The Providence of Wells

Genesis 24:1–27; 2 John 1:1–13

Abraham’s servant is sent on an impossible errand: find a wife for Isaac from among Abraham’s own people, far away in Mesopotamia. He does not know who she is. He does not know where to look. So he does the only thing he can: he goes to the well and prays. O Lord, God of my master Abraham, please grant me success today and show steadfast love to my master Abraham.

Before he finishes praying, Rebekah appears. She offers water not only to him but to his camels—ten camels, which can drink twenty-five gallons each. This is no small gesture. This is radical, extravagant hospitality, offered to a stranger without being asked. And the servant stands watching her in silence, wondering whether the Lord has made his journey successful or not.

"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience." —Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

There is a beautiful uncertainty in this story. The servant prays and the answer comes immediately—but he still is not sure. He watches. He waits. He does not rush to declare victory. Faith here is not certainty. It is attentive watching—the willingness to notice what God might be doing without demanding proof.

The Second Letter of John—the shortest book in the New Testament—echoes this theme of discernment with a single command: walk in love. But also: be careful. Many deceivers have gone out into the world. Watch yourselves. Love is not naive. Discernment and compassion are not opposites. The servant at the well is both trusting and watchful.

The desert tradition valued this combination deeply. Abba Anthony taught that discretion—diakrisis—was the highest of the monastic virtues. Not courage, not endurance, not even prayer, but the quiet ability to distinguish between what comes from God and what does not. This requires both deep stillness and sharp attention. You must be quiet enough to hear and awake enough to discern.

The wells in Genesis are never accidental. Isaac will meet Rebekah at a well. Jacob will meet Rachel at a well. Moses will meet Zipporah at a well. Jesus will meet the Samaritan woman at a well. Wells are where strangers meet, where futures are determined, where providence works through the ordinary mechanics of thirst and hospitality.

Today, go to the well. By which I mean: show up in the ordinary places of your life—the workplace, the kitchen, the carpool line—with the servant’s prayer on your lips: Grant me success today. Then watch. Not anxiously, but attentively. God’s provision often arrives disguised as a stranger offering water.

The medieval mystic Hildegard of Bingen spoke of viriditas—greening power, the vital force of God that runs through all living things like sap through a tree. The well scenes in Genesis are suffused with this greening energy. Water meets the parched land. Strangers meet their futures. The dead places come alive. Providence does not override human freedom—Rebekah still has to choose to draw the water—but it arranges the meeting. God sets the stage; we play our parts. And sometimes the stage is a well, and the part is simply to show up with a bucket.