Come, see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ? John 4:29, R.S.V.
This woman's invitation to her friends becomes very startling when we recall just what it was that Jesus had told her about her past life. She was only a few moments into a conversation with this total Stranger when He was telling her that she had gone through five husbands and was working on her sixth.
Let's admit it; even with intimate friends, one is usually very reluctant to become so vulnerable as to discuss the failures of a single marriage. But to admit to a whole string of failures to a stranger? Either she was pretty calloused or there was something about this particular Stranger that invited confidence.
We can be sure it was the latter, because she went back home to her friends and invited them to come and stand in the presence of this same Man, running the risk that He might well be able to tell them, too, everything that they had ever done.
She suspected that He was the Christ and named as her evidence His ability to reveal her past. But she was eager to tell her friends about Him because of what He did with that sordid information. He saw it not as a barrier, threatening to His unsullied purity, but as a portrayal of her needs. And He got right to the point of meeting those needs.
Our God isn't just some sanctified palm reader. He holds insights into our past failings, not so that He can shame us into submission or use guilt manipulation to entice us to goodness. His only goal is to heal. In His presence we can crawl out from behind our embarrassment, lift up our tenderest nerves for His healing touch, and even invite other injured sinners to join us.
At times we are inclined to hold a dim view of the work of the recording angels. Perhaps we just aren't sure what God will do with the information that He will get from them. But when we see that His every act is to bring healing, to open the door for self-honesty, our fears diminish.
Some people pay large sums of money to sit in the presence of a professional counselor who, by his accepting manner, makes it easier for them to face painful truths about themselves. Wouldn't kneeling in the safe presence of Jesus accomplish the same thing?