Fruit & Wine: The Joy and Challenge of Vineyard Life

"Waiting for Wine" - photo by Bernice & Trista

Having just returned from the Chateau St Michelle winery in Woodinville, I find myself reflecting on a note from the tour. Our guide talked about the reasoning for planting the vineyards in the semi-arid desert land of Eastern Washington and the benefits of the struggling grape vine. Vineyards that are planted close to the water are subject to a wide variety of conditions because of the maritime weather patterns, while those on the East side of the Cascades experience rather predictable weather year after year, particularly during the growing season. The combination of hot days and cool nights are most beneficial to produce a grape with a balance between acidity and sweetness. Too much heat leads to a soft, overly sweet grape, while too little heat lets the acid take over the flavor.

This makes me think about the content of life, how we are often placed in climates or situations that may at first seem entirely undesirable for what we want to accomplish. I imagine that the vines might complain as they struggle to produce their fruit. But in the midst of this, they have to put all their energy into producing good fruit for their vine growers. Sometimes it seems that this is the way of life; I can definitely relate to the plight of the vineyard.

I have found myself questioning at several points along the path why the Master Gardener placed me in certain situations or had me experience seasons of dryness and struggle. When it feels like I am not as well-decorated as my fellow vines or that their fruit is much larger and beautiful than my own, or when my mind is focused on my own growth and I’m simply dissatisfied with what I perceive as progress, I would do well to remember the vineyards of the Chateau. There, the vine tenders do not necessarily take the largest of grapes, nor do they look for the most decorated vines, instead they look for the specific fruit that will make the very best wine in the style they most desire at the time. Sometimes they let the vineyard sit without water for a certain amount of time in order to force the vines to root down deep, and at other times they’ll water freely.

So for us, we who are the branches on the Master’s vine, it means that our task is very simply to work on our root system, to find ways to tap into the Source of Living Water, whether that means prayer, fasting, observing worship practices that nurture us, doing works of justice in the world, absorbing Scripture, seeking Truth wherever it may be found, or leading a contemplative lifestyle. Different varieties of grapes need different growing conditions; we cannot say that because one is planted here that it is better or if they are planted there that it is worse. We do not know how the Master Gardener may use a different style vine than our own; we can only focus on growing our own fruit.

At the same time though, perhaps paradoxically, we who are called to tend the vine, even while being a part of the vine ourselves, must be aware of the conditions of the vineyard we are called to tend. If we, in our own community, have discerned that the fruit which our local vines are producing is not of top quality, or is not present at all, and we do not alter the conditions of the vineyard entrusted to us, it is we, not the fruitless vines, who will be held accountable. We have a responsibility to provide access to the Living Water in a variety of ways, and to help those who are seeking to find a place where they will find others who have similar root systems as their own, even if it is not within our vineyard.

Dear friends, do you see what I see? How boring it would be for us to enter a store and only have one kind of wine available! How much damage has been done to people that, if only they had been granted different growing conditions, or a different style of faith community, would have produced precious, delightful fruit for the Kingdom, but instead opted to jump out of the vineyard life altogether! Such is the risk we take when we have a single-mindedness about us in our teachings. When we say to a Riesling grape, “you should be Syrah,” or to a Chardonnay, “you should be a Merlot,” we are denying the Great Banquet Hall of heaven a variety of precious wines to celebrate with!  (See 1 Cor. 12.)

As for me, when I enjoy the heavenly banquet with my Lord, I look forward to a wide variety of fruit, lots of people with different ideologies gathered around the table, and an endless supply of delectable wines, that I, both as a vine and as one who tends the vineyard, aided in producing during my time on the earth. May I never loose sight of the fact that I am simply part of the vine, even when I am called to tend a vineyard here, amen!

The Infant’s Grasp: An Instinctual Response to the Eucharist

Photo by my friend, Grete Norquist

I had the privilege of holding an infant during the first portion of worship this evening. As we were singing and preparing our hearts to receive Communion, she slept soundly in my arms. In the passing of the peace she stirred and opened her beautiful eyes, seeming to greet each one as they gently touched her and shared the peace with us both. And then, after the words of institution were spoken, the wine poured and the bread broken, she began to stretch out her hand toward the table. The communion stewards came around sharing the elements with us all and her little hand reached toward the bread and the wine; she was instinctually reaching out for the representation of our Lord. Moments later she made signs of hunger and I passed her back to her mother so she could nurse. She was hungry so she simply asked for what she needed, and her desires were answered. This, indeed, is why we gather at the table of the Great Thanksgiving!


This makes me think about a sermon given this morning by Rev. Tom Steffen. He described the author of the 119th Psalm as having the markings of a lover, a connoisseur of the Divine Splendor we refer to as God; not a lover, connoisseur, or devotee first and foremost of the law itself…but a lover, a devotee who loves the [One to whom] the law points. Later he said that the psalmist was also a dancer, one whose study of the law exposed him to pure grace.

In these two statements and in the grasp of the infant at the Communion table, I find my soul’s longing and understand the reason for the darkness that has been gripping my spirit of late. Despite the joy I feel when I am at the altar, burning incense, lifting my prayers on the wings of music, (be it my own or someone else’s) or when I am internalizing Scripture like cakes of sweet honey, I find that when I depart to enter the other parts of life, my spirit is constantly longing for that place of surrender, of honesty, of fulfillment and wholeness. Nothing in this life is quite as satisfying to me as sitting at the feet of my Lord.

It is difficult to focus on the rigorous activity of studying when my heart is pulled elsewhere. I find it hard to be fully present in conversation or work or lecture when my spirit wants to be listening for my Master’s voice. My entire being aches with longing for my Beloved; I simply cannot get enough. The demands and rewards of the world seem superficial in comparison to the Deep Reality that I know when I am fully in the Lord’s presence. No wonder melancholy colors the edges of my life!

I want to sing and dance and run and skip and worship with the freedom of the little child I nanny! Oh how I long to jump into the arms of my Beloved and to be lifted high into the air, spun around and then held close so I can hear that precious heartbeat once more!

Ah, Beloved, Your creation yearns for Your presence! We are all sick with love and mourning, waiting for You to return! How hard it is to continue on when You seem so far away! How long, O Lord? Don’t you see how desperate we are for Your healing touch? Have You forgotten Your precious lovers here on the earth? It has been so long since the compassion of Your Holy Spirit was shown in powerful manifestations – this generation has nearly abandoned Your Way forgetting that You are Love. Even I cannot say that I am without doubt at times. And yet my own life is filled with time after time where Your grace and compassion and love were shown by others, and so I know that You Are… Oh my Love! Your Spirit-song is in the edges of my heart; grant me the courage to sing and to reach out for You – both looking to grasp Your hand and seeking to grasp others for Your name’s sake.


Here I am, Lord, stretching my hands to grasp You! I long to know You more, first and foremost as my Beloved, and then with my mind, and then to show what I know of You through my hands and my words. Draw near to me, Beloved, let me feel Your presence. Breathe Your Spirit deeply into my inner being and let me dance with You, in Jesus’ name, amen.

Putting the Pieces Together: A Refelction on Exegetical Method and Life



"Piecing together the Puzzle" - Photo by Trista Wynne

 This morning I find myself pondering the joys (and pains) of exegesis, that is, the searching of Scripture in its original language in an attempt to discern the intent or meaning of the original author. In many ways, it is as though we have been given a puzzle in a box without the lid that would have the full picture on it. We, however, are not completely lost, for those who have received this same box of pieces we now find before us have passed down their representations of how they have fit the pieces together in their lifetimes. The problem there lies in perhaps choosing one representation over another simply because we were taught to do so as children (or perhaps later, if we came to faith later on in life). If we want to simply take someone else’s word for it and stay with one vision of what the puzzle looks like in the end, we might just end up forcing pieces to fit where they weren’t intended by the One who designed, painted, cut and passed out the pieces in the first place.


Recently my husband and I endeavored to piece a puzzle of a thousand pieces together. We had purchased it on our honeymoon in San Francisco a year after we were married. The puzzle portrayed a three-hundred-sixty-five degree view of the inside of Alcatraz. Now, even though we had the box in front of us, it was an incredibly daunting task. There are a lot of bars of similar shade to be found in that picture. Not only that, but the pieces were cut in very similar shapes so that pieces would fit together whose pattern did not match each other at all. After only a few hours on the first day I stood up and walked away from the table deciding that I was done. I glared at it from across the living room and then leaned back on the couch, closed my eyes and promptly fell asleep; my husband continued to labor for another hour over the tedious work.

Now, we had accomplished a good deal right at the start. We noticed patterns and sorted the pieces into piles of like coloring, placing the yellowish ones here, the grayish ones there and the dark brown ones in another pile, and gathering the straight edges into one area. My first task was to fit the frame together. My husband focused on a section in the middle. When I had come to the end of all of the straight-edged pieces, some appeared to be missing. That couldn’t be; we had just opened the box! Searching high and low to find the presumably missing pieces, I scoured the piles until my eyes hurt and then some. That was when I had given up that evening. At the end of the night, we covered the work area with a couple of large flattened boxes to protect our work from the paws of our kitties.

A few weeks went by before we sat down to work on the puzzle again. With renewed vigor we plunged into our work, this time having a larger portion of visual satisfaction in the tangible results of our labors. We pieced small portions of the picture together on opposite ends of the table and then slid them together and found where they interlocked with the frame I had worked so hard on the first night. I would send a dark piece his way and he a light piece in my direction. This goes there, or that goes here, and the pieces would stay just long enough to be fit together with another and then sent to the other end of the table once again.

At one point into the third full day of working on our puzzle, my husband wondered about a couple of pieces on the sides. He pulled one from the left and one from the right side and placed them in the space where the supposedly missing pieces should be. He was right. They fit perfectly and still matched the pattern of light and shadow. The frame was now complete; I had simply placed a couple of pieces in the wrong place and assumed it was right because they fit. I was much encouraged by his discovery, and found that I had a renewed energy to continue on our endeavor together. On the third day the work was finished.

Exegesis is a bit like that puzzle work. We organize the pieces (stories, or fragments of stories called pericopes) into piles, sorting them by genre, attributing them to certain authors, observing themes and pondering the big pictures we each have received through our various traditions. This, like the gigantic puzzle which my husband and I worked on, is not a task to be done alone. It is created in such a way that the whole community of God needs to be involved. Sometimes we need someone else to ask what might happen if we rotate this piece, or to tap us on the shoulder and suggest that that piece might be better placed on the other end of the puzzle.

We are greatly blessed to have at our fingertips, or only a short drive away, access to material from some of the most thoughtful, soulful people throughout the history of our faith. I am a student working on the puzzle of interpreting the Scriptures for the community of God, practicing my work so that in time to come I will give others the tools they need to join me in this delicate, delightful, fulfilling work that has been set before us by the Great Artisan – our Lord, Creator of the world through the Holy Spirit in Jesus Christ, one God throughout all time.

I am not alone. My work is in community. We support one another and bring to the table our own understandings based on the work of those who have gone before us and have left us pictures, poetry, songs and sermons giving us their unique perspectives regarding the work that we now have in our hands. I was raised in the tradition of Martin Luther, and I am grateful for such a deep structure of grace-filled roots. I also am delighted to be at the table with others who share their traditions drawing their inspiration from the herritage of people like John Wesley, John Calvin, and William Seymour. Together we tap into the deep, rich wells of the desert mothers and fathers like Anthony and Amma Syncletica, the sixteenth century mystics like Julian of Norwich and John of the Cross, the Eastern Orthodox saints like Catherine of Sienna and Basil the Great, the heritage of the Roman Catholic spiritualists like Henri Nouwen and Thomas Merton and the charismatic lineage of Francis of Assisi and Aimee Semple McPherson.

Life is also a bit like this. Not one of us is alone. We were not born into or raised in a social vacuum. Each of us has the blessing of the interactions that have shaped us from before we were born. And I do mean blessing, for even the most difficult circumstances, when shared within a loving, prayerful, discerning community, can become the seedbed for the re-shaping of the families, neighborhoods and government entities around us for the benefit of the world. We each have been given a unique piece, something to add to, the puzzle of life. Through prayer, community interaction, introspection, reading of Scripture and involvement with the people and world around us, we can find our place in the multi-dimensional puzzle of life to the delight of our Great Love.

Here is what I hear the Lord speaking to me, and through me, today:

Beloved, do not be discouraged if you have been told to put your piece here or there, only to find that you are later picked up and placed in a completely new arena. Most of your inner-turmoil arises when you misinterpret My direction as a message to glue your piece down on the table rather than for the message of temporary placement that it was originally intended to be. Throughout your entire life here on the earth, you are in temporary placement. Only in the completion of My plan will you truly understand your placement.


Dear beloved, trust Me. Listen for My voice. I speak through the Scriptures. I speak through those who truly love you. I speak through My creation. I speak through your intuition. I speak logically. I speak creatively. I speak in parables, poetry, song and dance. I speak through your body. I speak to others through you. Listen to Me. Act as I did in Christ. Follow my lead in the dance of life. Only then, when you have learned what it means to be My companion, will I call you to speak.


Come, beloved, draw near to Me, and I will show you what I created you to be.

What do They Taste in You? A Contemplation on Fruitfulness in the Kingdom

"A Fruitful Fall Altar" - photo by TristaWynne

In Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation, Parker Palmer writes,

Burnout is a state of emptiness, to be sure, but it does not result from giving all I have: it merely reveals the nothingness from which I was trying to give in the first place… When the gift I give is integral to my own nature, when it comes from a place of organic reality within me, it will renew itself – and me – even as I give it away. Only when I give something that does not grow within me do I deplete myself and harm others as well, for only harm can come from a gift that is forced, inorganic, unreal (pp. 49-50).

This quote, indeed a large portion of Palmer’s book, makes me think of our churches today, and leads me to contemplate my own life as well. I wonder how different the world might be if we each were taught to become ourselves rather than trying to become someone or something else. Life is not one-size-fits-all, and neither are our worshipping communities. We are created with unique talents, abilities, passions, hopes, dreams and desires. What would the world look like if we all encouraged each other to become the beautiful ones God has created each of us to be rather than pushing our own agendas on one other? What would our congregations look like? How would our relationships at home be different? What about our relationship within our own skin?

Sometimes I find my mind, emotions and body all telling me different things, for they all seem to be seeking after someone else’s dream of who or what I am to become, or what I am to do. In the stillness of the night however, often about four o’clock in the morning when the city around me is quiet, I’m awakened in the darkest hour; in those moments I discern the calling of the One who created me, and I have peace. This One does not ask me to do anything or to go anywhere, but simply to be. Connected: that is what I am called to be.

Jesus, my Lord, says,

I am the vine, you are the branches.
Those who abide in me will bear much fruit to the glory of my Father in heaven.
Abide in my love.

When I am striving to do things through my own strength, or trying to fill a need simply because it is there, I am not being faithful to this call to abide in my Lord’s love. I find myself in a place of emptiness because I was not rooted in the simple call to be still and know that I am God. When I take time to listen, to know the One who formed me, then I become better acquainted with myself. And when I know myself, then I am less likely to over-extend and reach the point of burnout, and I am more likely to bear fruit for the coming Kingdom.

In light of this confession, I extend to you the following invitation for meditation just as my Lord has been extending to me:

Consider your interactions in the last 24 hours, the last week, the last month, etc.

When have you felt like you were empty or depleted? Is a relationship, volunteer endeavor or other activity feeling forced or draining you?

Ask the Lord for wisdom in your situation and covenant with your spirit to listen for the voice of our Lord.

Find a piece of fruit and take it into your hand. Observe it. Feel it. Taste it. Consider its source. The plant from which it came was not depleted when it was picked. On the contrary – it had more energy to create even more fruit, and was made healthy.

Consider the fruits of the spirit. Contemplate how they are being formed within you even at this very moment. How are they being expressed in your life so that others can taste and see that the Lord is good?

Ask the Lord to show you how best to be fruitful and to be filled. Root yourself deeply in the Presence of the Living God. Listen for your Maker’s voice in Scripture, nature, music, healthy relationships, insightful people and your own heart.

The Lord created you and you are beautiful. Trust that the One who formed your heart will not lead you astray, nor leave you empty.

God bless your journey toward fruitfulness and abundance.

 May we be found continually drawing from the strong, ever-growing vine of Christ’s love through the power of the Holy Spirit to the glory of God, the Father of all humanity, so that we may overflow with healing, nourishing, life-giving fruit for each other and for the people and world around us in Jesus’ name, amen.

Transitional Objects: Sacred Union & Longing in the Grief of Life

"Sacred Union" - photo by Trista Wynne

In All our Losses, All our Griefs: Resources for Pastoral Care, Kenneth Mitchell and Herbert Anderson discuss the benefit of transitional objects in easing the pain of separation and loss. We are often given a blanket, teddy or other stuffed animal to help us transition when we are children being weaned from our mother’s presence. Just as these transitional objects bring us comfort as children, so also are comforting objects incredibly helpful in times of grief.


I remember that when I was a young girl I had a large stuffed panda bear that remained near my bed at all times. When I felt afraid, such as when I had a bad dream, I would curl up in the soft embrace of my large panda bear; I often also brought my quilted blanket and when I was all wrapped up, a sense of security infused my being. It was a soft, warm place where I could cry or pray or look at a book, and I always was able to get back to sleep or face the rest of the day after having quiet time with my panda.

When I was preparing to go away to college and leave my childhood home, at first I thought I wouldn’t want anything from my earlier years, but when I found that my dad had brought one of my favorite stuffed animals named Kerby along for the car ride, I was quick to place it on my shelf. Truth be known, it ended up being snuggled with for the first several months that I was away from home. Gradually Kerby spent more time on the shelf than next to me, but his presence proved valuable for helping me get to sleep in a strange new place where no one and nothing was familiar.

Several years later I received a large stuffed bear for Christmas from my mother in law. It was a joyful addition to the random collection of stuffed animals that my husband and I had acquired for and from one another during our years of courtship. This large, soft bear ended up serving the role of transitional object when I could no longer hold the child I once had nannied. When I had fretful dreams where the child was out of my grasp, or where I was being pulled away from the child, I held the bear and was usually able to get back to sleep. If I came home from work and my husband was still on the clock, the bear helped the tears to flow freely. Over several weeks and even a few months, the bear served as an object of comfort and connection to the one I could no longer hold. Gradually my dependence upon this bear to sleep lessened and the nightmares dissipated. After several months, I found myself only reaching for the bear occasionally, and later, usually in moments of joy when I was remembering the child. As I gave the bear a hug, I would pray that my Lord Jesus would wrap that child in His strong arms and let that child know how much they were loved and missed from this side of eternity.

A couple of years prior to that, when I had miscarried, my mom crocheted me a prayer shawl. She made it with several strands of yarn together so that it was very soft and very warm, and I knew that she had prayed for my healing, safety and blessing with every stitch. She and I had both crocheted several prayer shawls for others, so I knew the intensity of the love that went into this blanket. Whenever I felt lonely, depressed or discouraged, I found that wrapping up in this shawl lifted my spirits and gave me comfort.

The sensation of grief leaves one feeling very cold and the brokenness on the inside of the heart feels jagged, so a blanket helps to bring warmth and softness and renews the spirit. Soft, soothing objects like teddy bears or clothing that was once worn by our loved ones provide a tangible connection to the one for whom we long, and they ease the burden of sorrow, even if only for a few moments. The respite from our grief allows us to breathe more deeply and clears our minds of the chaos that tumbles around inside.

Our Lord Jesus knew the burden of grief and separation. He wept openly when His family friend, Lazarus had died, and was deeply moved in compassion for his close friends when He knew that He was about to be betrayed and sentenced to death through a flawed justice system. Even though both of these deaths led to resurrection, Jesus knew that there was great pain in separation from our loved ones. I believe this is why we have the Lord’s Supper.

After a sacred final meal with His close friends and their families, He took bread, broke it, gave thanks and gave it for all to eat, telling them to remember His body every time they felt, cut, tasted and internalized bread together. And He shared His cup of wine, looking forward to the coming days when, as the prophets of old said, the mountains will drip with sweet wine, and the land all around us will be abundantly fruitful with justice, mercy and steadfast love and faithfulness. Whether or not we fully comprehend the meaning of this final meal, and whether we share it often or only on rare occasions, this meal gives us communion with our Lord, with each other, and with all peoples who at any time in any place have called on the name of Jesus.

This simple meal of bread and wine is for us a transitional object, serving as a connection point where the sacred and mundane all come together, where we all receive comfort, sustenance and preparation to continue along the journey of faith, proclaiming the Lord’s life, death and resurrection until the day comes when every tear will be wiped away and there will be no more pain, no more suffering, no more separation or sting of death, and all things shall be made new. The bread is soft and comforting, and the wine spreads warmth through our bellies. Our Lord meets us in this meal and the grief of this life is lifted, even as we wait the completion of the promise for renewal, peace and abundant life in eternity.

We await Your coming kingdom, Lord Jesus, and we are thankful for Your gifts of this sacred meal and of Your Holy Comforting Spirit who encourages us until we all can physically touch Your face and hear You call us each by name. While we are in this time of transition, where the human spirit, the creatures and the entire earth cry out with grief, help those of us who know the gifts found at Your table to share Your ways of peace, justice, mercy and steadfast love through our way of life and in our thoughts and words towards one another to the delight of our Father in Heaven. May we be strengthened and renewed in order that we might minister to Your world in this time of need, amen.

Good Grief: A Response to Westberg's Classic

Having just read through Westberg’s classic booklet entitled Good Grief for class, I wanted to briefly capture the moment and record where I am this evening. It is October, the month of birth for a child I nannied who died several years ago. When I was caring for him and another beautiful boy about the same age, I was in the final stages of recovery from the loss of my own children through miscarriage, and found time with them extremely healing. So, when the one child died, I felt the grief both of being his caregiver and the mother I would have been if my own children survived pregnancy. Only a few short months later, I received my long-awaited Associate’s degree and my husband and I moved out of state so I could attend a four-year college. This was our first time away from our childhood town, church and family, and so we grieved this transition, even though it was for a good purpose.


This was a complicated and difficult road of grief, one on which I, and my husband had, very few confidants in our new place; it was a road which threatened to tear my husband and I apart, since neither of us had experienced anything like it before. Gradually, though, we learned how to discuss our feelings, our fears and our furies, and to work through our respective grief together, and began to build relationships in our new community.

It took me several years before I could accept a nanny position with an infant again. I had several other jobs, including a few nanny positions, that I took in the time between, some fulfilling, others less-so, but all filled with healing, self-awareness, growth and opportunities to care for others. Now I care for a child who is almost two-and-a-half, and I have been his nanny from his ninth month of age. I am filled with joy whenever I am with this child, and sense the Spirit of God blessing our time together.

I remember that for a time after we first moved here, it seemed that nothing could have chiseled away at the dark night of my soul. Now, though, those days are a distant memory. Tears do occasionally come to my eyes when I encounter a beautiful child about the age that my own kiddos would be now, or when I see an early-elementary aged boy with unkempt blonde hair sticking out every which way, reminding me of the baby I had nannied.  Tonight I can hear his sweet nick-name for me, see his face and hands covered in spaghetti sauce, and feel the warmth of his head resting in the crook of my arm as I would rock him to sleep with his teddy bear.  These memories are indeed very sweet, even though my eyes grow moist as I type them.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if my children were with me today. They would be about at the age of reading on their own and doing science experiments in the kitchen. I certainly do not know why they are not here, but I trust that God knows and trust that they know how much they are loved even though we have never met outside of the realm of deep meditation or the occasional dream.

I may not have the life I envisioned several years ago, and I still wait for the day to come when the sounds of tiny footsteps are heard in our living room late into the evening, but beyond these losses, my life has continued. I am stronger and willing to be more vulnerable than I ever was before, and I find that both qualities lend themselves beautifully to the work of counseling, teaching, and pastoral ministry. Because I have walked the valley of the shadow of death, I know the value of life and, more often than not, do not sweat the insignificant problems. Patience and quietude and peace have been more deeply embedded in my spirit as a result of my trials, and I do what I can to share these gifts with others who I encounter along life’s pathway. Deep in my heart, throughout my life, I have felt the touch of the Great Physician: Jesus, my Lord, and I look forward to continuing to share His healing grace with you here in this online space where together we can seek quiescence and serenity in the midst of a chaotic world.

I pray that in the deep wounds of your life, you also are able to feel the gentle, healing touch of our Savior, to be filled with the peace of the Holy Spirit and to receive the deep, abiding joy that flows forth from a life rooted in the faith in our loving and compassionate Creator who holds all things, even those things we don’t understand in strong and capable hands.

He Saw Me: The Woman at the Well

This weekend I was on a two-day retreat with several members of my learning community. We were drawn into the story of Jesus and the woman at the well in Samaria by one of the pastoral spiritual directors who were ministering to us at the time. I closed my eyes and listened as John 4:1-26 was read aloud. The most poignant part of the story for me, (that is, the point at which I believe healing began within this woman) occurred when Jesus saw her. Here I relay this moment through her eyes:

*****

A strange and wonderful thing happened to me this morning. I was seen. Not by the darting, shifting eyes of the uncomfortable neighbors wanting to get away from me as quickly as possible, nor by the scornful elders wishing to renew the law of stoning, nor by the fearful gaze of the children who were told horror stories so they wouldn’t draw near me when I passed in the heat of the day. I was looked at, seen, by a Man. No man has ever seen me as the One today. I have never seen such eyes!

When that Man looked at me, He was not ashamed. He was not brazen either. I was not a filthy garment to be trod upon or a pestilence to be avoided. I was not an object to be possessed and used and abused and then discarded on a whim for a younger, prettier model. 

No. That Man saw me. He saw me! 

His eyes did not trace my figure or burn with ravenous desire; His eyes met mine and lingered. His eyes were compassionate. A softness like the feather of an eagle, and the tenderness of a nursing mother emanated from His inner being when, with those precious, searching eyes, He saw me.

Surely this is no ordinary man.  Surely this Man is Messiah.  Surely He is my Savior.

*****

It struck me as I listened to this story that the majority of Jesus’ miracles begin when He sees someone. Not only is their physical request for healing met, but because Jesus sees every aspect of their lives, He reaches out to the whole person, healing body, mind, spirit and relationships within their communities and family systems. As I meditate on this particular passage, I am struck by how transformational this woman’s encounter with Jesus is. Her shame, solitude, and physical distress are all taken away. She is embraced by the community for sharing the truth of her encounter, and many come to faith in Jesus as Christ, the Savior of the world, on account of her testimony. After encountering Jesus, she no longer has to make a lonely journey to draw water outside of the city in the heat of the day, and her community feels the love of God and knows that the Savior has come near. Every family and community structure in town is turned upside down and healed because Jesus saw the real need.

Tears overflow as I am moved by the powerful heart-knowledge that this same Jesus who saw the woman at the well sees me today. Even when I struggle to see the truth through the layers of my own tumult, I can take comfort in knowing that I am being seen for who I am, and the eyes that behold me are the eyes of Love. Thanks be to God!