Jesus answered and said to her, If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that says to thee, Give me to drink, thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water.
Jesus sits by a well and asks a local woman for a drink. Then He tells her that if she knew who was asking, she would be the one asking Him. His words name two things she does not know: what God gives, and who is speaking to her.
The first half of the verse turns on a word for God's free bounty. One writer sets it against everything people assume about how God deals with them:
God is love, as well as light. Because He is love, He sent His Son to shine in this world, dark as it is through sin. That is not all the love He shows. It is only the beginning of what rises far above every difficulty and need. When it comes to eternal life and redemption, God is not demanding but giving, and giving only. Both are His gift in Christ. The sinner must know Him this way only — not as a receiver but as the Giver. To take any other place would be beneath His majesty. It denies His nature, twists the truth, and leaves no room for love.
The second half points away from the gift to the Person offering it. One writer draws out the cost of not knowing:
They do not know who it is that asks them for a drink. He is still begging them to be reconciled: "We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God." He is still asking them, in the gentlest and most loving terms, to give themselves to Him. He is still in the place of one asking a favour. The point the world misses is this. The Son of God humbles Himself to ask sinners to come. The Lord of glory is doing it. They do not know who is asking them. So they never ask Him for the gift they must have to enter the kingdom of God.
That "if" points to what she did not know:
The Lord's reply shows what the woman did not know: her own need, the love of God, and the glory of the One she was standing before. Had she known, she would have asked, and He would have given. She had yet to learn that God is a Giver in love, and that such is her need that she can only be a receiver in grace.
The water He offers does not come from that well. One writer links it to a later chapter in John:
By "living water" the Lord indicated the Spirit of God, as is quite clear when we reach chapter 7:39. In the previous chapter God's only Son is His gift to the world. In this chapter the Spirit of God is God's gift to the believer. The Son of God gives that gift, and He was the Speaker seated on the well at Sychar. By the Spirit we have the life within, and by Him the life within springs up to the Source of the life above.
Another writer works from the giver's side:
Christ Himself is the giver here, so "the gift of God" cannot be Himself. He makes no claim on her. Her need is a just claim on His gracious heart. Love and need are face to face in this touching scene, and that is always the point of contact.
Everything hangs on one small verb:
"You would have asked Him." She had only to speak to that fountain of living water, and the stream would flow into her parched heart. She might speak to Jacob's well forever, and it would do no good; she must toil to draw. You need only speak to this living well, and the waters will flow.
Why, then, does anyone not ask? One writer traces it to pride:
Jesus our Lord alone showed the great, essential truth in all its beauty — "the gift of God." It was new to people in every condition and age. Every soul needs to face it and learn it for itself: God is the Giver, and He will be nothing else to sinful man. Our pride does not like it. Rich or poor, high or low, we want to earn from Him, and we are unwilling to be debtors to nothing but mercy in Christ.
- Giver. God meets sinners not as a receiver but as the Giver. Any other place would deny His nature and leave no room for love.
- Given. He gives living water. One writer reads it as the Spirit, whom the Son gives to the believer — life within that springs up to its Source above.
- Unknown. The woman did not know three things: her own need, God's love, and the glory of the Person beside her.
- Unasked. People do not know who is asking them, so they never ask Him. Pride would rather earn than owe everything to mercy.
- Answered. Asking is all it takes. Jacob's well demands hard work; this well answers a single word.
The woman says to him, Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep whence then hast thou the living water?
A woman comes to draw water and hears an offer of living water instead. She weighs the offer by what she can see — no bucket, a deep well — and misses the One making it.
She tests His words against what she can see. One writer follows her reasoning and names what lies under it:
She understands none of the gracious words she had heard; they were not mixed with faith in her heart. So she reasons against them. If the water was to be drawn from Jacob's well, where was the bucket to let down, for the well was deep? … So the mind argues against the Lord, according to the senses or tradition. That is how fatal ignorance of His Person and of the truth is. Circumstances test faith, and unbelief sinks in them. Unbelief gladly seizes on a great name and its gifts — with or without any right to it — in order to slight a greater name, indeed the greatest of all.
Her mind stays on the errand that brought her out. One writer names what she was missing — not a bucket, but the identity of the Man asking her for a drink:
The One who had created the water was there, weary and dependent, so that He might drink it from such a woman — a woman who did not know what she was. … He does not say, "If you knew Me," but, "If you knew who it is that says to you, Give Me to drink." He means the One who has come down so low, getting past all the barriers which kept Him from you. If you knew Him, "you would have asked of Him." … There was the answer: "He would have given you living water." The words seem clear enough. But the poor woman cannot get past the circumstances of her daily work. … she goes no further than her daily toil, though she can see plainly that she is dealing with an extraordinary Person. The Lord was leading her on, and she did not yet know where.
Her complaint about the depth describes more than a hole in the ground. One writer hears her whole life in those four words, and finds every person in them:
What a revelation! There are volumes contained in these four words, "The well is deep." They spoke of a weary existence. She was tired of life. Her own will and her sin had left her heart empty. Despised by all, isolated and abandoned, she came at a time when the well was very empty. And is that not what everyone passing through this world finds? "The well is deep." It gets deeper every year he lives. He has to lengthen the rope he uses to draw the water he longs to satisfy his heart with. That gets harder as time goes on, and the Lord tells us why: "Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again."
She asks where the living water comes from. The answer is not a better bucket but a greater Person:
But what about living water? She understood that to mean running water, not stagnant water. How could that stranger supply it? The well was deep, and He had nothing to draw with. Who was He? Who could He be? … What a story He could have unfolded, had He told her that He had seen Jacob, had wrestled with him, had humbled him, had blessed him! Truly, He was greater than her father Jacob. Jacob dug a well in the ground. He could supply a fountain for the heart.
Her objection assumes that water takes work. Nobody draws this living water up; you ask for it:
"You would have asked of Him." She had only to speak to that fountain of living water. Then the stream would flow into her parched heart. She might speak forever to Jacob's well, but it would be in vain; she must labour at the drawing. You need only speak to this living well, and the waters will flow.
- Deep well. Four words describe a whole life. The world's well gets deeper every year, and the rope never reaches what satisfies.
- No bucket. She measures Christ by the equipment He carries. A mind that judges by the senses argues against His words, because it does not know His Person.
- Daily toil. Christ points her to who is speaking with her. She cannot get past the errand that brought her out, though she senses this Man is extraordinary.
- Greater giver. Her question has an answer standing in front of her. Jacob dug a well in the ground; this Man supplies a fountain for the heart.
- Only ask. Jacob's well makes you work the rope. You need only speak to the living well, and the water flows.
Art thou greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well, and drank of it himself, and his sons, and his cattle?
A woman came to draw water, and Jesus offered her something she could not see. She answered with the one thing she could see: an old well and the ancestor who left it to her. Her question — is this stranger greater than Jacob? — was meant as a defence. It is also the question the whole scene answers.
She has just heard an offer of living water, and instead of asking for it she cross-examines it. One writer traces how her mind moves from the bucket, to the depth of the well, to the name of Jacob:
She understands none of the gracious words she had heard; they were not mixed with faith in her heart. So she reasons against them. If the water was to be drawn from Jacob's well, where was the bucket to let down, for the well was deep? Did He claim to be greater than Jacob? Or was His well better than the one that long ago supplied Jacob and his household — a well which was now theirs? So the mind argues against the Lord, following the senses or tradition. That is how deadly it is not to know His Person and the truth.
Naming Jacob is more than unbelief. It is a retreat to safer ground. The offer was too large to hold, so she reached for something she had inherited:
The woman, however, falls back on tradition — "the well of our father Jacob." Tradition is what human nature in this world always falls back on. It was an effort to escape from something too vast and deep and divine for her to take in.
The word "our" carries a whole history. Her claim on Jacob was not personal; it was national, and centuries old:
The Samaritans, though a foreign race, had for centuries taken Jewish ground. They had their temple on Mount Gerizim. They had the Jewish scriptures and spoke of "our father Jacob." They took the Jewish hope as their own — the coming of Messiah (John 4:12, 25).
So her question is more than a question. She is not just comparing two men. She is putting her ancestry between herself and the offer.
She adds that Jacob drank from the well, and his sons, and his livestock. She means it as proof of the well's worth. It is also proof of Jacob's limits:
Her wonder rises, and her eyes are fixed on Him. She would learn from Him: who is He? Greater than her father Jacob, it seems. Yet Jacob himself depended on this one well, and so did his whole household.
The great ancestor was as thirsty as she was.
The irony is that the Man she measures against Jacob had met Jacob. One writer draws out the story He could have told her, and then sets the two gifts side by side:
Who was she addressing? A proud, self-righteous Jew? A Jew certainly — but One like no one she had ever met. She could never find His equal… What a story He could have unfolded, had He told her that He had seen Jacob, had wrestled with him, had humbled him, had blessed him! Truly, He was greater than her father Jacob. Jacob dug a well in the ground. He could supply a fountain for the heart.
He never says "yes." He does something better — He takes the well she is defending and shows her what it cannot do:
But the Lord does not tell her how much greater than Jacob He is. He knows how to lead her to find this out for herself. He then tells her what she already knew — that though she drank of the water of the well, she would thirst again. From there He goes on to tell her what she had never heard. If she drank of the water He freely gave, she would never thirst again. That water is a well inside the one who receives it, springing up into everlasting life.
- Greater questioned. She asks if He outranks Jacob while standing in front of the answer. The mind argues against the Lord from the senses and from tradition.
- Greater hidden. "Our father Jacob" is a refuge, an effort to escape what is too vast and deep and divine to take in.
- Greater claimed. Samaria had taken Jewish ground for centuries. It claimed the temple on Gerizim, the scriptures, the Messiah hope, and the family name.
- Greater exposed. Her own evidence sinks her case — Jacob and his whole household depended on that one well.
- Greater proved. Jacob dug a well in the ground. He supplies a fountain for the heart. Instead of arguing, He lets her taste the difference.
Jesus answered and said to her, Every one who drinks of this water shall thirst again;
The woman asked Jesus about drawing water. He turns her question into a verdict on every source of refreshment she has ever tried. His answer sorts all drinking into two kinds: the kind you must come back to, and the kind you never have to come back to.
The point is not that the well water was bad. It was good water. The problem lies in what any created supply can and cannot do.
The water of an earthly spring, however good, like every natural blessing, lasts only for the moment. It quenches thirst, only for the thirst to return soon and again and again. That is the nature of all things seen and temporary. The soul, immortal as it is, needs more to satisfy, and God delights in giving when we look to Him in felt need.
Jesus points to a real well, but He means more than water. Writers read this water as a picture of everything people reach for to fill the heart.
The water of the well, like all earthly joys, of which it is the symbol, can never satisfy. There is no source of lasting satisfaction in earthly things. Money, pleasure, ambition, duties and earthly relationships, if pursued, may provide a moment's distraction or a passing gratification. But they give no lasting satisfaction. "Everyone who does not know Christ has either a disappointed heart, or a heart seeking what will disappoint it" (J.N.D.).
The woman had just said the well was deep. One writer reads that complaint as a picture of ordinary life.
There are volumes contained in these four words, "The well is deep." They spoke of a weary existence. She was tired of life. Her will and her sin had left her heart empty. Despised by all, isolated, and abandoned, she came at a time when the well was very empty. And is this not exactly what every person passing through this world finds? "The well is deep," and it gets deeper every year he lives. He has to lengthen the rope by which he tries to draw the water he would gladly satisfy his heart with. That becomes more difficult as time goes on, and the Lord tells us the reason.
Notice how He teaches. She has just asked whether He is greater than Jacob. He does not answer by claiming a title. He starts with something she already knew.
But the Lord does not tell her how much greater than Jacob He is: He knows how to lead her to find this out for herself. He then tells her what she herself knew: though she drank of the water of the well, she would thirst again. From this He goes on to tell her what she had never heard.
One writer turns this word on Christians themselves.
On every fountain — broken cisterns, are they not? — of man's digging we may write these words. No matter where man turns for refreshment, he fails to find what can truly quench thirst; pleasure, reputation, power, wealth — whatever the heart of man craves — can never satisfy. As in the book of Ecclesiastes, those who worked hardest to draw water out of these wells had to confess "vanity of vanities." Let us as Christians take note of this and refuse what does not satisfy even the world.
She asked for the water, thinking only of saving herself the daily walk. What He said next shows what He was after.
Relief from daily toil was all that she thought of... But He knew her need. He wanted to give her what she really wanted, not what she asked for, so He replied at once, "Go, call your husband, and come here." Conscience must be dealt with before spiritual blessing comes. How wisely, how graciously, He did that!
- Thirst again — the well water was good, but it could not last. Everything seen and temporary quenches thirst only for the thirst to return.
- Thirst again everywhere — money, pleasure, ambition, power, duties, relationships. They all fall under the same verdict.
- Thirst again, deeper — every year he must lengthen the rope. Drawing on this world gets harder as life goes on, not easier.
- Thirst again, and Christians too — write these words over every well of man's digging. Refuse what does not satisfy even the world.
- Thirst no more — He starts with the thirst she already knew. Then He names the gift she had never heard of, and touches her conscience, the place He must deal with before blessing comes.
but whosoever drinks of the water which I shall give him shall never thirst for ever, but the water which I shall give him shall become in him a fountain of water, springing up into eternal life.
Jesus meets a Samaritan woman at Jacob's well. She came for ordinary water, and He offers her a gift that ends thirst for good and becomes a spring inside her.
The woman had told Jesus the well was deep. One writer hears in her words the story of every life spent drawing from the world:
There are volumes contained in these four words, "The well is deep." They spoke of a weary existence. She was tired of life. Her will and her sin had only left her heart empty. Despised by all, isolated and abandoned, she came at a time when the well was very empty. And is that not what every man finds as he passes through this world? "The well is deep," and it gets deeper every year he lives. He has to keep lengthening the rope as he tries to draw the water he longs to satisfy his heart with. That becomes harder as time goes on, and the Lord tells us why: "Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again."
The verse turns on the Lord's own promise: I will give. Nothing in the sentence asks for a contribution from the one who drinks.
Mark well what the living water is: the new life in the power of the Holy Spirit. It springs up in glad and holy worship to the Father, and it flows out in fullness of blessing to men. The Lord does not give it in return for any surrender on our part, or effort that we can make, or price that we can pay. "I shall give," said the Lord, and "If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink."
One writer names the water and says why it is new:
But now in John 4 we get something wholly new. Jesus gives a divine gift ("I will give"): living water that forms a well within, always springing up into everlasting life, so that there shall be no more thirst. This is the Holy Spirit, whom God gives to live in the one who is born again. He is the power and energy of a life in communion with God, its source and end. Here then is a source of joy apart from all circumstances and independent of them. The joy is the deepest kind, and eternal. The source never fails, though at times the joy may be clouded over here below.
The striking word in the verse is in him. What Christ gives is not a supply kept elsewhere and fetched as needed.
We have everlasting life in Him, and we shall never be separated from Him. The man also has a well of water in himself: "The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water." This is power coming down from God — heaven is brought down into my heart. It is the power of divine life bringing me into fellowship with the Father and the Son. It is nothing short of all that is in God dwelling in me... There is an eternal spring in my own soul. The man drinks it in — he receives it as a thirsty person — and then it becomes in him a well that makes him a partaker of what is in God.
The water does not sit still. One writer sets out what it does in a man, and then through him for others:
He proposes to make men independent of the world... In the same way He also proposes to make them contributors to the deep need of thirsty hearts within the world. To have a deep well-spring of satisfaction within, springing up into everlasting life — this is the upper spring. It rises to its Source and Giver in intelligent appreciation and worship. And then these same refreshing waters flow out in rivers to others for their blessing too — this is the lower spring.
- Thirst — every well of this world must be drunk from again; the rope only gets longer with the years.
- Gift — Jesus says, "I will give." No surrender, effort, or price buys it; thirst is all He asks.
- Indwelling — writers identify the living water as the Holy Spirit, whom God gives to live in the one born again.
- Inward — Christ puts the spring in him: an eternal spring in the soul, not a store outside that he must go and fetch.
- Upward, then outward — the well rises to its Giver in worship. The same waters then flow out in rivers to other thirsty hearts.
The woman says to him, Sir, give me this water, that I may not thirst nor come here to draw.
She heard the offer of living water, and she asked for it. But what she asked for was shaped by the well, the walk, and the water jar. Was this faith? And if her asking was so small, why does Jesus answer by telling her to go and call her husband?
She takes what He said about water and hears it as water. One writer traces her mistake to where her thinking lived:
Heavenly things are outside the range of her thoughts. Thinking only of her daily needs, she gives the Lord's words a material meaning. Like all people, she would gladly have her daily needs met without the daily toil the fall has brought in. Men would be quite content with earthly blessings if only the curse were gone. "The natural person does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are folly to him, and he is not able to understand them because they are spiritually discerned." Apart from the Spirit, human intelligence cannot grasp divine things.
Christ had offered a spring rising up to eternal life. What she wanted back was a shorter errand. Notice how one commentator measures the exact distance her hopes travelled:
She would gladly learn how she might be relieved of her wants and of her labour for this world. As yet not a ray of heavenly light had entered her. Not to thirst, and not to come here to draw, formed the boundary of her desires from the Saviour — not yet known to be a Saviour, still less the Only-begotten Son.
Her water jar is not just her problem. It stands for the small circle any of us reason inside:
All true intelligence was missing in her. Her weariness and labour absorbed her, and the circle of her thoughts went no further than her water jar — that is, no further than herself, but herself owned by her circumstances. This is human life. People judge revealed things by how they relate to these circumstances.
She does not know who is speaking to her. She asks anyway — and one writer sees the start of something real in it:
She is attracted and wondering, and faith in this mysterious Speaker is beginning to wake in her soul. So she asks for this gift, promised to her for the asking. She asks, but in truth she does not know the gift of God, nor who it is that says to her, "Give Me a drink." But divine grace that is at work with her will not leave her like this, nor despise the day of small things — which is still that work begun. Her heart is touched, desire awakened, her soul turning towards God.
Something has already broken down in her that the opening of the conversation showed was strong — she began by pointing out that Jews have no dealings with Samaritans. Now she asks a Jew for a favour, and Christ answers a deeper request than the one she made:
She, a woman of Samaria, was still ignorant of what the stranger, a Jew, was offering. Yet she puts aside all prejudice, and says, "Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water." Relief from daily toil was all that she thought of. Yet, wonderful to say, she was now willing to owe a Jew for that. But He knew her need. He wanted to give her what she really needed, not what she asked for, so He at once replied, "Go, call your husband."
The reply in verse 16 looks like a change of subject. Commentators read it as the only route left open:
It follows that in His reply the Lord entirely passes over the woman's words. It is useless to speak further of things that are too great for a mind too small to take them in. So the Lord takes another way, and the only way by which the darkness of our minds can be cleared. He speaks to the conscience, and wins the heart. Understanding in divine things comes through the conscience, not through the intellect.
There is also a link between the toil she wants to escape and the life she has been living:
His grace clearly had a strong pull on her. She also felt what a burden of toil was tied to sin — and you may be sure no one can sin in this world without toil and sorrow tied to it. But as yet she thought more about her toil than about her sin, so the Lord now begins to deal with her conscience. Man has a conscience. That conscience must be met and reached, and the springs of the soul's history must be touched with a sense of its sin and guilt. Otherwise there will never be a link with God, or true enjoyment of His grace.
- She asked. She did not know the gift of God, or who was speaking to her. She asked anyway, and grace treats that as the work begun.
- She asked small. Relief from her daily toil was all she wanted from Him.
- We all ask small. Her thoughts went no further than her water jar — no further than herself, held in by her circumstances. We all weigh God's words by how they touch daily life.
- He answers deeper. He gave her what she really needed, not what she asked for, and He did not despise the day of small things.
- Through the conscience. He passes over her words and speaks about her husband. She thought more of her toil than of her sin. Understanding in divine things comes by the conscience, not the intellect.
Jesus says to her, Go, call thy husband, and come here.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.