A holy Lent and an unholy Bride?

March 7, 2025

Every day in chapel, one of our students gives a short, 5-minute, sermon on one of the lectionary readings for the day. This reflection was inspired by a reading from John 4, that was then wonderfully preached on by a 3rd year student (though these reflections are my own!).

Where do you go when you’re afraid and want to hide?

Do you roll over in bed and push ‘snooze’ on your alarm, pull the covers up over your head and pretend the world outside doesn’t exist?
Do you spend an age and a half perfecting your exterior, so that you can go into the world with the confidence of a well-put together outfit?
Do you try and be first to ‘go’ when there’s a debate or discussion, weighing in with your well-formed and firmly expressed perspectives, with an unsaid defensiveness that dares others to argue with you?
Do you shy away from taking risks, preferring to stay on the sidelines of life but envious of the fun being had on-pitch?

The Samaritan woman of John 4 knew about the value of hiding. She hid in plain sight and heat of the midday sun. Like dog-walking in the summer in Houston – collecting water in Samaria was to be done early or late in the day, when the temperature was more bearable and the sun didn’t scorch.

She had a well-planned schedule that kept her off-radar.

But then Jesus came along. And he asks her for a drink of water.

Like so many of us in similar situations, she acts out of her shame. How can Jesus ask such a thing? A Jewish man, asking for water from a Samaritan woman of all things? Like the Parable of the Good Samaritan, such a request crosses enemy lines. This is transgressive. And we haven’t even got to her personal relationship failures yet.

On the face of it, it’s about Jewish-Samaritan dynamics.

But there’s more to it than that. Remember: she’s at the well at lunchtime. He’s come across her right in the place of her hiddenness and shame. And to any well-versed listener of this story, the Jew-Samaritan question would be right up there at the forefront of their mind.

Why? Because Jesus is looking for a bride

The story begins like a hallmark movie. You know the ones where the professional young woman heads to a small town for the holidays. You know what's coming.

A story at a well is a patriarchal meet-cute.

Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Rachel, Moses and Zipporah. All of these matches came about through an encounter at a well. And in Isaac’s case, it was an explicit search for someone from the ‘right kind of family’ (i.e. their own tribe).

Here in John 4 we have a well. We have a man. We have a woman. Is she the one? No, she's not. Because she’s a Samaritan woman.

She knows it and she pushes back, protecting herself, but Jesus doesn’t let go. “If you knew the gift of God…” (v.10) he begins. Rather than get caught up in the politics of her question, Jesus says Look at me. Don’t you see?

Something that transcends the entrenched lines that exclude some and brings in others stands before her: “If you knew… you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”

Caught up in the weeds

It’s so easy to get caught up in the weeds and focus on who's in and who's out. It’s easy to compare our insides to other people’s outsides and come up wanting. Yet we know the whole story of our lives, but scarcely nothing about other people! And still we see fit to compare, to contrast and to judge. The woman at the well had been on the receiving end of such judgement from her own people who thought they were better than her. So she had taken to hiding out in the beating midday sun to get her work done.

But here's the rub: have you ever tried to stop being judgemental to others or yourself? It’s not easy. It’s like trying to stop thinking about a pink elephant. The more you explicitly try, the more you see pink elephants everywhere.

Instead, may we should look up to the one who says “If you knew… you would have asked him…” Maybe we should worry less about ourselves/others, and remind ourselves of the one who gives living water.

"If we knew the gift of God, and who it is who that is saying to us,'Give me a drink.' we would have asked him, and he would have given us living water."

This is the truth: the bride ain’t pretty.

John 4 reads like a patriarchal meet-cute. But that's not all. This story is on the heels of the wedding at Cana (John 2:1-11) and John the Baptist talking about the Messiah, the bridegroom, being the one who “has the bride” (3:29). The whole thing is about soon-to-happen nuptials.

And the bridegroom did come to look for his bride. He came looking at a well. And who did he choose?

He didn't choose the one you'd think. Not a woman like his mother, Mary, but an excluded, shame-filled, socially rejected Samaritan woman who’d been with many men.

Of course, Jesus didn't marry the Samaritan woman. So why all this marital imagery? Because this is an image of the church that He came to redeem!

Jesus didn’t choose a bride that believed the perfectly put-together exterior she'd fashioned to hide a mess within.

Jesus didn’t choose a bride that had a great and virtuous reputation.

He chose a woman who was an outsider, even to her own people. And choosing one from her own people would have been bad enough!

He chose a bride he would redeem. One who was ashamed yet deserving of love. Broken but ready to be healed.

Desperate, alone and struggling in the heat of the sun.

Maybe that’s why Lent is such a gift

A friend asked me the other day what the purpose of Lent was. I think the answer is somewhere in John 4, because left to my own devices, I can kid myself into thinking I am nothing like the Samaritan woman--nor have I ever been. That I’ve somehow graduated the human condition (spoiler alert: I have not).

God has brought me a long way (and those who have known me longest know how true that is), but each day begins with the acknowledgement that parts of me are still broken and need of healing. Sinful and in need of forgiving. Lost and in need of being found.

Sometimes, I still hide in plain sight. I still can get defensive. I still focus too much on myself and not enough on the One who made me.

I’ve made progress, but perfection is a post-mortem business. The real problem is when I slip into thinking or acting like I've 'made it.'

So may your Lents be a gift where you start to peel back more of your attempts to hide, your inadequacies and your masks.

May your Lents be a journey into more of the real you that needs redeeming.

Because it’s then you’ll be ready (once again) for the bridegroom.

******

Photo by Sinitta Leunen on Unsplash

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A Thought About Resurrection

By Suse McBay • July 28, 2026

Let me start by asking a question: if someone came up to you and asked what's the benefit or blessing of being a Christian, what would you include in your answer? There's the things we might know to say from Sunday School: Jesus loves me, died for me, so I can be forgiven and free. Or something like that. Would it naturally come to your lips to say this: The gift of my faith is that no matter how hard life gets, no matter the sorrow or suffering that comes my way, I am reassured and strengthened by the confidence that God does not ignore the unjust lives or deaths of those who stick close to Him? *** This summer I’m taking some time to look at Daniel 11-12 and Book 4 of the Jewish poetic writings I research, the Sibylline Oracles . This post is an observation and an out-loud thought from some of my reading. Again and again, both in Daniel, the Sibyllines, an array of other Jewish literature, and the gospels (as well as elsewhere in the NT—e.g. Mark 8:38-9:1, 10:29-31, John 11:25, 1 Cor 15:16-19, 2 Corinthians 4), resurrection and the post-mortem life appears as an encouragement and response to the problem of human suffering. Not a rationale or justification. It’s not an answer to the question of ‘why does God allow suffering’ in any overt sense. But an end to the story of God’s peoples that shapes how the present might be lived. When I was very young, I thought resurrection was more-or-less a get of jail free card for the crucifixion. Jesus died on a cross to deal with sin and death. But if he isn't raised it's all pointless: so God has to raise him. Resurrection as an after thought, if you will. But resurrection isn't an epilogue. It's the victory. Without it the whole story is pointless. It's a real, substantial, material hope. *** Life is hard work. Life does not always go our way. Even when it does, that way isn't usually what we really wanted anyway! There's the normal hard stuff of life: work, family, friendships, health and so on. Then there's the hard stuff of following God. We are given so much goodness in the gospel: a relationship with God for starters! But also forgiveness, healing, reconciled relationships, a change and liberation of priorities, freedom and new life. All such wonderful and good things. Yet they are all a foretaste. Reconciliation doesn't always happen. We might have an interior freedom but experience hardship after hardship externally. I've been reading the diaries of Etty Hillesum who expereinced just that. She was a young Jewish woman in the 1940s. She experienced such a bliss and joy because of her faith and spirituality that found contentment even in life in a concentration camp. Yet her life ended at the tender age of 29. So much life left to live, so much potential unrealised. *** Resurrection is a reminder and encouragement that our real hope and the true fulfilment of the gospel isn't in the here and now (it begins now, but as a foretaste of what's to come). We aren't to expect ' everything will go my way ' in this life or that I should experience the perennial blessing of God in my earthly life and relationships. Following God will not be easy. The things He calls us to do may not succeed. The people we love may not love us back. The person we pray for may never come to faith. The change we want to see manifest in the world around us may not happen in this life. But resurrection says this: God has not forgotten. God sees it all. God will set right. Unjust deaths will be dealt with. Unfair hardship will be set straight. This life is not all there is. There is so much more to come, that all of this--even the heart-breaking stuff—will pale in significance in comparison. Yes, that doesn't stop it hurting in the present moment. It doesn't stop grief or stem the tide of darkness today. But it allows us to let go. Surrender. Trust. None of this has to be fixed now. We do what we can. But the outcome of it all is not one realised in this life, but the next. So take courage. There is more to come. ******

A Scottish Scandal & the Gift of Healthy Shame

By Suse McBay • June 24, 2026

Peter Murrell, a Scottish political worker and now ex-husband of Nicola Sturgeon (former SNP party leader), was this week sentenced to 5 years in prison for embezzlement. Over the years he had used party money to buy all manner of things. It began with a Play Station 3 but escalated, to buying silver wine coaster, a Jaguar, and a motor home (the list goes on and on). Now embezzlement is not new. Nor is using political office for personal gain. But what struck me were the comments from the lawyer following the sentencing: “ The accused is now an individual overwhelmed by feelings of embarrassment and shame .” Shame. We don’t know if it’s true or not, but I wonder how you respond to hearing such contrition? Responses can range from the judgemental (“ Good! He deserves it ”) to the overly sympathetic (“ Perhaps he’s learned his lesson ”). But regardless of where we individually fall on the sympathy scale, it was an interesting example of what I’ve been thinking about recently: healthy shame . Mr Murrell has undeniably done something wrong and has betrayed the office given to him. He’s estranged from his wife. He’s headed to prison. He was there to represent the people, but instead, he has preyed on the sheep (Ezek. 34:2 has things to say about this). That uncomfortable feeling of recognising where we have transgressed our limits and have become hoodwinked by our own hubris and entitlement. His inadequacies have been publicly exposed. His dirty laundry is out in public. We may be more accustomed to scandal given the internet age, so we may be desensitised to it, but I bet Peter Murrell is not. When it happens to you, it’s painful. It’s uncomfortable. It’s exposing. I’m no psychologist, so I’d recommend John Bradshaw’s book on Healing the Shame That Binds You , if you want to think more about it. Dan Allender and Tremper Longman have a good Christian reflection on different emotions in Cry of the Soul. But I’ve been noticing where healthy shame appears in Scripture. Shame crops up again and again and again. I’m still in the early stages of thinking about where it appears and why, but one clear example of where it occurs is in scenes of divine judgement, both those in the present and those yet to come. God’s People Exposed (1) Daniel 12:1-4 talks about how Jewish believers in the 2 nd century BCE would be raised. The wise and understanding ones who didn’t comply with the political schemes of Antiochus IV would be raised to shine like stars. The others? Those who had aligned themselves with the emperor and in the process forsaken their covenant loyalty to God? They would be faced with everlasting shame (and contempt). (2) Jeremiah 2 has strong words for God’s people of Israel who have got so wrapped up in themselves they have stopped seeking where God is at work and instead are playing with other idols under the illusion of thinking they’re faithful because they keep the Law. They even say they don’t run after false gods (v.23). They’ve tried to seek out gain from the political powers (v.18) rather than humbly submit themselves to God (v.20). The result? They will be put to shame by Egypt (v.36). In an eerily similar statement to the news from Scotland: “As a thief is shamed when caught, So the house of Israel shall be shamed: They, their kings, their officials, Their priests, and their prophets.” (Jer 2:26) And the same is true in the New Testament. Mark 8:38 says this: "Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels." I suspect these are words for people who don’t listen to Jesus’ words in the preceding lines: the message that to follow Jesus is to take up your cross, deny yourself. Surrender your own wants and desires. Those who, like Peter, wanted to avoid death. Avoid suffering. Avoid hardship. Those who wanted a Messiah that came on a horse not a donkey. One who wore a crown of gold, not one of thorns. ** So what a bout us? How do we avoid that fate? Well, like a bill that if you don’t pay now you’ll be paying a lot more later, we need to start facing our inner shame today. Both the healthy shame and the shame we’ve been given that doesn’t belong to us. We might take some time to pray, be still, listen. See what comes up when we think about our uncomfortable feelings that usually stay in the shadows. The great gift of shame is that it shows us our limits. Where we’ve crossed the line and harmed ourselves, others, and our relationship with God. Where we’ve tried to be more than human (or acted in fear that we’re less than human). But shame also dies on exposure. Though I’d also add that shame dies on exposure in the presence of a loving other. We find a person or a group where we can start doing the crazy thing and actually revealing our shameful selves to others. Peter Murrell is full of shame, his lawyer says. The question is: what will he do with it? Will he use this public humiliation to face himself as he is? Does he have people around him to listen to him and to help him through it? I hope so. Genuinely. I hope that for all of us. That we would have the courage to allow the One who is Light to bring light into the midst of our shame today. To bring us out of hiding. Shame is a horrible feeling: I’m not a fan. But I do know that on the other side is acceptance, serenity, and a joy that really does make it worth it. It is true freedom—and it’s only in that freedom I can become who God has made me to be. Because whatever I’ve done, however humiliating, the deepest truth of all is that I’m made in the image of God. I am loved. ****** Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash