Stay Thirsty

John 4:5-42 (Exodus 17:1-7)

Anybody thirsty?

It would be a natural reaction after listening to the long, complex discussion of water in today’s gospel story, and that story about Moses having to break water out of solid rock for a bunch of cranky, thirsty refugees. So I’ll understand if you’re sipping coffee now, or slip out to grab a drink of water this morning.

After all, today even Jesus is thirsty.

So when he meets a woman with a jar, come to draw cool water out of the well in the hot, dusty sun,

Jesus starts the conversation with, “Give me a drink.” 

(I’m sure it’s very polite in the original language.)

Now this breaks all kinds of barriers and taboos – religious, moral, cultural, etc. 

So she’s shocked, and he’s still thirsty – and in the gospel, it turns out this is the perfect set up for a profound, holy theological discussion. 

(That always happens to you when you’re running errands, right?) 

It’s a conversation that reveals Jesus as the Messiah and turns an outcast woman into an evangelist.

And it’s all because they’re thirsty.

Jesus – hot and dusty – needs a cool drink of water.

She – lonely, ignored, probably victimized – needs living water, the flowing of God’s grace that fills up all the dry and painful cracks in our throats and souls, the water that never runs out.

She’s probably thirsty, too, for community. 

For love, connection, security, hope.

Have you ever been thirsty for those things?

I have.

We get hurt sometimes.  Get excluded in one way or another, become vulnerable, feel alone, get anxious….

Sometimes it’s because of a tragedy, a great loss.  Sometimes it’s the dusty grind of everyday living.  Either can make you so thirsty for love, assurance, community, or hope that you can go to the well – spiritually or physically – every day, and still be thirsty.

So if you know what that’s like, you can imagine what it’s like for this woman when the stranger at the well offers her “living water.”  Running water, bubbling up and flowing continuously – unending abundance for a woman who has probably never in her life had “enough.”

It’s not his own water he’s offering, either.  She can plainly see that he has no bucket, nor even a drop to drink.  She can see he’s not drawing on his own resources for her, he’s offering God’s.

Jesus does that all the time, and he’s always trying to teach us to do it.  And on that particular hot, dry day at the well, it works beyond imagining.

That lonely, vulnerable woman who hasn’t got friendship or regular water to spare barely even hears about that “living” water of God’s abundance and off she goes to pour out hope and wonder over her whole village of indifferent neighbors.

She herself – poor, dry, and despised – becomes a well of living water, the free-flowing evidence of God’s abundant grace.

And her neighbors do take notice.  They want what she’s got, and they invite Jesus to stay until they’re confident they’ve absorbed that living water for themselves.

It’s absolutely delightful to me, this image of bubbling water flowing through that woman, transforming her from outcast to apostle, full of grace.

But I’m willing to bet that it wasn’t all that easy for her.

Quick, maybe.  Compelling, certainly. 

But to confront all the fear and resistance she must have felt in trying to break down a lifetime of barriers with her neighbors had to be a challenge.

Last weekend, our vestry spent time discussing welcome and hospitality, here at Calvary.  And I heard several people say things I’ve said myself, more than once:

“I just don’t know if someone is new, and I’d hate to embarrass anyone.”
“Don’t people just want to be left alone to worship?”

“I went to coffee hour, but I just didn’t know who to talk to.”

That’s what happens when we think that welcoming guests and greeting regulars – or even meeting people in a new church as you visit – means you have to befriend everyone out of your own resources. Means you have to neglect your own needs to tend to others.

It’s the way many of us feel, because we’ve been taught for most of our lives to depend primarily on our own resources.  So to offer so to offer love, joy, peace, welcome, whatever, when you don’t feel like you have enough can feel like jumping off a cliff (or trying to climb that cliff with your fingernails).

It doesn’t just happen at church, either.  School, work, volunteer groups, clubs can trigger the same reactions, the same uncertainty and stress, when the time comes for changes, new people, new efforts, or anything else you don’t feel ready for.

The difference here at church – I hope – is that here we’re reminded that we don’t have to do it alone. 

It’s God’s welcome, not yours or mine, that we’re supposed to offer.  God’s friendship, God’s peace, and God’s healing – all of it God’s spring of living, flowing, water, not just your own jug that you, too, are longing to fill at this well.

That’s a darn good thing, because the truth is that many people come to a church when they’re thirsty.  Regulars come to get filled up for the work of the world.  We come as guests when we’re thirsty for healing, community, love and hope.

Thank God it’s not my bottle, or yours, that has to quench that thirst – we’d run out fast.  But as Jesus pointed out in the midst of his own thirst, God’s got a stream of living water flowing through this place, and we get to offer it to all.

Try it for yourself.

Ask someone if they could use a helping hand, even if you’re not sure you can help.

Sit down for coffee in the fellowship hall with someone you’re not sure you know, or know how to talk to.

Embrace a change at work, or at school, even if you’re worried it might embarrass or inconvenience you.

Sing with joy and gusto, even if you don’t think your voice is good.

Every one of us needs to take the plunge into the stream of living water so we are ready to welcome others into God’s abundance, here at our Calvary well, and in other thirsty places, waiting to be filled.

It all starts with being thirsty, because that’s what brings us to this well in the first place.

Stay thirsty, my friends.

It’s what leads you to living water; God’s abundance.

More than enough to share, even before you’ve drunk your fill.