REFLECTION 8TH MARCH 2026 

‘LIVING WATER’ 

By Rev Dr Fei Taule’ale’ausumai 

Exodus 17:1–7 and John 4:5–42 

There are moments in life when we look around at where we are and ask a question that echoes across the centuries.  The Israelites asked it in the wilderness: “Why have you brought us out of Egypt?” Why have you brought us here to this dry place,  this uncertain place, this place where we do not know what comes next? It is a question many of us ask at different times in our lives.  Why am I here? Why is this happening now? Why does this path feel so difficult? The Israelites had just left Egypt. They had escaped oppression and slavery, but freedom did not immediately feel like liberation. Instead, it felt like uncertainty. Freedom brought them into the wilderness. And in the wilderness there was thirst.  Not just physical thirst though that was real enough but the deeper thirst that comes when life no longer feels predictable.  They began to grumble.  They complained to Moses: “Why did you bring us out of Egypt? Was it to make us and our children and livestock die of thirst?”  It is easy for us to judge them. But if we are honest, we know that voice. It is the voice that rises in us when life becomes difficult. When our patience runs out.

When our hope feels thin. Sometimes we even begin to romanticise the past.  The Israelites began to remember Egypt  not as the place of slavery that it was but as the place where at least they knew what tomorrow looked like. 

Human beings often prefer the certainty of what we know, even if it is unjust, to the uncertainty of transformation. Freedom requires trust and trust is difficult.  So the people asked the question that still echoes through history:  “Is God among us or not?”  It is one of the most honest questions in the Bible.  Is God among us, in our confusion, in our frustration, in our anger?   And God does not punish the people for asking the question.  God does not say, “How dare you doubt.” Instead, God responds with grace.   Moses is told to strike the rock and water flows. In the middle of their doubt. In the middle of their complaints. Water flows.  God provides not because the people have perfect faith, but because God’s compassion is deeper than their fear. 

Now we move from the wilderness to a well.  From a desperate crowd to a solitary woman. The Gospel of John tells us that Jesus, tired from his journey, sits down at Jacob’s well. 

And a Samaritan woman comes to draw water. At first glance, this may seem like a simple encounter.  But in the cultural and social context of the time, this meeting was astonishing. 

Jewish men did not speak publicly with women they did not know. Jews and Samaritans lived with centuries of hostility between them. Religious, ethnic, and social boundaries divided them. 

And yet Jesus does something extraordinary. He speaks to her. Not only does he speak to her  he asks her for water.  That request alone overturns a hierarchy. Because suddenly the one who is usually ignored becomes the one who is needed.  The conversation unfolds slowly.  And what begins as a conversation about ordinary water becomes a conversation about living water.  Jesus tells her:  “Those who drink of this water will thirst again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never thirst.”  Living water. Not just water for survival.  But water for life.  Water for dignity.  Water for belonging.

This Samaritan woman a woman with a complicated life, a woman likely marginalised within her own community — becomes one of the first people to engage Jesus in deep theological conversation.  The conversation is long.
It is thoughtful. It is honest. She questions him. She challenges him. She reflects.  This is not a silent woman standing at the edge of the story. This is a woman who speaks.  And Jesus listens. 

For many biblical scholars, this moment represents one of the most radical acts of inclusion in the Gospels.  Because Jesus treats this woman not as a problem, not as an object of pity, but as a theological conversation partner. 

And then something even more remarkable happens.  After this encounter, she runs back to her community and says:  “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done.”  She becomes the first witness of good news in that place.  In other words she becomes a teacher/evangelist.  The woman whom society may have dismissed becomes the one who invites others into faith. 

And this is where these two stories begin to speak powerfully to our own time especially as we reflect on International Women’s Day. 

The wilderness story reminds us that human communities often struggle with uncertainty.  We struggle when the world changes.  We struggle when justice calls us into new ways of living.  We may even ask: 

“Why have you brought us here?”  Why are we talking about equality?  Why are we questioning old systems?  Why are voices that were once silent now being heard?  But the story of the Samaritan woman reminds us that transformation often begins with listening to the voices we once ignored.  For centuries, many women have had to struggle simply to be heard.  Their wisdom overlooked.  Their leadership questioned.  Their experiences dismissed. 

And yet the Gospel tells a different story.  At the well, Jesus shows us what a new kind of community looks like.  A community where conversation crosses boundaries.  Where dignity is restored.
Where the voice of a woman carries truth.  The Samaritan woman reminds us that the good news of God’s kingdom often comes through those whom society least expects.  And perhaps that is what living water means. 

Living water is the flow of justice when systems begin to change.  Living water is the courage of women who refuse to be silent.  Living water is the transformation of communities when they learn to listen. 

Today, around the world, women continue to carry extraordinary burdens.  Women who are caregivers.  Women who lead families.  Women who work tirelessly in communities.  Women who still struggle for equal opportunity. 

And yet, like the woman at the well, many women continue to be bearers of living water.  They carry wisdom.  They carry resilience.  They carry hope.  And often they are the ones who gather communities together. 

Perhaps these two stories invite us to ask a different question.  Instead of asking,  “Why have you brought us here?”  Perhaps we can ask: What water is waiting to flow in this place?  What new possibilities are emerging? 

Whose voices have we not yet listened to?  Because sometimes the rock must be struck before water appears.  Sometimes the well must become a place of conversation before transformation begins.  And sometimes the person who brings the good news is the very person society expected to remain silent. 

The wilderness and the well.  Two places of thirst.  Two places of encounter.  Two places where God’s grace flows in unexpected ways.  And perhaps the good news is this:  Even when we are unsure of where we are,
even when we question the jou

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