I’ve been to the Emergency Department exactly once in my life. It was about 12 years ago. I woke up with a slight twinge in my side, which slowly worsened throughout the day, until I figured it wouldn’t be a good idea to ignore it any longer. By the time urgent care sent me to the hospital, it had developed into full-blown, excruciating abdominal pain. I had to sit in the waiting room with this pain for far longer than I would have liked, but the hospital staff eventually got me set up in a room and immediately hooked me up to an IV as they began to run tests.
Within minutes, I was feeling MUCH better. I’m sure that this was largely thanks to the morphine I’d been given, but surprisingly, my first experience with opioids wasn’t what I remember most vividly about my visit to the Emergency Department. No, the first thing I noticed when the IV started was how grateful I was for the saline drip.
I’ve always struggled to stay properly hydrated—I have chronically dry skin, my mouth always feels at least little bit sticky, and even the slightest exertion has me gulping down as much water as I can. I try to keep a water bottle on hand at all times, but even when I sip it throughout the day, it never quite does the trick. It’s just something I’ve gotten used to over the years. Needless to say, the relief I felt having my body’s need for hydration fully and completely met for the first time was enormous. I didn’t even mind that being hooked up to the IV meant that I was stuck in that bed for the foreseeable future, because for the first time, I wasn’t thirsty anymore.
Given my issues with dehydration, this passage is especially relatable to me. The Samaritan woman knew what it was like to be thirsty; water was precious in the desert. The local well was the only source of water for the entire community (and I use the term “local” lightly—some people had to walk for miles to get to the nearest one). Usually, women would come to the well first thing in the morning, while it was still cool, to collect water for the day and socialize with their neighbors, but in the verses leading up to today’s reading, we learn that *this* woman waited until noon. We don’t know why - it could have just been a rhetorical device John used to contrast with Nicodemus’ nighttime visit in the previous chapter - but regardless of the reason, she would have been extremely thirsty after her journey to the well in the hottest part of the day.
So when Jesus offered her a kind of water that would eliminate her thirst once and for all, it must have sounded especially appealing in that particular moment. No more dehydration. No more long trips to the well. No more back-breaking work to pull the water up and haul it back home. As skeptical as she probably felt, she was willing to give it a shot for the chance to never experience thirst again.
Now, hold that thought for a moment. We know (or at least we suspect) that Jesus isn’t talking about literal water here. But just as the human body fundamentally needs to remain hydrated in order to survive and thrive, there’s something else we need in order to be spiritually healthy and whole, something that only God can provide us. Call it mercy, call it love, call it grace; whatever you call it, all human beings experience a deep “thirst” for this God-given resource - the “living water”.
So not only is Jesus talking about a different kind of thirst, he also isn’t offering the woman a one-time fix as she seems to assume. Instead, he’s offering a long-term trade-off. “If you leave behind the things that separate you from God,” he suggests, “your complicated past, your misguided worship, your old way of life - and instead cling to God, you will never again be without the living water that sustains you.” In other words, in order to be completely freed from her spiritual thirst, Jesus tells this woman that she must tether herself directly to the source of the living waters if she wants to receive them.
So this leaves her - and us - with a choice to make. On the one hand, we can choose to reject the tether that Jesus describes. We can remain as independent as possible, only seeking out these living waters when our thirst becomes unbearable. We can move through life freely, unfettered by any divine imperative and limited only by our own desires. But this distance from God will mean that, just like me pre-IV, our spiritual thirst will never be satisfied completely. Without anything tying us directly to the source of the living water, dehydration will always be just around the corner.
On the other hand, we can choose to embrace the tether, prioritizing our connection to the source over our independence. Taking *this* path is like being hooked up to a saline drip - we’re less free to move around doing whatever we want, but we no longer have to worry about spiritual dehydration. Being directly tethered to God means that our need for the living water will always be abundantly met. It means an end to our thirst for grace.
Now, I know that the prospect of voluntary fetters doesn’t sound especially appealing. If I’d had to stay hooked up to an IV for the rest of my life, it would have complicated things in a big way: I would have been stuck in that hospital bed indefinitely with my freedom to move about severely limited (not to mention a very large medical bill). As good as it felt to be hydrated, I doubt that’s a trade-off that I would have been willing to make.
Our connection to God doesn’t physically restrict us in the same way that an IV does. But this divine connection *does* constrain us in a different way. Access to the living water that we thirst for instead tethers us to a commitment: to live according to God’s will, to prioritize God’s law and adhere to God’s morality. *This* is the offer that Jesus has put on the table. And we have to decide if the trade-off is worth it.
Human beings - especially those living in the U.S., ESPECIALLY especially those living in Idaho - don’t generally like being told what to do. “Don’t tread on me” is practically the state motto. Any sort of limits or restrictions, even divine ones, tend to leave a bad taste in our mouth. But in our pursuit of complete autonomy, we’re becoming dangerously dehydrated. If we’ve ever needed a tether to rein us in, it’s now. We’re living in a time and place that tells us God’s values don’t matter: truth doesn’t matter, justice doesn’t matter, mercy doesn’t matter. It even goes so far as to reject empathy as a sin. All that seems to matters is what *we* want. We’re moving farther and farther away from the source of the living waters, and as a result, our souls are crying out in thirst. We’re exhausted and losing hope.
But there’s good news. When Jesus offered the living water to a Samaritan - someone the Jewish people would have considered utterly irredeemable - she not only understood, but she became the very first evangelist. This story tells us that no one is beyond God’s reach. No matter how far we wander, we always have the opportunity to repent and return. God is always waiting nearby, with a life-giving IV ready and waiting for us. The moment we begin to align our will with God’s, those living waters start to flow through us once again, telling us that we’re safe, we’re secure, and we never have to be thirsty again.
So maybe, in this case, despite what the world tells us, being fettered isn’t so bad. When you think about being inextricably bound to God, we shouldn’t imagine it as a set of shackles that holds us prisoner, but as the IV that banishes our thirst so long as we stay connected. Ground yourself in God’s will, God’s values, God’s priorities, refuse to listen to the voices trying to pull you away, and give your spirit what it needs. What it’s calling out for. What Christ offers to us all.
Whenever you find yourself resisting the tether that Jesus offers, pushing back against the holy values that God insists upon, I encourage you to borrow this 250 year old prayer from Rev. Robert Robinson, these words that eventually became a treasured hymn: “Let thy goodness, like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to thee. Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it; prone to leave the God I love. Here’s my heart; O, take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above.” May your heart be sealed, your wandering minimal, and your fetter a blessing to you always. Amen.
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