Pastors, How Do We Guard Against Assuming The Worst?

You’re in the church lobby on Sunday morning when a woman in her mid to late 30s walks in for the first time. You welcome her, show her where the coffee is, and give her a first-time-guest gift. You ask, “What brought you to church this Sunday?” She responds, “Well, there are a lot of theories out there about which church is right, but I know that’ll get sorted out when Jesus comes back, so I’m not preoccupied with theological specifics. I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for.”

“That’s OK,” you respond. “Sometimes God draws us to himself and we don’t know much else. Are you new to the area? Do you have family in town?”

“Sort of,” she says. “I’ve been married a few times, so I’m connected to a few different families. I’m currently living with someone.”

What do you do next? What narrative did you just write in your head about this woman? Is she a serial home-wrecker? Has she been abused by five men in a row, only narrowly escaping each situation? Is she a five-time widow with horrible luck?

What’s the right follow-up question? The moment is delicate. Questions are good, but they can easily become interrogations. What do we say when there’s so much we don’t know? Jesus once met a woman like this.

Awkward Conversation at the Well

In John 4, Jesus meets a Samaritan woman who’s been married five times. She’s currently living with a man who’s not her husband. She’s at the well around noon, in the heat of the day—an awkward time. It’d be like going to the grocery store at 5 a.m.

Questions are good, but they can easily become interrogations. What do we say when there’s so much we don’t know?

After a discussion about living water, Jesus tells this woman to call her husband. She says, “I have no husband,” and Jesus responds, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you now have is not your husband” (vv. 17–18). The woman recognizes that Jesus could’ve only known this supernaturally: “I perceive that you are a prophet” (v. 19). Then she asks a faith-filled theological question, and Jesus tells her he’s the Messiah.

Just then, Jesus’s disciples walk in. They marvel at the fact that he’s talking to a woman, but none of them says anything. This is awkward too. John points out that no one asks “What do you seek?” or “Why are you talking with her?” So the woman leaves her water jar, goes away into town, and says to the people, “Come, see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?” (vv. 27–29).

Jesus reads her diary, and she becomes an evangelist. Then “many Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony” (v. 39).

Filling in the Blanks

John looks with judgment on the disciples’ lack of curiosity, but many churchgoers and teachers have done worse than the disciples. One reformer even wrote,

When he says that she has had five husbands, the reason of this probably was, that, being a froward and disobedient wife, she constrained her husbands to divorce her. I interpret the words thus: “Though God joined thee to lawful husbands, thou didst not cease to sin, until, rendered infamous by numerous divorces, thou prostitutedst thyself to fornication. (emphasis original)

Is all this possible? Yes. Is it in the text? No.

By contrast, Chrysostom refuse to speculate on the woman’s past marriages. Similarly, F. F. Bruce writes, “We do not know why she had so many husbands. . . . It’s best to conclude that the woman is reminded of her many disappointments in personal relationships in order that she may appreciate the more the deep and lasting satisfaction that Jesus brings.”

Alfred Edersheim’s perspective also resonates with me:

It is difficult to suppose that Christ asked the woman to call her husband with the primary object of awakening in her a sense of sin. . . . The text gives no hint of it. . . . We do not even know for certain whether the five previous husbands died or divorced her, and if the latter, with whom the blame lay.

In the first century, it was common for men to divorce their wives “for any cause” (Matt. 19:3). Moreover, economic opportunities for women were sparse. So a woman bouncing from man to man, or back to her father’s house, wouldn’t have been uncommon. Pragmatic realities constrained options. With shorter life expectancies, the chances of early widowhood were high too. Nonetheless, many insist on projecting the woman of John 8 (who is told to go and sin no more) onto the woman of John 4 (who isn’t).

Danger of Myopic Curiosity

The disciples don’t ask Jesus questions. They don’t ask the woman questions. I wonder if similar assumptions and silences infect the people who stand in the lobbies and sit in the pews of our churches.

When I first started in ministry, I had a narrow view of the issues that drove human behavior. I made a vow to myself: Never be light on sin. On the one hand, this is right. God hates sin and doesn’t tolerate it. Yes, Christ died for sin, but we shouldn’t make peace with it. On the other hand, my commitment to being bold about sin led me into a naive pastoral perspective. When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.

I resisted a culture that gave license to victims. I wanted to be different. I emphasized agency, personal responsibility, and God’s holiness. Sadly, that meant my primary mode in pastoral care was “sin hunting.” I had the nose of a bloodhound, and I could always find the sin causing problems in a person’s life. My curiosity only led me in one direction: Where’s the sin?

My commitment to being bold about sin led me into a naive pastoral perspective.

I’d argue my approach was better than what our secular culture has to offer: Curiosity also works in only one direction. We absolutize suffering and ask, Where’s the childhood trauma?

But a single-lens view of shepherding was still incongruous with the way of Jesus. Many of Jesus’s encounters didn’t involve a call to repentance. Often, he reached out to heal the effects of sin and harm. He comforts sufferers as often as he confronts sinners.

Better Question

When we presume there’s a single-variable explanation for the problems that arise in the lives of the people who darken the doorways of our churches, we miss seeing people for who they are. We may do worse than the disciples, because silence is better than assumption.

Instead of assuming, let’s simply ask, “What do you want me to do for you?” as Jesus did in Mark 10:51. Then, let’s trust the Spirit to help us discern the most pressing pastoral need. That woman in the lobby—What does she want? What does she need? She needs my curiosity. What she doesn’t need is assumptions and accusations.