The woman said to [Jesus], “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep.” – John 4:11 (NRSV)
The sign at the supermarket entrance was big, bright red, and accusatory: “Did you remember to bring your reusable grocery bags?” It was the last straw, and it broke her.
She had too much on her plate. She wasn’t sleeping. Her commute was killing her. She’d been stopping at MacDonald’s every night, shoving the wrappers under the seat so it could still seem true that she never ate junk food. Her exercise routine consisted of chewing old Milky Ways at her desk. Double-booked appointments had her apologizing for her existence. Kind co-workers picked up her slack. Which deepened her guilt. Every thank-you was a self-flagellation.
And now this. No, dammit, she hadn’t remembered her reusable grocery bags. She could barely remember her name. And right there, where they stack the carts, she wept.
You have no bucket, and the well is deep.
Been there? There now? Out of energy, out of time, out of resources, out of motivation, out of sorts, out of everything, no breath, no bags, no bucket? Scripture says that one scorching day in Samaria, Jesus was there, too.
Wouldn’t it be good if taking a moment to contemplate him there, depleted and empty, would wipe your calendar, shorten your commute, remove your exhaustion, your anxiety, your guilt?
It won’t. But it might stir your compassion. For him. And for yourself.
Beholding him there bucketless, unable even to help himself, maybe you’d feel not so alone, not so stupid, not such a failure, not so useless. Maybe the two of you could talk.
Prayer
Let me comfort you, Jesus. Rest in me. Comfort me, Jesus. Let me rest in you.
