Jesus talks longer to the woman at the well than to anyone else in all the GospelsÑlonger than to his disciples, or his accusers, or family. She's the first person he reveals his identity to in John's Gospel. She's the first outsider to guess who he is and tell others - and her witness brings many to faith.

His choice of her is curious, because when I say outsider, I mean outsider. She was a triple outsider.

First, she was a Samaritan, which made her a half-breed and full pagan as far as the purists were concerned, part of a group that Jews had called unclean and hated for centuries. Jews wouldn't talk to, much less eat or drink with them. They'd even go out of their way to stay out of their territory.

Second, she was a woman. In Jesus' time, women were not what you'd call liberated. They weren't even allowed to worship with men, whose prayers included the words, Thank God I am not a woman. Women were nobodies. They weren't to be seen or heard, especially not by holy men, who didn't speak to their wives in public. One group was called "the bruised and bleeding" because they closed their eyes when they saw a woman, even if it meant walking into a wall and breaking their noses.

But being a Samaritan and a woman wasn't all. She was also a "fallen" woman. That was her third strike, what made her a triple outsider. That's why she was coming to the well alone, at noon, in the heat of the day. Respectable women came in the morning, when it was cooler, and they could linger and visit together. But this woman was one they talked about, she wasn't welcome then. As Jesus soon deduced, she'd been married as many times as Liz Taylor and was living in sin at the moment, which, even with the heat, made it all less painful for her to go alone, after the others had gone.

Imagine her surprise as she sees a strange man by the well. He's a Jew; what's he doing there? Is he lost? Has he lost his faith, to be talking to her like that? Jews have endless rules about what they may and may not eat and drink. He'll be breaking the law if he takes a sip from her bucket.

So they talk about it, and while they're often not on the same wavelength, the woman determines that she wants what Jesus offers, Living water! — water that'll quench her thirst forever. Thinking that he must be some magical peddler, she says, Sir, give me this water! But rather than telling her how much it costs, he changes the subject, tells her to go get her husband. To which she might have said, I thought we were talking about religion, or magic water. Why are you getting personal? Or she might have lied. But instead, she squares her shoulders and looks him right in the eye.

I have no husband, she says, and with that bit of truth from her, he tells her the rest of the truth about herself, You've had 5 husbands, but you're right in saying you have none; you're not married to the guy you're living with now. Uncomfortable as that truth was, Jesus doesn't pull away. No, he gets closer. He still wants a drink, and he wants to give her one too — of that living water he talked about.

But she doesn't want him to say any more about what everybody else knows and hates her for, so she changes the subject back to religion, to the old argument about Jews and Samaritans. Can't blame her. If he knows about all her husbands, there's no telling what else he knows, and she'd rather not find out. No wonder she wants to step back and put her mask on again.

We're all familiar with that kind of defensiveness, that impulse to protect ourselves from admitting the truth about ourselves, the defensiveness that makes us try to refocus the conversation, the thought process, the whatever, away from us, and on to something less personal.

That defensiveness is usually there for one of two reasons.

The first is insecurity, the fear that if what we want to keep hidden get's out in the open, for someone else to see, and for us to have to acknowledge, we'll suffer somehow. Guilt about who we are or what we've done makes us think that if anyone really knew us, they wouldn't want to have anything to do with us. The more we build our lives on hiding such truth, the more frightening its revelation becomes, and the more defensive, manipulative, even abusive, we'll be in trying to keep it hidden.

Hiding the truth about ourselves often depends on acting, wearing a mask, to project an image, create a "reality" to cover what we feel insecure or guilty about. We can become very adept at such acting, such image making, such "reality" creation, and may be able to hide ourselves successfully from everyone; problem is, that only heightens the insecurity, reinforces the sense that we're only acceptable if we're not really known, and that we'd be totally unacceptable if we were.

The second reason is pride, the feeling that who we are, what we think, have done, or want, should go for everyone. Such pride can make us think that's all just fine, until someone dares to challenge our ideas, attitude, or control. But, let them be challenged, and watch out! If our life's built on the arrogant assumption that what we think, do, and want, is best for everybody, then we'll receive challenges to that assumption as an attack on us. Our self-worth, our whole way of being, is at risk.

But enforcing our wisdom, ways, or will, requires compliant subjects. Not everyone has such friends or co-workers. We're more likely to find such people in our families. It may be a spouse who's eager to please, or to avoid conflict. It may be little children, who at least at first, want to make us happy, or are intimidated by our size, or by their dependence on us. Problem is spouses get tired and children grow up. God created both to be their own person, not a reflection of, nor a means of fulfilling, their partner or their parent. So, if one spouse tries to manage and dictate everything, the response may at first be a compliant, giving in or withdrawl, but eventually it's more likely to be resistance. Likewise, if a parent tries to compel a child to think, do, and be, like him or her, the child will respond in one of two ways as he or she matures - either be compliant, avoid conflict, and earn the title of "good child," or resist, create conflict, and earn the title of "bad child." Yes, "bad" is pretty strong, but that's how a prideful parent often expresses their anger and resentment when their rightness, and thus their self-image, is challenged What else, given the parent's prideful assumption that their will defines "good," could the child who resists it, be, but "bad?"

Yet Jesus' encounter with this woman tells us that it's not bad to hear things about ourselves that we don't want to hear. Often that's how he tells us things we need to hear! In fact, since we're not likely to hear such things from him, beside a well somewherel, we should know that he's likely to express those truths through unexpected people, in unexpected ways: friends or co-workers who recognize things in us that we don't like, want to keep hidden, fearing rejection if they become known; spouses or children who resist complete compliance with our wisdom, way, will, who challenge us by saying, "No!" or "I disagree," or even, "You're wrong."

Fear of confrontations with truths about ourselves that we want to hide, creates defensiveness. Anger about confrontations with truths about ourselves that we don't want to admit, creates hostility. We make mighty, valiant, and often destructive efforts to protect ourselves from the truth. Friendships, marriages, and parental relationships can suffer as a result. They can even be wrecked, so fearful are we of having what's bad about us be recognized, so fearful are we of having our proud assumptions about ourselves shattered.

But Jesus' encounter with the Samaritan woman shows that such defensiveness and hostility don't work. Neither can protect us from the truth he will speak to us — somehow! Look at what happens! The more she steps away from him, the more he steps toward her. He won't let her get away!

So, if you bear a burden of weakness or guilt, that you're sure would render you unloveable if anyone knew, remember the Samaritan woman. Or, if you're sure your idenitity depends on always being right, having people recognize it, and do what you want, remember her, too. As with her, Jesus needs to speak the truth to you about who you are. Needs you to recognize it and own it. To see the crud, the weakness, the falseness, the wrongness, the insecurity or the arrogance. We need to recognize it, know that others do to, and own it. We need to know that the acting that masks guilt and insecurity won't work. We need to know that the control that projects selfishness and pride won't work either. Those recognitions begin to tear down of an old self so a new one can be built.

Because, you see, Jesus wants us to become someone new, the person God created us to be. He needs us to recognize the truth about ourselves and own it so that can happen. That all begins as he shows us that our sad and bad truths, don't make us unloveable. Not to him! He loves us anyway! We have worth, not because we earn or deserve it, but because in his love, he says so.

So he confronts our too low opinions of ourselves, and all the insecurity and desire to hide that they create, with the truth. And he confronts our too high opinions of ourselves, and all the pride and desire to control that they create, with the truth. He wants us to see the truth about ourselves, our weakness, our sin, our arrogant pride, our desires to control, and know that we can't hide it or deny it. He wants us to own it all. But he does it all, because he also wants us to know another truth, a truth that we've ignored in our insecure hiding or our arrogant controlling. He wants us to know that we're loved anyway. That's where our worth comes from!

Look at what happens, there at the well. If the woman's determined to show him less of herself, then he'll show her more of himself. I know that Messiah is coming, she says, and he says, I am he.

It's the first time he's said that to anyone! The shame-burdened, triple outsider and God's Messiah stand face to face with no pretense about who they are. Both stand fully lit at high noon for one bright moment, while all the rules, taboos and history that separate them fall forgotten to the ground.

By telling the woman who she is, who she really is, with a past he both knows and knows she can be more than, Jesus shows her who he is. By confirming her true identity, he revels his own, and that's how it still happens. The Messiah is the one in whose presence you know who you really areÑthe good and bad of it, the all of it, the hope in it, too.

We're not going to really know Jesus, unless we let him make us really know ourselves. The Messiah is the one who shows you who you are by showing you who he isÑwho crosses all boundaries, breaks all rules, get's past all fearful disguises, pierces all arrogant pretenseÑspeaking to you like someone you've known all your life, bubbling up in your life like a well that needs no dipper, or shooting up, as the song says, in, joy like a fountain, so that you go back to face people you thought you could never face again, speaking to them as boldly as he spoke to you.

Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done, the woman ran to tell everyone. Her guilt about her past, and her fear of having it out in the open, swept away by Jesus' determination to show her that he not only knew her, but wanted her to know that nothing she had done or could do, could put her outside of God's love.

Jesus is the one who not only tells us who we are, in all we need to admit and own about ourselves, but also shows us who we are, in all God intends and can enable us to be. In Jesus, the woman experienced both. It set her free and empowered her to witness to the good news of Jesus. May she help us to not be afraid or resentful when Jesus speaks to us through others who want us to see who we really are. For that's where our hope of being set free to become who God wants us to be, begins.