A poignant and agonizing story I would like to share at the beginning of my sermon this morning:

This story takes place during the second year of my seminary studies. For each of these first three years we were assigned to do some type of pastoral work in a congregation or other ministry, somewhat like the teaching parish experience the students from Gettysburg seminary do as part of their formation. In my second year, my assignment was to work at the Paradise School for Boys in Abbotstown. My work there consisted in going once a week, spending the day with one boy, helping him with homework, projects, or sometimes just being a caring presence and listening ear in his life.

The boy I was assigned to was "John." He was 13 years old, was there because he had been convicted of holding up a convenience store. His family consisted of a mother who was drunk more often than she was sober. There was no father to be found, and no brothers or sisters.

Over a period of several months, "John" slowly came to trust me as (I think) he had trusted few other adults in his short life. In the spring, I suggested that he might want to come home with me for a few days, during my Spring Break. Thank God for my parents, who were open to this idea-taking in a juvenile with criminal record, one whom they had never met!

The second afternoon that "John" was with us we waited for my father to come home from work. When "John" saw my father's car come up the driveway, he jumped up from his chair, ran to the door, opened it, stood ready to greet my Dad, and he gave my Dad a big hug.

That may not seem like a particularly significant incident as I tell it 30 years later, but not since that day have I witnessed such anticipation, excitement and joy in one person while, at the same time, revealing such a deep sense of sadness and longing.

As I watched that incarcerated juvenile, who at the age of 13 had already been arrested more than once, and who had stolen more things in his young life than many people steal in their entire lives . . . as I watched him dart through the kitchen to greet my father at the back door, I was torn apart inside as I realized a yearning and an emotional hunger in that boy, such as I had seldom witnessed prior to that day, or have since.

At that moment, I observed a vulnerable and emotionally disarmed child who realized somewhere deep within himself that there was something missing in his life. And I suspect he probably could never and surely would not have been able to verbalize such a need. But I saw it expressed for those few agonizing minutes that evening.

Today's Gospel speaks of a similar vulnerability. It speaks of a human yearning. This Gospel story of the Samarian woman at the well tells us of wounds and injuries, and it also speaks of healing. This story tells of divisions and ruptures, even longstanding ruptures getting healed. It speaks of Jesus bringing healing in ways that may not be obvious at the outset.

On one level, Jesus heals the Samaritan woman in a way she is not expecting. The woman comes to a well to get water. She is minding her own business, doing the laborious work that women did in those days. She knows her place, then becomes suspicious of the Jewish man who is perched on the well, as she approaches in the heat of the day. She is taken aback when he not only speaks to her but asks her for help. She is a Samaritan. He is a Jew. She is a woman. He is a man. They are in a public place.

As usual, Jesus invites trouble with his typical unconventional and anti-conventional attitude and behavior. He should not be speaking to a woman in the first place, let alone a member of the tribe of Israel long-despised by the Jewish people. This is all disorienting, confusing, mystifying, bewildering, and-it is, oh, so wonderful! This is Jesus at his tired, yet energized best, throwing all caution and all rules to the wind!

It's hard to tell what is going on in the conversation between Jesus and this woman. It is as if with every word, there is more being said than what we hear. But we know something does happen between them, because when the conversation began, they were perfect strangers; when it ends, the woman is so excited that she wants everyone to know about this man she had just met!

So she leaves behind what brought her to this moment in the first place because she has found something for which she did not realize she was searching-someone who meets her, accepts her, and understands her as no one else before. And once she has been met at such a level, she is changed. And then, by the end of the passage, it is not just the woman who is excited about Jesus, but a whole town full of Samaritans. A whole town full of people have found themselves, discovered that they do "belong" after all; found that, in spite of a centuries' old hatred between two peoples, what matters is that their worth before God is undeniable.

And all because of a conversation that got started at a well and a man who actually saw a person as loveable and worthwhile. Jesus embraces these people at a level deeper than all the labels and restrictions, and when that happens, the brokenness within a person can begin to heal, life can begin anew. Also when this happens, old ways of thinking can change-old suspicions, old rivalries, and all the old fears need not matter anymore. By bluntly declaring to the woman at the well that she was worthy to receive the life He came to give, Jesus was declaring that all people are worthy to drink of that life-giving stream.

In the Eucharistic Prayer, we will pray that "... our God who is our living Water and our merciful Guide... who led God's people Israel through the desert and provided them water from the rock; we will give praise for Christ who is our Rock and our water, who joined us in our desert, and who continues to join us in the deserts of our lives, pouring out his life for us and for the world." We all have deserts in our lives. We all are sustained by God's mercy and forgiveness, flowing from the waters of Baptism, drawing us toward God.

Finally, I often think back to that afternoon in 1978, when that 13-year-old boy became so vulnerable in his longing to be loved and accepted and cared for by another human being. I have no idea where "John" is today; he'd be 43 years old. When I think about him, my hope is that today he is healed in every part of his being because he has found true acceptance and love.

And when I look out over all of you gathered here today and each weekend, my hope is that you individually and all of us together, will thirst for more than what the world alone can offer. I pray we will never give up living life as a gift of God's generous grace. Amen.