Several years ago, I threw a huge temper tantrum at an airport. I’m talking a massive, dig my heels in, I’m getting on that plane with however many bags I want and just go ahead and call security temper tantrum. In my defense, the TSA agent was being a bit of a bully, insisting my bag was too big to carry on when another woman dragging what looked like a steamer trunk behind her had just boarded. Fortunately, my husband stepped in and saved me from going to airport jail (and perhaps being added to the No Fly list), and as my temper cooled, I cringed. Shame overtook my indignation, and I spent the rest of the flight cowering under its fierce gaze, apologizing to my husband over and over for being such an embarrassment.

Shame–what a horrible word–and what a terrible feeling. But if I’m honest, it’s one that I let consume me more than I care to admit. I don’t know why I’ve always struggled with shame. There was no one defining moment, no discernible tear in my soul that let the insidious, slithering, specter in. It’s just always been there…perhaps the consequence of being an American woman…but you can unpack that however you wish.

Unfortunately, the Church has too often been a harbinger of shame throughout its storied history. If you do X, then a fiery end awaits, and I get the logic. It was the best leaders could do to keep people on the right path, although I don’t think it was ever really effective. Perhaps that’s why Jesus chose a different route when spreading his message of salvation. While he didn’t shy away from clarifying the consequences of one’s actions, especially as they apply to hypocrisy, injustice, and denial of God’s love, he also didn’t promote a gospel of shame. Rather, Jesus wanted people to know that they were accepted, just as they were. They didn’t have to be worthy, because he was going to take care of that for them. In opening their hearts to him, Jesus made them worthy.

I love this passage of Scripture, because I certainly understand weary. As a people pleaser, I spend so much time and energy twisting myself round and round to become whatever I think people want me to be. And when I inevitably fall apart, shame takes over so that I find myself apologizing over and over for the dumbest things–things that shouldn’t require an apology.

I apologize for dinner being late, for my kids not having clean pants, for my giant puppy acting like a puppy, for someone bumping into me at the store, for my son accidentally running into a pole at the drive-thru, for expressing an opinion, for not expressing an opinion, for my hair being unbrushed in an online meeting…honestly, the list could go on, but just these few examples are enough to make me cringe and feel the itchiness of anxiety begin.

This is what shame does–it takes away our joy so that all we feel is anxiety, which, for me, compounds in a whirlwind of unhelpful thoughts. Shame eggs on my anxiety, pushing her to spin in chaos and leaving me feeling like I’m perpetually failing–as a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a parent, a writer, a child of God.

Thankfully, we have a God who has a pretty good track record when it comes to breaking chains, both physical and psychological. I think Jesus’s encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well is a beautiful example of this. There she is, alone in the heat of the day, intentionally gathering water at a time when no one will be there so she doesn’t have to deal with the knowing looks, condescending glances, and snide asides of the other women in her community. Instead, she can simply breathe.

But then she sees someone approaching from a distance–a man–who seems to be making a beeline for the well. Perhaps she tried to hurry her task along to avoid a potentially negative encounter, but suddenly Jesus was there and she was stuck, awkwardly trying to keep her eyes on the bottom of the well. How long do you think they stayed there in that uncomfortable silence–Jesus assessing her heart while she longed to be home away from his prying eyes? But Jesus wasn’t content to let her carry her shame any farther, and so he spoke, asking her for a drink. The woman must have been a bit startled by Jesus’s request, because her response was not polite. Was she afraid? Did she think this was some kind of trick? Was she fearful of this odd man who showed up at a well in the middle of the day with no cup or jar?

Whatever she felt, Jesus wasn’t going to let it go. He saw the way that shame had captured her spirit, and so, he set it free. Jesus named her shame, refusing to let it linger in the dark recesses of her heart, and then he used his living water to wash it away.

What happens next is truly remarkable. God replaced the woman’s shame with joy, and it overflowed from the wellspring of her soul to others. This woman, whom shame had isolated, became a vessel of God’s grace and love. Now unbound, she ran to tell others about Jesus–going straight to those same people shame had taught her to avoid–and declaring God’s salvation.

As I think about the woman at the well, I wonder: Why do I let shame keep me bound? Why do I worry so much about what others think? Jesus promises streams of living water full of his life-sustaining love. Joy and abundance are there for the taking, so why would I let shame keep me from it?

Here’s the truth of my shame: I am not perfect. I make mistakes. I don’t like everyone, but I want everyone to like me. I sometimes choose wrong things. And I am not always kind–in fact, I can be quite judgmental. I often trust in my own knowledge above all else, and I think TikTok and other social media outlets are making us dumber. I’m impatient and self-centered, and often prefer easy things to hard. But…God knows all of this about me. And he doesn’t ask me to hide myself away because of it. Instead, he wants to sweep it away in the flood of his love, just as he did for the woman at the well. Why would he do that?

Because God wants me (and you) to be a vessel that carries his good news of great joy that shall be for all people to others. So this week (month, year, decade), I’m going to try and stop apologizing so much. I’m going to try to push past the shame that will inevitably arise when I undoubtedly fail at something and to start living with joy. Would you like to join me?

Blessings and Peace,

Sara