Sermon, March 15, Lent 3: 'Love in the time of coronavirus'

READING: John 4:1-42

SERMON
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

The scene is a back alley in New York.
High rise surround it,
washing lines flap with drying clothes.
And, in the immediate foreground,
a young man is shifting barrels.
He looks up,
there’s a sense of hopefulness about him –
the world is full of possibilities...
what might it hold for him?
Eyes bright, he smiles,
and bursts into song:

Could be! Who knows?
There's something due any day;
I will know right away,
Soon as it shows.
It may come cannon-balling 
down through the sky,
Gleam in its eye,
Bright as a rose!

Who knows?
It's only just out of reach,
Down the block, on a beach,
Under a tree
I got a feeling there's a miracle due,
Gonna come true,
Coming to me!

Could it be? Yes it could.
Something's coming, something good,
If I can wait!
Something's coming,
I don't know what it is,
But it is
Gonna be great!

A little later on, he meets the girl of his dreams at a dance, they fall in love ...
maybe it is gonna be great.

I’m wondering if this might be ringing any bells –
what movie musical am I referring to?
...
Yep, West Side Story.
It’s a tale based on Romeo and Juliet, but set in the 1950’s...
instead of the Montagues and Capulets
you have two rival gangs:
the Sharks and Jets.
There’s a bitter enmity between them –
they despise each other’s culture,
customs,
colour.
And, in the end, the feud between these two groups
destroys the chance at love and a new life for the young man and young woman –
Tony and Maria.
The hopefulness that Tony had at the beginning of the story that
something’s coming that’s gonna be great –
which is realised when he meets Maria –
is shown to the viewer at the end of the musical, to be hopeless:
how hard it is to break from habits,
to break from fear of the other,
to break the reaction to that fear –
the cycle of violence.
Tony’s body lies crumpled in the street,
surrounded by members of both gangs, and their followers.
And then, and then... something does come,
something ...good –
out of the devastation,
in that moment,
when all see the cost of their hatred,
they finally see each other...
just fellow humans after all.
Wordlessly, they put an end to war:
members of both gangs come forward,
and, lifting Tony’s body, carry him off together.
From his death,
perhaps there will be an end to the fear,
perhaps there will be an end to the fighting,
perhaps there will be a chance for all of them to hope
and to be free at last to live.

Two groups.
Two rival groups.
Different customs,
different cultures,
yet, fellow humans with a shared history.
Jews
and Samaritans...
and in the centre of that story,
a man and a woman who, in a conversation
that begins with difference,
ends with each truly seeing the other.

In our gospel reading from John,
Jesus is on the move.
He’s been in Judea
and been gaining more and more followers keen to hear his teaching,
full of hope –
could be... who knows?
could it be...yes, it could.
Maybe this Jesus might just be the Messiah.
And, with the growing number of followers,
lurking in the background are the Pharisees,
who are not best pleased that this young maverick Rabbi from the sticks
is becoming well-known, popular.
They want him stopped.
Very badly.
Feeling it’s time to move on, Jesus heads off –
journeying from Judea and to the Galilee.
He takes a short cut.
Rather than avoiding enemy territory, he crosses the boundary.
After walking for about 30 miles, Jesus ends up at Sychar, in Samaria,
the place of Jacob’s Well.
Exhausted, he rests...alone –
the disciples have gone to the town looking for food.

It is a quiet place – which is only natural, given it is the hottest part of the day.
No regular person would be doing hard work at this time,
they’d be somewhere in the shade.
But...
she is no regular person.
In the heat of the noon day sun,
the woman heads towards the well to fetch water and lug it back home.
It’s almost as if she wants to avoid being seen;
to avoid any confrontation,
to avoid any kind of interaction with others.
But that doesn’t happen:
because there Jesus sits,
and, he initiates a conversation.
Clearly, he’s no regular person either.

Unlike her, he has nothing to draw water with:
he asks her for a drink.
And it’s she who is quick to flag up difference.
First it’s race:
Jew.
Samaritan.
And then, gender:
Samaritan woman.
And then custom and practice:
how can he ask her for a drink when
Jews don’t share eating or drinking vessels with non-Jews –
especially 'heretic' Samaritans?
This is not going to happen.
But then, Jesus flips things around –
he tends to do that a lot.
Having asked her for a drink,
he points out that it is he who can offer her water –
living water.
Water that will so satisfy her thirst she will never need drink again...
water that is enough for body and soul,
both now
and forever.
And, if she’d have been a Scot, and not a Samaritan, she’d have answered:
‘Aye. Right.’
But this man intrigues her.
They stand at the well as equals:
she has no compunction about asking him questions,
or giving a quick-witted response to his comments.
They get into some quite deep theology.
The woman –
who unlike Jesus is never named –
is seen, whereas, in her everyday life and everyday encounters,
she is invisible.
And more than seen:
she is known.
There’s that interesting little conversation about husbands.
How many?
Well, this stranger seems to know the score.
And as they talk,
and as she feels seen...
she begins to see who he is:
could be... who knows?
could it be...yes, it could.
At the least, he’s a prophet,
at the most, well, that could be quite potentially mind-blowing.
Wait.
‘At some point, the Messiah will come. When he comes, 
he will explain everything to us.’ she says.
...’I am he.’
Oh.
And as the disciples return,
that woman is so excited,
that she completely forgets to pick up the great water jar she came with,
and races back to the town.
And with a lovely echo of Jesus calling the first disciples,
she encourages the townsfolk that she’s previously avoided to:
‘come and see!’
They see her...
and it’s enough to make them rush out to the well and see Jesus:
could it be...yes, it could.
This might very well be the Messiah.
They invite him to stay...
and what they see, they like:
many believe.
They know who he is:
‘we know that this man really is the Saviour of the world.’
Boom.
The stranger is a stranger no longer:
as he knows them,
so they now know who he is.
Rivalries are forgotten,
fear of the other is set aside.
Something comes from this encounter,
something happens,
something good...
new life –
like water flowing through the soul, refreshing and cleansing.
Even as Jesus has crossed boundaries,
so the boundaries have melted away into a new understanding.
God loved the world...
in such a way, that he sent Jesus –
as our reading from last week reminded us.
Our reading today puts flesh and bones on that:
this encounter is what it looks like when God comes to town.
Transformation.
Barriers coming tumbling down:
barriers of prejudice, of fear.
To see and to be seen –
to be fully known
In him, a chance for all to have hope and to be free at last to live.

It is still the gift that God, in Jesus, offers us:
hope...
life, in all its amazing fullness and beauty and wonder;
life reconciled to God –
the fount of every blessing.

We are currently living in strange and fearful times.
Every day, we see the power of fear in action:
fear of not having enough:
panic buying and empty shelves;
fear of losing one’s job:
people feeling that they’re having to make a choice
that they shouldn’t have to make -
to isolate oneself when ill, and not get paid, maybe sacked...
or to go into work but compromise everyone they come into contact with?
And, of course, the fear of actually getting this virus:
especially those who fall into the vulnerable categories –
older age groups or people with underlying health issues.
How do we all navigate living through this ocean of fear as people of faith?

First, remind ourselves that the God who sees,
sees us,
knows...us,
continues to offer us the freedom from fear
to live in hope,
to live life fully.
He is sufficient,
a present help in time of trouble;
the fount of every blessing.
We pray.
We’re called to be wise and sensible – so follow the advice that’s being put out.
And we’re called to love.
So, how do we love in the time of coronavirus?
See and know:
who the most vulnerable are around you –
and, to help them live a little more fully, offer them love in practical ways.
Check in with each other –
if you can’t be physically present, lift up that phone and see how your neighbour is doing;
think of the ones who are self-isolating:
ring them just for a wee blether –
they don’t have to be isolated just because they’re stuck at home;
or, maybe, if you’ve internet, some scrabble online...
little things... cards through the letter box, wee mindings.
If you are able to be out and about –
are there folk you know who can’t pick up prescriptions, or basics like milk...
might doing some delivery be useful?
Ask yourself, if shopping:
do you really need to buy 72 rolls of loo paper?
Or, by choosing not to panic buy,
might that mean that those on low incomes who can’t afford to stockpile,
might have a chance at getting some basic groceries?
When others are worrying, try to be a calm, non-anxious, kindly and reassuring presence.
Above all:
be kind
be careful
be not afraid...
be a fount of God’s blessing –
offering the river of the water of life.
And together, we will get through this if we remain rooted not in fear, but in love,
for we follow the man that a group of Samaritans saw 2 000 years ago,
and who, in seeing him, said:
‘this man really is the Saviour of the world.’
So, let Jesus be our guide,
and let us learn the creative ways of love, and hope, in the time of coronavirus...
Amen.