“Come see a man who told me everything I have done. Could he possibly be the Christ?”

          If you don’t know that you’re a sinner, you miss out on the best part, and we keep falling into sin because we’re more of afraid of Heaven than of Hell, afraid that following Christ will mean missing out on something I love. That’s where we’ve been so far this Lent. Today, we confront another paradoxical fear: the fear of being known.

          We desire and fear being at the same time. It feels good to be recognized, to be remembered, especially in an age where everything and everyone seems replaceable and interchangeable. But it can be intimidating too. Many people intentionally move to a place where not everyone knows them, where people won’t make assumptions about them based on their last name or who they’re related to. It can be a relief to know that you’re the only member of your high school class living in your city.

          So, we can imagine the mixed emotions with which this Samaritan woman tells the people of the town: “Come see a man who told me everything I have done.” Our Lord has done a lot more than a parlor trick. He has looked into her soul, and seen who she really is. Again, this is scary. But for Christ to look into your soul and see who you really are is different than anyone else. Because when He sees your imperfections and sinfulness, He sees the very reason He came to earth in the first place! “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I came not to call the righteous, but sinners” (Mk 2:17).

          A friend of mine has struggled with chronic health conditions for many years, and always comes away from the doctor’s office feeling like no one has really listened or cared. But she recently found someone who seemed to understand, who acknowledged that she hadn’t been getting the answers she needed, and looked her in the eye and said, “I am going to help you.” Those words were powerful: “I am going to help you.”

          “Christ, while we were still helpless, died at the appointed time for the ungodly. … perhaps for a good person one might even find courage to die. But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” The one who looks into her soul and yours is the One who can truly say, “I am going to help you.”

          It’s odd, though, that He doesn’t seem to do much for her, other than tell her everything that she has done (which is not positive, as she herself admits: “I do not have a husband.”). Rather, He asks her for something: “Give me a drink.”

          There are two times in John’s Gospel when Christ expresses thirst: here, and on the Cross. The drink that he desires is not just water. The cistern beside which they stand is deep. He will have to reach deep underground to bring up the water. The cistern of her heart is deep too. The real her is hidden under layers of sin. But He does not need a wooden bucket to reach the depths of her soul.

          “I know who you really are,” He is telling her. “I love you, and thirst for your love.” For her to receive His healing and transforming love, she must give something away. She must enter the cruciform logic of Christian love.

At the beginning of Mass we prayed in the Collect prayer, “O God, author of every mercy and of all goodness, who in fasting, prayer and almsgiving have shown us a remedy for sin, look graciously on this confession of our lowliness, that we, who are bowed down by our conscience, may always be lifted up by your mercy.”

          Our Lenten fasting, prayer, and almsgiving is the remedy for sin, the remedy for our fear of Heaven, our fear of being known. It is not just doing something tough for the sake of doing something tough, because after all, the goal of the Christian moral life is not to do things that are difficult, but to do the good readily and with ease (virtue). Fasting, prayer, and almsgiving initiate us into the cruciform logic of Christian love. Before being something difficult that we do for God, they are a gift from Him. They are our response to His gaze of love, our chance to quench His thirst for love, to make our love concrete rather than merely sentimental.

          Looking into the soul of that anonymous woman (anonymous surely, because like referring to himself as “the disciple whom Jesus loved,” John wants us to see ourselves in her), Christ wants to re-write the narrative of her life. Her story is not ultimately about the five husbands and the man who is not her husband. It is about the mystery of His love for her. She is someone caught up in the mystery of His love. The world has a lot of narratives about each of the people here, and the Evil One especially wants you to define yourself based on our failures, which is what makes you fear being known.

          Once again, the introit of today’s Mass offers a remedy for our predicament: “My eyes are always on the Lord, for he rescues my feet from the snare.” We need this constant reminder! Yes, I am a sinner, but I keep my eyes fixed on Christ who, while I was a sinner, died at the appointed time for the ungodly. Now, to fill up the thirst of His love, I strive to love like Him, entering the cruciform logic of His love.

          Where and when are we most deeply known by Him? St. John Vianney once asked a simple peasant who was alone in the church, praying before the Tabernacle, “What are you doing while you are here?” The man responded, “I look at Him, and He looks at me.” Christ in the Eucharist knows you, you look at Him, and He gazes upon you with the same love He had for that Samaritan woman: “I know who you really are. I know the real you who is under all those layers of sin. And I am going to help you.”

          In the Eucharist is fulfilled what St. Augustine taught about God’s indwelling presence: He is closer to you than you are to yourself. This Lent, we have a beautiful opportunity to gaze upon the Lord and to receive His knowing and merciful gaze into our souls with the Forty Hours devotion in a couple weeks. The Lord has a torrent of graces that He is ready to pour into our souls and into our parish through these days of constant vigilance before His Eucharistic presence. In the quiet hours of the night, He waits for us. We have spots to fill, and I hope that you will take advantage of this opportunity for yourself and for the good of our whole parish. (The signup sheets are in the gathering space.)

          “Perhaps for a good person one might even find courage to die. But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” “Come see a man who told me everything I have done. Could he possibly be the Christ?” In the Eucharist, we keep our eyes fixed on the Lord. And He looks back! Christ looks into your soul from His real presence in the Eucharist. He sees everything good and bad. His response is not revulsion, but love, and a thirst for your love, a desire to pull you into the cruciform shape of His love. Will you let him see you?

The Rev. Royce V. Gregerson

Parish Church of Our Lady of Good Hope, Fort Wayne – III Sunday of Lent, A.D. MMXXVI