Theology Today - Vol 41, No.2 - July 1984 - CRITIC'S CORNER

201 - Jesus and Women: John's Gospel

Jesus and Women: John's Gospel

IN recent years, much has been written about Jesus' relation to women, about his break with societal norms in speaking with them, about his acceptance of them to be among his closest followers, and about the various ways in which Scripture and the early church attest to a latent feminism. As important as these studies are, it is equally fruitful to reflect upon the ways that some Gospel accounts portray Jesus' encounters with women as prototypes or paradigms of the redemptive encounter of God with human beings. John's Gospel offers one such opportunity for reflection.

There are seven instances in John's Gospel where Jesus encounters women-(I) the miracle at Cana (chap. 2); (2) the meeting with the Samaritan woman at the well (chap. 4); (3) the apprehension of the adulterous woman (chap. 8); (4) the episode after the death of Lazarus (chap. 11); (5) the footwashing before the Passover (chap. 12); (6) the waiting beneath the cross (chap. 19); and, (7) the resurrection encounter in the garden (chap. 20).

These encounters are described quite differently from many of Jesus' encounters with men, and they can provide an occasion to consider the conditions under which communication and transformation take place. The women-encounters are neither indictments of men as men nor glorifications of some kind of mystique of women. They are simply John's presentation of how he and the church viewed the God-human dialogue.

In a number of descriptions of Jesus meeting and talking with men in John's Gospel, there is a definite lack of understanding even though the conversations address issues head on. When Jesus talks with Nicodemus, who comes to him by night (Jn. 3:1-15 RSV, et passim), Nicodemus fails to understand the meaning of his words. Nicodemus asks, "How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother's womb and be born?" He focuses his attempt to understand on the words themselves instead of the reality to which they point. In the account of the Last Supper, Peter at first refuses to have his feet washed and then in a burst of exuberance volunteers to have the rest of him washed as well (Jn. 13:6-10). Not long afterward he tries to

Jane Kopas is Associate Professor of Theology and Religious Studies at the University of Scranton. She received her doctorate at the Graduate Theological Union at Berkeley, and she has also taught at the College of Wooster. Dr. Kopas has published articles in the Journal of Psychology and Theology, Horizons, and Process Studies.

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comprehend Jesus' statement that the disciples cannot follow where Jesus goes and insists that he will remain with him until the point of death (Jn. 13:36-38). Yet it is evident that Peter understands neither Jesus nor himself. Philip also betrays a tendency to interpret Jesus on a literal level as he seeks to control the revelation, saying "Lord, show us the Father and we shall be satisfied" (Jn. 14:8-11). Finally, Thomas, the supreme skeptic, who perhaps exemplifies the spirit of our own age better than any other Gospel figure, says, "Unless I see in his hands the print of the nails and place my finger in the mark of the nails, and place my hand in his side, I will not believe" (Jn. 20:24-25). There are other instances, usually after much struggle, in which Jesus is understood and the implications of knowing him become evident, but there are enough examples of lack of comprehension of the person's relationship to God among the men who follow him to make his encounters with women all the more amazing.

Among the examples of Jesus interacting with women, some common themes illustrate the conditions that are necessary for a more adequate grasp of one's relationship to God. In John's description of the wedding at Cana (Jn. 2: 1 -11), Mary is portrayed as simply telling him, "They have no wine." Jesus' reply to her, "O woman, what have you to do with me? My hour has not yet come," suggests he is not about to do anything further. Yet the level of understanding that exists between them transcends the words exchanged. In one sense, they seem to be talking past each other, and one gets the impression of a lack of real contact. On the other hand, Mary's reaction suggests that she understands all as she tells the servants to do whatever he tells them. As we ponder the kind of communication that was going on, we realize that there was an exchange of invitation and response, initiated and answered from each side. The words themselves are not the most important vehicle of meaning; the relationship is. The degree to which the relationship yields its meaning depends upon the willingness and ability of the participants to hear more than what was spoken, and to let the communication unfold in its own way.

To a world in which "communication" has become a profession, the exchange between Jesus and Mary appears at first glance to be as clumsy an attempt to put a message across as do some of the encounters with men already described. But Mary stands as an example of the dialogue of God and a human being, a dialogue that finds no obstacle in symbolic expressions or even in inarticulateness.

Speaking in more personal terms, with those I love, the symbolic gesture and the inability to find the right word act as signs that the relationship bears a meaning that cannot be carried in a matter-of-fact exchange, and I find these qualities to be a confirmation of communication. When I insist on having the answers clearly presented, the verbalization free of ambiguity, the direction in which a relationship is

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going completely evident, I impoverish the relationship whose meaning and richness emerge as a gift. In Jesus' encounters with men, the gift is likewise given, but for some reason it often is not immediately known.

III

Another characteristic of Jesus' encounters with women is their vulnerability and lack of defensiveness. In his meetings with two women of questionable reputation, the woman taken in adultery (Jn. 8:3-11) and the Samaritan woman at the well (Jn. 4:7-30), Jesus finds two individuals who remain in his presence without evading his challenge or seeking to cover their motives with respectability. They don't overestimate their moral strength, and they don't try to verbalize what they think they understand. Even the woman at the well, who first interprets Jesus' offer of living water literally, comes to realize, when he points to her vulnerability-"the one you now have is not yet your husband," that she will understand the impact of his message when she acknowledges the tender and wounded areas of her life that need redemption.

Vulnerability in a spiritual sense is not merely the capacity to be wounded, but the capacity to receive love and thus to be healed. Why does this capacity seem so slow in manifesting itself in many of the followers of Jesus? Perhaps one becomes so familiar with fear and the avoidance of threatening areas that it seems preferable to live with the pain one already bears than to risk intimacy with another whose love or condemnation may make the pain more unbearable. So one chooses the anesthesia of withdrawal from intimate relationship through the distractions of work or entertainment or superficial relationships. Only in the presence of another who gazes on my vulnerability with awe and gentleness instead of disdain do I experience the intimacy that heals. If I can let go of the instinct to protect myself from a closeness that seems more than I can absorb, I can come to realize that I do not lose myself but find myself in the acceptance of weakness. It is at those moments that I also experience the peculiar grace of realizing that the places I flee from the love of others are often the places I flee from the love of God.

A third condition that is brought out in Jesus' relationship to women is the capacity to let go of control in the situations in which one's most cherished desires are threatened, and to let faith take over. In John's account of Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life (Jn. 11:1-44), Martha expresses both the desire to have controlled her brother's death through Jesus and at the same time a capacity to trust where he is leading. Mary, who stays at home until Jesus calls for her, seems to exemplify even more profoundly the ability to live with the uncontrollable in her life. She seems to make no attempt to influence Jesus' behavior, and yet we know from other contexts that their mutual love enables a mutual power and influence to operate. Thus in this account, we find exemplified the two most profound situations in which human beings are faced with the limit

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of control-love and death. One is drawn into love without deciding or determining its outcome and, when one loves most truly, without manipulating the power that suffuses love. One confronts death courageously and most humanly when one faces this ultimate as the culmination of a life which is finally not under one's own exclusive control.

Letting go of control is a corollary of accepting one's own vulnerability and the healing touch of God. It is alien to the way I have come to expect to manage my day to day affairs. I want to be in control of my life, perhaps not to control every situation, but I don't like the surprises that upset my priorities. I have my idea of the career I would find meaningful and the companions I want and the way I want my life generally to go, but that doesn't include tragedy, loss, disappointment, worry, lowering of goals, or giving up what I enjoy or think is best for me. It is hard for me to imagine that these can be transformed into something grace-filled and life-giving. Yet unless, like Martha and Mary, I can learn to see possibilities for life in loss, I miss the meaning of many of the small deaths that are unavoidable in life.

Mary's washing of the feet of Jesus provides another example of wordless communication and, even beyond this, of the "impractical" generosity that characterizes Jesus' own encounters with persons (Jn. 12:1-8). Mary seems to anticipate that Jesus will accept her gesture of tender service and understand the spirit that moved her to do it. She is impractical in the use she makes of the costly nard, as Jesus well knows. It could have been better spent elsewhere, but who is to say that the world has not benefited as much by great symbolic gestures as by organized charity. The impracticality of love, the waste of resources, makes little sense to those who would bring about the kingdom by a well organized program fully attentive to the cost effectiveness of the action.

Who would deny that social reform needs to do away with the conditions of society that systematically oppress those who cannot help themselves? Jesus never denied this need and, in fact, based the final judgment on willingness to respond to human need. But I can become one-sided in focusing only on those results I can see. In the process, I may have disciplined my spontaneity to exclude the magnanimous by eliminating the symbolic resources that empower me to continue to work for reform even in the absence of results. I do not want to feel foolish. I want to have some assurance of the value of what I do beyond the act itself. How many opportunities have I missed to celebrate the gift of the moment?

The brief exchange between Jesus and his mother and the beloved disciple beneath the cross gives us a striking picture of the way that suffering is made endurable in shared commitment. "When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing near, he said to his mother, 'Woman, behold your son!' Then he said to the disciple, 'Behold your mother!' " (Jn. 19:26-27). That the disciple took her to his home

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from that hour is a witness to the blessing that flows from fidelity to commitment. The others had fled when it seemed they could not alter the situation. But in the relationship between God and human beings, it is not necessary to have assurance that what one is doing will change external conditions. Mary and the other women and John can change no minds and do not even have the assurance they will not suffer rejection themselves. They do all that is possible by keeping vigil in their silent grief. It is enough.

The clear vision of what is entailed in a commitment would be a contradiction of the commitment, for to be committed is to take a stand and to affirm a value that can only be known in living it out. When I look at the value, it is demanding and noble. When I live it out in the concrete, it may become burdensome and imbedded in ambiguity. Can I live with ambiguity and even failure, convinced the commitment is true? Even beyond that, can I accept with joy that there is no alternative to commitment?

The last encounter with a woman recorded by John is the incident where Mary Magdalene meets Jesus in the garden without recognizing him at first (Jn. 30:14-18). She has remained, waiting after Peter and John have left the tomb. In her waiting, she is gifted with the presence of Jesus. If she is truly to receive his presence as gift, she must not cling to him because, as he tells her, he must return to the Father. It becomes apparent that seeking is not the whole story. The discovery of God's transformative presence occurs in my attentive waiting as well as in seeking. Moreover, the gift is most fully appreciated when I do not try to clutch it but return to an attitude of waiting.

Are these characteristics which are implied in John's descriptions of Jesus and women stereotypical passive female virtues? Hardly. The women who encounter Jesus are for the most part initiators and doers-his Mother approaches him with a request, the Samaritan women questions him and discourses with him, Mary takes it upon herself to wash his feet, Mary Magdalene actively seeks Jesus though she also knows how to wait. In all these instances, there is a receptive dimension, but it is coupled with a boldness and activity that comes from a trust in a relationship. The women of John's Gospel stand as examples of a relationship that is based not on the security of planning and control but on trust and openness to where it leads. Giving and receiving, acting and surrendering, become one in the redemptive encounters, and, for John, women are pre-eminent exemplars of the structure of this revelation.