Now Jacob’s well was there. Jesus therefore, being wearied with his journey, sat thus on the well: and it was about the sixth hour.
When there is nothing left but a hot, confused, addled body and mind, you sit down and rest. And if you should have something like a well, sit there, and rest. It’s a good place. 
The well I remember the best was at my cousins. It was deep and at the height of summer, the water was still pure and cold. In summer, on those hot sweaty afternoons we’d haul on the rope and bring up the bucket. And we’d drink out of a tin dipper.
In a world weary with unrest, tense with high-noon rivalry, virulent with hate and contagious with reciprocal violence, abscessed with guilt and inflamed by grief and unshed tears, we need a well to sit on. We need its communal nimbus, where Samaritans sit with Jews. Where all sit with all. And we need clean cool water to drink and share.
