What we think we are thirsty for, might not be what actually satisfies us – and that is one of the messages of todays readings..

Of course sometimes what need is exactly we think we need – and this is how it was for the people of Israel in the desert. They are not just grumbling in an are we nearly there yet sort of way. I've been in a desert, albeit briefly, and can tell you that the thirst it creates is rather more than “Ooh I'd love a cup of tea”. In fact such is the wonderful nature of the modern world that you can buy ice creams in the desert – or at least at Masada where I was – for £5 a time. And I was hot and uncomfortable enough to pay that.

But for the children of Israel, living a nomadic life in the desert heat, there are no ice cream stalls. And for them the need for water is so urgent and so deeply felt that the people feel they would rather go back to slave labour in Egypt – a reminder perhaps that great slogans like 'freedom or death' don't sound quite so great when someone says 'OK death it is then'.

Now living in Wales most of us are fortunate never to experience that sort of thirst – generally all we would have to do is open our mouths and look up anyway.

I can only remember being that thirsty once, as a teenager in hospital when I'd had an operation on my mouth and was told I could have 10ml of water an hour. I don't know if you've see a cup with 10ml in it but you get more refreshment licking a stamp. Like the people of Israel I complained long and loud. Unlike them it didn't do me any good.

Thirst is a sign of a basic need, perhaps our deepest, most compelling physical need, and that is why the Bible uses it as a symbol for our quest for God, our deepest spiritual need. I desire that should consume us, should drive us to searching until we are satisfied.

In the gospel reading we see two people brought together by their need for a drink of water, who find that in this meeting, other needs are also met.

It is natural to ask what are the needs of the Samaritan woman and how does Jesus meet her needs, that's how we are used to thinking about Bible stories maybe– but instead we could ask what are the needs of Jesus – for in fact it is Jesus who is the outcast here. It is often said the woman must be the outsider since she has come in the middle of the day, a time it is said when only mad dogs, Englishmen and the village outcast are likely to be out and about– but when in the next few verses she goes back to her own village they all listen to her and her word carries weight. Furthermore, this is no ordinary well, it is a sacred site and there is no sign that anyone has a problem with her being there. A wandering Jewish preacher on the other hand may not have been so welcome at a Samaritan shrine.

The idea that this woman was an outcast in her own town is I think a projection of Victorian cultural attitudes to the idea of having had 5 husbands and now living with your boyfriend out of marriage, rather than anything that springs from her own time or situation. In her culture she would, after all, have had very little control over her divorces and would have needed a partner to survive. We should not stigmatise or judge her any more than we should anyone who has been through that sort of emotional mill today. If we say she is an outcast, we have to reflect on the fact that we have given her that label. Her community probably didn't. And Jesus certainly didn't.

So maybe John gives the time of day – the 6^th hour when the sun is highest in the sky, not to suggest that she comes furtively to the well as an outcast, but actually quite the opposite. Light and darkness are fundamental to John's way of thinking and presenting his Gospel. And her she comes in bright sunlight to contrast her with the rich and important leader Nicodemus in the previous chapter and last weeks reading. Nicodemus comes under cover of darkness; and leaves as much in the dark as when he came. The Samaritan woman comes in broad daylight – symbolising her openness and through this openness she is further enlightened.

Contrary to our expectations, it is Jesus who is the outcast on foreign soil, Jesus who is an intruder into a Samaritan holy place.

Relationships between Jew and Samaritan were no better then than those between Jew and Palestinian today, with much pain and anger on both sides. On top of this religious and national divide we may add that it seems that men have not treated her well, so she may have reason to be afraid of this strange man, but then again perhaps her own experiences of rejection make her slower to reject others than she might otherwise be. Maybe it is by her wounds that he is healed on this occassion. (St Paul talks of the growth that can come through suffering in the NT reading - a powerful passage which is well worth a read at home.)

But from this acceptance – her acceptance of him - comes a conversation that is actually a beautiful dance around some difficult topics. She is surprised by a Jewish man speaking to her, nevermind asking for her help, but is happy to offer it. He asks after her husband, not to embarrass her but because for her to be seen talking to this strange man, not to mention her considering taking religious advice or even conversion from him – will probably lead to divorce number 6. Jesus wants her husband present so as not to put her in a vulnerable position – it is a sign of respect for her, rather than being intended to shame. Where is your husband? If he was here, you'd not be in such a vulnerable position.

When she realises that he is a prophet, immediately she fears that she is in the wrong religious camp - her question about where to worship is not as it is sometimes seen, an attempt to shift the spotlight from her own love life (we put the spotlight on that, it is a modern obsession of the church, but Jesus doesn't seem particularly interested at all). Rather her question is about where she fits in, whether she is yet again to be uprooted from her home– perhaps again the consequences for her if she converts are foremost in their minds. Can I stay here on this mountain, Jesus, with my people and my family, or must I leave it all to join you on your mountain?

But Jesus, without compromising his own faith, assures her not only that her worship, in spirit and truth is acceptable to God – but that the Father actively seeks faith like hers, where ever it is offered

The message of this encounter I think is quite clear. Jesus comes to us humbly and with understanding – neither of which are ours by right but are the result of his love and grace. But where he is welcomed and served, springs of water can flow from what we thought were solid rock.

The Samaritan woman is an example to us of that sort of discovery – she finds herself entertaining unawares not angels but the Son of God himself. If we too seek living water, a good place to begin would be in cultivating that same very difficult and costly openness to others that she had. We shouldn't expect this to be any easier for us than for her. Nor any easier than it was for the people of Israel wandering in the desert but as St Paul says in todays other reading – hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit whom he has given us.

Since we have been given a taste of that spring of life welling up, shouldn't we seek to share it with others as Jesus and the Samaritan women shared their sacred waters together?