His eyes, calm and deep as the water in the well beside me, hold mine. My eyes dam a torrent of turbulent thoughts.

Who is this man? This Jew? What is he doing here, alone, in the middle of the day? He's thirsty. He wants a drink of water. That's original! Probably belongs to that ragtag bunch I passed on my way here to draw water. Jewish men, who averted their eyes, my presence an offence. In different circumstances, I could have held their eyes.

But this man's eyes hold mine. I'm used to being looked over, around, through, but not at. How do I look into eyes that hold no leer or judgment? He asked me - me-a woman - a Samaritan woman - for a drink of water. Jewish men won't speak to their wives in public, let alone a total stranger. Our races have been enemies for over 400 years. Why would he ask me for water?

Living water? I'm familiar with the dispute over the difference between running water and well water. Frankly, I fail to taste any difference. But he carries no container? Where is his spring of water? Where am I to draw? I am weary of this isolated trek - the well in town is closer, but this well offers respite from the insinuations and isolating glances of the other women. I pretend not to notice but I yearn to be part of the camaraderie of those women on their daily pilgrimage for water.

What did he say? Never thirst again? How wonderful to draw water and never thirst. I have been thirsty all my life - I have yet to find water to sate my thirst. How is his living water different from this well? Or any other water? I glance into his eyes. Eyes brimming with invitation. Invitation to what?

He wants me to invite my husband? Where did that come from? How does he know of my five failed marriages - that I've abandoned marriage all together and am living with my current lover? How does he have such intimate knowledge of my heart? There is no way I'm going there. Shame prevents.

Yet he willingly follows my diversion. Where do I, as a sinner, go to worship God? Where do I find God? The cry of my parched heart. Excuse me? Worship is not about where? Worship is about who? Worship is knowing God heart and soul? How I long to know God.

I look into his eyes. He said he was thirsty. I feel like he is thirsty for me. Could I - can I be looking into the eyes of God?