon it. It is the spirit that moves our flesh into faith, that carries us forward to sacrifice for others, that inspires heroes. Don’t be like Nicodemus arguing semantics with Jesus. Listen for the wind, savour the view, and pull your parachute cord.Amen

February 26th, 2023

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse

This war of words between Jesus and the devil is one of the most interesting exchanges in the gospel. It is written as dialogue, a clear back-and-forth, a test of wits known as the temptation of Jesus. The devil – or the tempter – appears to Jesus when he is alone, when he is the most susceptible to other voices, and tries three times to steer him off his path. Many of us might draw comparisons to what happens to us sometimes when we wake up at 3 am, tossing and turning to worries that feel larger than what we are able to handle. Often at that time of night, lying alone in the dark, people describe that all their problems seem bigger, and all the solutions that come forward in a sleepy mind feel more desperate. The more they ruminate on those problems – money, family, health – the larger and more intractable they seem. In the light of day, however, all that worry often feels nonsensical and overblown. Jesus has a clear advantage over us. In our story, he is confronted by the tempter, by the devil, who reveals himself. First, he asks Jesus to prove himself – to turn stones into bread. Isn’t that something that Jesus Christ could do easily? But Jesus deflects smoothly: “Why would I bother?” he tells the devil. You can’t live by bread alone. And every word for God should be spent wisely. The devil moves to his next question, this time asking Jesus to prove God’s love for him: “Throw yourself off this mountain,” the devil taunts, “and see how God will save you.” But Jesus parries easily: “Don’t put God to the test,” he says. God stands by us, and guides us, through plenty of tests of our own inadvertent making. And the devil’s final question is for Jesus to walk away from his difficult path and his austere life, and trade it all in for riches. Now that is a temptation we can truly understand. And at this, the contempt that Jesus feels boils over: “Away with you, Satan,” he says. “I won’t lose myself for a pot of gold. I serve God and the gospel alone.” This is the true sign of a rich life. The devil having lost, he goes away. And the better angels of God appear to keep Jesus company. This story is intended to be a guide for us, a reminder of the ways that we are also tempted. We don’t see the devil, but the voice of temptation whispers to us throughout our lives. Sometimes, it is easier to see – when we are tempted to break rules, or to break our moral code for material success, to lie for personal gain. We see it often so clearly among our leaders and our politicians who protect their power with the price of ourselves. But let’s not kid ourselves: we face similar temptations, and we sometimes fall short – when we choose money over family, or prestige over good works, or when we make self-serving choices that hurt those around us. The hardest temptations are those that come to us more subtly, that feel right and fair at the time. Why shouldn’t we show off our success, or reveal our talents if we have them? Doesn’t God want us to be successful, to know our own strength? God does, indeed. But not for others - for ourselves. When we do good, when we are good, it should be enough, for that goodness is a valuable asset in its own right. We don’t need to be seen changing stone to bread. And indeed, feeling that way only taints our motives and takes the goodness out of our actions. This one is trickier still. Perhaps we are ill or grieving, we have suffered a loss, and we choose to blame God. We stand at the top of the metaphorical mountain and toss ourselves over and wait for God to come through and save us. Yet nowhere in the gospel does it say life is easy; nowhere does it say that faith makes life perfect. In fact, the gospel is one big guidebook for how to help ourselves - how to hear God when life is a mess. We don’t need to test God’s love, because God is not at the bottom of the mountaintop waiting to catch us. God is already standing at the top with us. What is the advice that we are given by the Gospel for those 3 a.m. wake-ups? Now that is also interesting. The advice often given is for us to change the conversation: to tell ourselves that the night has magnified our worries. That we will fall back asleep and rise to greet what the day brings. That we will manage to get through what troubles us. But it is interesting to me that the self-help approach is to shift the conversation – for what is that but praying in the end? In the middle of the night, we can go to God about our troubles, and seek the wisdom of the gospel. We can work things out. Let’s take a minute to talk about the conversation that Eve has with the serpent in the Garden of Eden, one that has been used throughout history as an excuse to treat women as less than men and perpetuated great harm on society because of it. To say nothing of costing us the wisdom of half the population through all these many years. It is true that Eve, based on that story in Genesis, broke the rule that God had sent, and listened to the serpent who told her the key to wisdom was hers to find in the Tree of Life. (There is nothing to say, by the way, that Adam also didn’t know what he was eating: that Eve didn’t tell him what it was, or that he was fully aware of it, before he himself had it.) So, what happens? The two of them eat the fruit, and they do not die. They go out into the world to face the trials and joys that it holds. One imagines that God, having created humanity in God’s image, understood our thirst for wisdom would not be satisfied by a life without challenge, without striving. But when Eve and Adam become aware of themselves -- of who they are, when they acquire free will, God doesn’t abandon them. God joins them in the real world. What does that story teach us? Perhaps first of all, that we, imperfect, could not perpetually exist in perfection. But perhaps most of all: when we give into temptation – as we do, as we will – God doesn’t discard us. Sacred text teaches us over and over again that God tries to guide us back to the gospel again and again. This is an important lesson for us to remember; yes, Jesus tells us the answers to give when we are tempted. We just won’t always use them. And when we give in to temptation, we are not condemned. We are forgiven. This is the gift of faith, given by God, to humanity. Amen.