The couple of times people have said that, I have contemplated saying, “What a brilliant idea! Why didn’t I think of it?” But since I like to avoid conflict, I have responded politely, “Getting married would be nice.” And I have stopped myself from asking: “But to whom?” I have found it best to avoid any comments that could get them thinking about “fixing” me up with someone, which has never gone as planned.

What gets me is that married people generally feel sorry for single people. One woman, without knowing me very well, patted my arm with sympathetic eyes, “Don’t worry, you’ll meet someone…”

And then it felt as if I ought to comfort her. And I wondered why being single is treated by so many like a disease.

It’s not that I prefer being single. The fact is that few spiritually grounded, emotionally healthy, employed, reciprocity-minded fish swim in the thirty-something dating pond. So while it is good and fine for people to say, “You should get married,” I think that an equivalent statement might be, “You should join Cirque du Soleil.” No doubt, I could sign up for a trapeze class or Match.Com. I could devote hours to swinging through the air and falling on a net.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not opposed to Internet dating. Good friends have met good life partners online. And I think that one is probably as likely to meet a nice stranger online as a nice stranger in a church.

Also, I actually tried Internet dating, and, for whatever reasons, the men who approached me seemed to need a pastor more than a girlfriend. Here’s what I mean—One man who responded to my profile wanted to find a Proverbs 31 woman. Staring at his photo, I resisted the urge to say that the Proverbs 31 woman was actually a metaphor for wisdom and not a real person (pointing that out upon first meeting seemed inappropriate).  I also did not mention praising God that no woman has ever been that perfect! Reflecting on my flaws, I knew that I could never measure up to what he wanted, and so I moved onto other messages.

Another man, whose profile was a smiley face, because he had not included a photo, expressed wanting to find a “converted Victoria’s Secret model.” Pondering the wish, all I could think was, “That’s it? That’s all you want?” I didn’t fault him for wanting an attractive spouse. I just wondered what they would have in common after her chest needed a special bra to keep it from drooping past her ankles later in life.

*More to Come…

by Amy Rasmussen (copyright, 2009)

“Hello! Where are you?” A friendly voice called through the Garden.

 God rounded a bush and burst out laughing over the absurdity of the man and woman attempting to cover their shamed consciences with fig leaves. It had to have been awkward—their embarrassment in the Presence of the One who had never intended embarrassment. Did the couple laugh nervously, reaching their free hands for more leaves from a nearby branch? I have wondered if, prior to that, their eyes opened, similar to stumbling upon skinny-dippers on a Sunday stroll through the woods. And did they shield their eyes as their differences spiraled into an embarrassing vortex? 

“Who told you that you are naked?” God inquired, probably through tears.

“It was the woman’s fault,” he said. “Incidentally, you gave her to me…”

“Well, it was the serpent’s fault,” she said.

 Both stared at their feet.

 Genesis doesn’t tell us everything that transpired prior to that conversation. “This looks good!” she might have said, fingering the fruit. “You should try some and see what happens!”

Curiosity had to have gotten the better of them. I have often wondered if the first temptation was less about eating fruit and more about treating each other like guinea pigs.

“No, really,” he might have responded with a smile, “Ladies first!”

“Well, if you put it that way…” Maybe she blushed before delicately sinking her teeth in the fruit.

 In that moment, I have wondered if he wasn’t waiting to see if she would melt or blow up! There’s a lot we don’t know about those moments. But obviously the woman was confused over the snake’s deceptive advice and, for whatever reason, the man watched her– maybe even hoisted her up the tree– before taking a bite.

by Amy Rasmussen (copyright, 2009)

Dropping the towel, I stepped through the doorway of my younger sister’s bedroom: “Come on, we’re going skinny dipping!”

As usual, Heather did not question what I said we should do.  She expressed no concern that my ideas sometimes resulted in pain or getting in trouble. Earlier in childhood, I had convinced her to jump off a shed with me while holding onto an umbrella. Not surprisingly, the experience had taught us important lessons about fiction and gravity!

I’m not sure where our parents had gone that night, maybe the store or Bible study. For the most part, I was a responsible kid, and that enabled leeway for some creative experiments when they left me in charge. Stepping across the veranda of the house, Heather and I moved toward the irrigation ditch that ran adjacent to the gravel lane, leading past three horses and a goat, toward the house. Inhaling the soft, warm air, my mouth widened into a smile—Walking around naked was fun!

Heather knew as well as I did what the Bible said about nakedness. And she did not appear to be having any troubles. In the water, we marveled at the stars, letting the current carry us gracefully through a moonlit corridor bordered by grass and trees. As the water brushed my skin, I wondered how something so great could be shameful. Skinny dipping was fun!

Reaching a place where weeping willow branches hung, like leafy ropes from heaven, we suspended ourselves over the water, spinning like tops. A light suddenly flashed, illuminating the water and us swinging in the branches. We screamed, groping for willow leaves to hide us from the elderly man squinting in our direction. Mr. O., our retired neighbor, did not look amused. Tripping over each other, we scampered out of the ditch. Skinny dipping no longer seemed fun! Self-consciously, we leaped across the lawn, onto the veranda, through the front door of the house. Breathing hard, embarrassment engulfed me. Heather’s expression mirrored my shame. And for the first time, I wondered if God’s Word might actually have something important to say.

by Amy Rasmussen (copyright, 2009)

Frequently such thoughts cross my brain. I am usually sitting in my study alone when it happens, randomly, without connecting in any rational way to a previous thought about friends, family, ministry, fixing lunch or scheduling a repair for the furnace. Laughter bursts through my mouth before I wonder whether or not an objective observer would call me nuts. According to my therapist, a questionable sense of humor might actually be a sign of mental health.

My mother is probably the queen of this obscure truth. Sometimes, I randomly laugh over the day she called to tell me she was on the way home from Sears after purchasing a car jack in a creative effort to pump my father back onto his feet after a fall from M.S. The brilliant idea, actually dreamed up by my sister Heather– another queen of this obscure truth– was to pump my father up, using a piece of plywood and a stack of phone books. Brilliant. My parents had become embarrassed that a 911 dispatcher and two precincts of the local fire department knew them on a first name basis. They had been alternating calls between the two precincts, politely spreading the burden around.

“You’ll never guess what just happened,” my mom chuckled. I knew her well enough to guess that something big—and probably painful—had occurred. “I just bought a car jack for your father!” She giggled.

Confused, I wondered, “Whatever for?” knowing that my father no longer drove the wheelchair accessible van that he had recently sold.

“The guy at Sears asked what sized truck my husband needed the jack for!”

Evidently, my mother had requested the largest automatic car jack on the market because my father had grown so large. She continued: “He asked what size truck the jack was for, and I told him that it wasn’t for a truck but for my husband!”

One probably has to be a member of our family to understand that we laughed until we thought our sides would break apart. For those who have not walked in our shoes, we understand how sick it seems. Generally, we keep such things to ourselves so as to not devastate others too much.

by Amy Rasmussen (copyright, 2009)

I actually became so enthusiastic about Sabbath, that I made time for mini-Sabbaths on weekday mornings. I began sitting in silence for twenty-five minutes (or so), thinking and feeling and questioning (whatever came to mind) with God. Sometimes, when brutally honest or irreverent thoughts popped up, I feared that a catastrophic event might occur. But when no plagues or fireballs hit the house, I started realizing that God was not upset with my honest concerns and feelings. And I started experiencing a deep sense of care.

 Over time, I have realized that my life goes differently–more richly–when I start the days like that. It’s rarely smooth, but I swerve less! There’s a lot I haven’t figured out about God, but it’s clear that I don’t have to have my act together in order to be with God. It’s pretty easy to worship God for that too

by Amy Rasmussen (copyright, 2009)

Growing up, it amused me when people such as my great Aunt Ruth treated their pets like royalty. Aunt Ruth’s yippy, little dog Jate’, an excitable creature who tended to lose control of its bladder around those wearing sandals, was the butt of family jokes. I found it difficult to understand why Aunt Ruth pampered Jate’ with a plethora of toys and expensive dog foods and treats.

Don’t get me wrong, I have always loved animals. Before graduating from high school, I wanted to be a veterinarian. That goal only changed when I realized that I cared more about human well-being, and so I majored in psychology and went to seminary. Despite my love for animals, it seemed unwise to become responsible for other living things while immersing myself in studies. Owning a pet was not practical. Spending time and money on a pet, I reasoned, would be poor stewardship.

The many plant corpses that had ended up at the end my driveway, with the trash, could testify to what happened when I focused on exams, projects and papers. It seemed that I was actually doing creation a favor by not making it dependent upon me! Piously, I held to that belief until Serendipity intervened through a rabbit named Stella. Stella would reform my understanding of Aunt Ruth’s relationship with Jate’ as well as what it means to rule and subdue the earth.

Adopting a rabbit could not have been further from my mind. My sister Heather and her family had acquired Stella at a Farmer’s Market in Eagle, Idaho. Later, in the fall, after school ramped up, Heather realized that the kids’ schedules conflicted with the attention Stella needed. Contemplating the dilemma, we discussed what to do.

“Maybe we should let Stella go free,” Heather mentioned over a cup of coffee.

“Are you kidding me? We live in birds of prey territory. Stella wouldn’t last a day!” I shuddered, imagining a hawk swooping down, clutching the defenseless white bunny and flying away.

No, something else had to be done. After some discussion, Heather decided to find Stella a new home. Without realizing the ramifications, I offered to take the rabbit in the interim. I did not know that the experience would transform me into a crooning, cautious parent of the white fur ball.

Being a thirty-six year old childless woman, no doubt, played a part. Maternal instincts kicked in when Stella reclined weightlessly in my arms, looking up with gentle brown eyes.  Within a short while, I purchased her fresh vegetables and fruits, nuts, seeds, yogurt dips, vitamins and a variety of entertaining toys including a monkey named Constantine (a favorite for batting around). I also bought her a bunny run and a “Rabbit Kingdom,” a two story hutch that houses bunnies with style. It was completely out of character! I was whooped by those brown eyes. Suddenly, Aunt Ruth seemed less crazy.

In truth, Stella did not always act cute. She often acted abominably, peeing or pooping on my leg or nibbling a hole in a favorite blouse. She also dug holes in the corner of the bunny run in efforts to escape. Upon escaping, she would eat the flower beds, and I feared what would happen if she nibbled on the electrical cord to the barbecue grill. Vigilantly, I would chase her down, keeping one eye open for swooping birds of prey. I imagined the torment of my conscience if her death was ever my fault. Despite Stella’s many annoying habits, my spirit bonded with hers in ways I never imagined possible with a rabbit. If I had not experienced it, I would not have believed it!

Over time, I realized that rabbit ownership was less about owning a rabbit than being owned by a rabbit. Rabbit caretaking actually became a significant part of my spiritual journey. Caring for Stella taught me things that surprisingly mirrored theological principles in my classes. I began to realize new things about ruling and subduing the earth. To certain degrees, I had thought of those principles as ones of position and legislating good behavior. But no amount of asserting my authority could cause Stella to behave.

During an Old Testament class, I learned that the Hebrew understanding of ruling and subduing creation actually points at caring, like a shepherd cares for sheep. This has everything to do with serving others rather than trying to reform their behavior. Until caring for Stella, I had never really known that. Much to my surprise, rabbit care taking has deepened my understanding of what it means to be a pastor. And I am certain that my seminary education would be incomplete without it.

by Amy Rasmussen (copyright, 2009)

by Amy Rasmussen (copyright, 2008)

John 4: 4-26

The woman didn’t mind coming to the well in the middle of the day. It mattered little that the sun burned like a hot coal in the sky. Other women came at the end of day when it was cooler. She figured that coming in the middle of the day was better than the stares and whispers of the pious women when she lowered her bucket into the deep waters Jacob’s well. Not even a cool pot of water in the middle of the desert was worth their silence and condescending eyes.

As the Samaritan woman approached the well, she thought of her ancestor Jacob seeing Rebecca for the first time.  She liked to imagine his giddy stare as he watched Rebecca lower and raise her bucket of water. She liked to think that a man could love a woman so much that he would want her to be bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh.

Mount Gerizim rose in the distance. Approaching the well, she noticed a Jewish man resting. Thoughts stirred in her mind: Why was a Jewish man traveling through Samaria when other Jews traveled around it? Why was he lingering at the well when everybody knew that only morally reprehensible women drew water in the middle of the day? Tentatively she approached the stone mouth of the well. She suspended the pot over the dark hole, and pretended not to notice the man watching as she extended the rope from one hand through the other.

“Give me a drink,” the man said.

She caught her breath and looked up. Beads of sweat ran down his face and neck. Astounded, she wondered why a Jewish man was speaking to her. Surely he knew the rule—that Jews do not share things, including water pots, with Samaritans. The woman shifted from one foot to the other due to the weight of the bucket and her own discomfort.

“How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” She braced herself for his answer, and wondered what he would want after she gave him a drink.

The Samaritan woman who Jesus met at the well was thirsty. We know this because she carried an empty water pot one mile from the village of Sychar to Jacob’s well. We also know this because she went for water during the hottest time of day, when social outcasts avoided confrontations with pious women who drew water during the cooler late afternoon.

We know the Samaritan woman was thirsty because Jesus said to her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that is saying to you, ‘give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” (v. 10) Jesus pointed at a thirst that Jacob’s well could never satisfy. Intrigued, the woman wondered where Jesus would get that living water, especially when he had no bucket and the well was deep. Was it possible the man standing before her was greater than her ancestor Jacob who had built the well?

When Jesus spoke to the Samaritan woman he acted unconventionally. A Jew who addressed a Samaritan might as well have exposed himself to a communicable disease. Jews considered Samaritans to be hopelessly unclean. For one, Samaritans did not pay homage to all the Jewish writings. They only followed the Pentateuch, the first five books that Moses wrote.  Samaritans also worshiped at Mt. Gerizim instead of the temple in Jerusalem. Generally, Jews and Samaritans did not get along. And Jews did not share things, including water pots, with Samaritans.

When Jesus asked the woman at the well for a drink he invited religious contamination. Pious Jewish men were not to speak with women outside their families. Carrying on a religious conversation with a woman was tantamount to trampling Yahweh’s Word in the dirt! Most outrageously, Jesus addressed the outcast Samaritan woman after his colleagues went on an errand in town. Such behavior in first century Palestine communicated a sexual proposition.

The woman responded enthusiastically to Jesus’ offer of a spring of water gushing up to eternal life. “Sir, give me this water so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.” (v. 15) She grasped the possibility of no longer having to thirst.

“Go call your husband,” Jesus said, “and come back.”

“I have no husband,” the woman said.

Gently, Jesus responded that he knew she had had five husbands; and the one she was living with was not her husband. Painful memories had to have called attention to her soul’s thirst.

“What you have said is true!” The woman responded, shocked.

The apostle John does not give many details about the Samaritan woman. But the culture of her day can tell us some things. The surrounding community would have tolerated two, or maybe three, divorces. Five marriages amounted to a disaster! Mosaic Law prohibited cohabitation. In this case, the woman was committing adultery against her former husband. By Jewish and Samaritan standards, we know this woman’s life was outrageously immoral. Yet, in fairness, we have to wonder–Was there more to this woman’s story? What happened in her previous five marriages?

A law in the Pentateuch allowed a husband to divorce his wife for “some uncleanness.” The term was ambiguous and sometimes misapplied. Rabbinical literature (not part of the Old Testament) also considered burnt food to be grounds for divorce. Was it possible the Samaritan woman might not have been a first century Martha Stewart? Was it possible that she had, on certain occasions, burned too many pieces of bacon?!

A former husband might have found an excuse to divorce his wife for a younger, more fertile wife. According to community law, if a man built a convincing enough case against a woman, he could keep her dowry and cast her into the streets. And without a dowry, or an official divorce certificate, a woman could not remarry. Abuses were possible because of loopholes in the system. As a result, the Samaritan woman might very well have chosen to cohabitate with a man instead of living without protection on the streets. It is possible, also, that one or more of the woman’s husbands had died. We don’t know the full story of how the Samaritan woman fell into disgrace. What we do know is that she had a painful, promiscuous past that resulted in a ruined reputation and status as a second-class citizen.

In John 4, verse 13, Jesus tells the Samaritan woman, “everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I give them will never be thirsty. The water that I give them will become a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

Jesus built upon the woman’s understanding of physical water—that it has life giving properties. The woman knew that humans and animals do not last long in the desert without water. She understood her need for water on scorching hot days when she felt thirsty. Jesus clearly wanted the woman to realize her need and to do something about it.

“But those who drink of the water I give them,” Jesus told her, “will become a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

Here Jesus addressed the human need for spiritual water. He wanted the woman to realize her thirst in the desert of disappointment, shame, anger, loneliness and pain. More than that he wanted her to drink from the spring of living water welling up to eternal life.

The Samaritan woman felt her soul’s thirst when she reflected upon her life. The man standing before her was obviously some kind of prophet. How else would he understand so much about her life when others misunderstood?

“Sir, I see you are a prophet,” she said, “Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is Jerusalem.” (v. 19-20)

The woman may have felt flustered that Jesus knew so much about her. Or she may have wanted to know what Jesus thought about the true place of God’s temple.

Jesus responded, “Woman, believe me, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews.” (v. 21-22)

Jesus clarified that salvation would arrive through the lineage of the Jews. And although the Samaritans had some grasp of God’s truth, they did not fully comprehend it.

Most surprising, perhaps, is Jesus’ statement that the woman would worship neither on Mt. Gerizim, nor in Jerusalem. Here the apostle John marks a shift in the New Testament: Being a worshiper in spirit and truth involves something different than making pilgrimages to Jerusalem or Mt. Gerizim. The woman had to have wondered, “So where do we go? Where is a true worshipper to go?”

Jesus went on: “But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and in truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” (v. 24) Jesus told the woman that God is spirit, and God longs to commune with human spirits. He wanted her to know that true worship takes place through a relationship with the Father. He wanted the woman to understand that she was a temple.

A light flashed through her mind–“I know that Messiah is coming’ (who is called Christ). When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.” (v. 25)

“I am he,”  Jesus answered, “the one who is speaking to you.” (v. 26)

The Samaritan woman set her water pot on the ground, stunned. It mattered little that Jesus’ colleagues were returning from town, carrying sacks of grain, fish and fruit. She hardly noticed their surprise at the sight of their leader talking to a Samaritan woman. For an instant, she expected someone to reprimand her for violating the unspoken divide between Jews and Samaritans, men and women, the pious and the not-so-pious… But their eyes did not condemn her.

Turning, she left her water jar and started toward Sychar. As she moved across the hot sand, her mind raced. Could the man by the well really be Messiah? Did Yahweh really want a temple somewhere besides Jerusalem or Mt. Gerizim? If so, then were her legs carrying a temple?! Arriving in town, she proclaimed to everyone: “Come see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Christ?!” And she led them to Jacob’s well to meet Messiah.

_________________________________________

If the Samaritan woman lived today, she could be the divorced woman who slips into the back of the church late, and leaves early, because she is ashamed of leaving her former unfaithful husband. The Samaritan woman could be a single mother, who works the graveyard shift at Rite Aid because a restraining order was not enough to convince her former husband to change. She could be the middle-aged woman whose husband left her for someone with a tighter figure and less gray hair. She could be the lonely twenty-something woman who gives her boyfriends what they want because she is desperate for love.

We all face deserts of disappointment, shame, anger, loneliness and pain. Externally we may or may not show it. Socially we may or may not pay a price. Others may not know the twists and turns that have led us to difficulties and fallen conditions. But the One who met the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well, the One who knew her so well, is the same One offering to satisfy our every thirst. God promises to provide a spring of living water, welling up to eternal life.

“If the spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his spirit that dwells in you.” (Rom. 8:11)

by Amy Rasmussen (copyright, 2008)