Leaving the Jar Behind – The Courage of Photini
- Beata
- Apr 29
- 6 min read
Updated: Jun 19
Inspired by Saint Photini’s courage to preach
Have you ever been silenced by shame or fear of your past catching up with your present? What if the very thing you were hiding became the opening line of your testimony?
Meeting at the Well
Photini was not looking for Jesus. She came to the well at noon, the hottest hour—perhaps to avoid the stares, the whispers, the reminders. She was marked by a life of relational brokenness.
And yet, Jesus was already waiting.
He didn't shame her.
He invited her into truth and transformation.
That one conversation—so deeply personal and gently piercing—changed everything.
Leaving the Jar: A Radical Act of Courage
The moment that stirs my heart:
“Then, leaving her water jar…” John 4:28
She left behind the very symbol of her routine, her burden, and her need. She ran—yes, ran—back to the very people who judged her.
Two thousand years later, Jesus said to Alicja Lenczewska:
“My Heart has been opened for the world.
There is the place where the Source of Living Water flows and where the Blood of Salvation runs.
Come closer to the Source, so you may draw life from it — for your brothers.”
(Słowo pouczenia, 215)
We leave behind empty jars.
We come to the Source.
We go back not with shame — but with living water to give.
So did Photini. Not to defend herself. But to testify:
“Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?”
It sounds so small—almost incidental. But in that gesture lies a moment of holy defiance and radical courage to preach from the place of own wounds. .
Photini came to the well not just burdened with a clay jar, but with centuries of projected shame.
Her story has been interpreted through the lens of moral failure—five husbands, living with a sixth—yet the text never says she was sinful.
We assume.
We judge.
But what if she was a woman misunderstood by history?
What if her story, rather than one of disgrace, is one of deep loss, abandonment, or even exploitation in a society where women had little agency?
To this day, we may be guilty of accusing her falsely for two thousand years—reducing her to a cautionary tale instead of honoring her as a courageous disciple.
And yet, Jesus never shamed her. He didn’t avoid her past—He named it with divine compassion, turning her deepest wound into a doorway for revelation.
The jar she left behind wasn’t just a physical object—it symbolized:
Her daily burden and survival routine,
Her relational pain and spiritual thirst,
Her limited self-understanding, shaped by others’ judgments.
In Jungian terms, the jar could be seen as part of her persona—the social mask she carried, the role imposed on her by society.
But after one transformative encounter, she no longer needed it. The ego script she had lived under broke open in the presence of truth. She touched what Jung might call the Self—the deepest, integrated wholeness that awakens in the presence of the divine.
It was a one-touch miracle—not in her body, but in her identity.
Photini didn’t wait until she had her life in perfect order. She preached because she met the Truth Himself. She didn’t need to go back and fetch anything. She became the vessel.
What About Us?
For modern women, the courage of Photini - the act of leaving the jar is still revolutionary.
It means stepping out of the labels imposed on us—whether from society, our past, or even our own inner critic. It means refusing to be defined by shame and daring to let our story be rewritten by grace.
Leaving the jar is not abandoning responsibility. It is surrendering self-sufficiency, survival mode, and secrecy. It is the act of courage that says:
“I am no longer who I was, and I no longer need to carry what I once thought I needed to survive.”
It’s the moment we stop drawing from old wells of approval, performance, and perfectionism—and receive Living Water instead.
Photini didn’t rehearse her testimony. She didn’t wait until she had closure. She ran—transformed by a single conversation, by being seen and known, not condemned.
Her jar stayed behind. Her mission began.
So must ours.
From Outcast to Apostle
In the eyes of her town, she was likely dismissed, whispered about, kept at arm’s length. But in the eyes of Christ, she was seen—truly seen. Not only as she was, but as she could become.
This is what makes her courage so astonishing. And again, she didn't simply speak up—she spoke to the very people who had once silenced her. She faced the same town that marked her as unworthy and became the one who proclaimed:
“Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?”
This wasn’t just emotional boldness. It was a total reordering of identity and purpose!
Photini’s transformation was immediate and public. She became not only a witness, but an apostle—Isapostolos, “Equal to the Apostles,” as the Eastern Church boldly proclaims. That title does not come lightly. It’s the Church’s way of saying: This woman changed the world, beginning with her world.
Her testimony challenges the Western tradition that too often domesticated her, moralized her story, or reduced her to a sinner saved. No. She was a seer—a courageous truth-teller whose words opened the door for an entire village to meet the Messiah.
Your Story as a Testament of Courage
Photini’s story doesn’t end at the well, and neither should yours.
Her courage came not from perfection but from presence—from having stood in front of Christ and letting herself be known. That is where holy boldness begins.
You don’t need a platform, a microphone, or a following. You need one thing: the willingness to leave the jar behind. The willingness to believe that your story, touched by grace, carries power.
What jar are you still carrying?
What mask, memory, or myth do you keep returning to?
What if courage today looked like letting go of what you've used to survive—and stepping into what you're called to live?
Someone is waiting for your story—not the polished version, but the real one. The one soaked in mercy. The one only you can tell.
If Photini had stayed silent, a whole town might have missed their encounter with Jesus. What about your town?
Her courage has power because it was seen, heard, and remembered. Yours will too.
I just imagine a woman leaving a clay jar beside a well, walking toward a town with the sun blazing behind her—symbolizing transformation and testimony.
What would happen if I let Jesus rewrite the story I am ashamed of—and then told that story with holy courage?
Who is waiting to hear the truth only I can tell, because I’ve lived it?
Workbook Reflection: My Own Well Experience
These questions are meant not just to reflect on, but to pray through. Let them become the beginning of your own well encounter.
1. What “jar” do I need to leave behind to fully follow Jesus?
“God does not call the qualified; He qualifies the called.” St. Augustine
2. Where have I stayed silent out of fear or shame, and what truth is God asking me to speak?
“Preach the Gospel at all times. When necessary, use words.” St. Francis of Assisi
3. What does courage look like for me in this season of life?
“Do not be afraid to be saints.” St. John Paul II
Closing Prayer
Lord Jesus,
You met Photini in her thirst and gave her Living Water. You looked past the layers of history, pain, and human judgment, and You called forth her truest self.
Give me that same courage—To leave behind the jars I carry,
To stop drawing from broken wells,
To run toward the very people I once hid from,
Not to defend myself, but to declare Your mercy.
Let my life become a vessel—Not perfect, but poured out.
Not silenced by shame, but bold in grace.
You are the Truth that sees me.
Let that be enough. Amen.
🌿 Invitation to the Heart
Has there ever been a moment when you felt truly seen by God—like Photini at the well?
I’d love to hear how courage has shown up in your journey.
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