For What do you Thirst? Preached on March 19th, 2017 Are you thirsty? For fresh, clear, cool water? Have the songs we have sung and the prayers we have said given you a thirst? They should have done. Let me give you something to drink – you thirsty ones. You who are thirsting to be known by name. You who are thirsting to be loved and to belong. You who are thirsting for meaning in your life. You who are thirsting for someone you can trust. You who are thirsting for reconciliation and for forgiveness. You who are thirsting to be restored to community. But now let me tell you a story … Years ago I was drawing water from the village well, in the heat of the day. It was noontime. I know, I know. The time to draw water is in the cool of the morning. But back then, I … I just couldn’t. Back then I just didn’t. Back then I was the talk of the town, by those village gossips. And by that I mean all the women, who gathered each day to draw water. The men used to say carrying water is women’s work. I guess it still is in some parts. But the women knew how to turn a hard situation into a better one. The chatter and the gossip would be the reward for this morning chore well done. The teen daughters tagged along to listen in. Whose son was of age, which parents were looking for a new daughter in law? The little ones came along to scamper and play with one another in the muddy earth around the well. And the women came for the exchange of the latest news. For one who has been married 5 times already, that made me a prime target. They didn’t know what it was like and they didn’t care. They only wanted fodder for their gossip and entertainment. They had no idea what it felt like to be married as a teenager, and then left destitute. With my children taken by his family, being raised under their roof, miles away. What is a woman to do, when the only option for survival is … well you know? Men come and go along this trail from Galilee to Judea and there is just one way a woman alone can make a living. Then one of the regulars wanted me for his own, that sounded a little better than things as they were. And so the cycle started again: the beatings, the leaving. Fodder for more gossip. Back then I went to the well in the morning. When I did that, all the chatter would suddenly stop. It was a silence that you could hear. They’d stare, or look away. Silently following me with their eyes while I drew the water. I couldn’t stand it any longer. That is why I began to draw water at noon in the heat. That one day was most peculiar. There was a Jewish man sitting at the well, all alone. Well, if Samaritan women were going to give me the cold shoulder, certainly a Jewish man – a Rabbi too – would not give me a second glance. But this one was different. And also a little pathetic. Sitting there alone, thirsty in the heat. I could tell he had walked miles. But with no bucket. What’s with that? Where was his entourage, his students and disciples. Shouldn’t they be taking care of him? “Give me a drink” he says. What? First of all, he shouldn’t even be talking to me. “How is it that you, a Jew are asking me a Samaritan woman for a drink?” I say. (Jews and Samaritans didn’t share things back then.) He says something about “living water.” Yes, water is necessary for life, we know that. But without a bucket where I am supposed to put the water for him? This is our ancestor Jacob’s well, where he watered his animals and provided for his family. Surely this man here is not great than our ancestor, Jacob? But next this man is telling me that he has water to give me! That’s an about turn. Wasn’t I supposed to be the one drawing the water? This water, the water he is offering sounds like some kind of magical water: "Everyone who drinks of water from this well will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life." OK: this is the water I need. The water that means I do not have to come out in the heat of the day. The water that stops the gossip and meanness. The water that restores me to the community. The water that gives me a new life. The water that makes me whole again. “Sir,” I say, “give me this water, that I may never be thirsty again, give me this water so I never need to come here to draw water!” So here’s the kicker. He says “go call your husband and come back.” Right, the one who is sleeping off last night’s revelry in my house right now … my husband? I don’t think so, I barely even know his name. I don’t think he would take so kindly to stories of living waters. I’d earn myself a black eye, if I stirred that one at this hour. “I have no husband,” I say. I feel ashamed, and look down. But this man’s kindly eyes meet mine. “I know” he says gently, “I know about the five husbands, the one you have now who is not your husband. I know you are shunned by the other village women. I know you are abused by many of the men who pass by.” Wow! This man is a prophet I am sure. He talks about worshiping God, the Father. He says it doesn’t matter where, no need for temple or mountain. He talks about worshiping in spirit and in truth. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds good! “I know the Messiah is coming!” I tell him. I don’t know why I just blurt it out. “I am the one” he replies. At this point I’m not really surprised. I just have to go and tell the village, this is too much for them all to miss. I must rouse them from their siestas, this man is just amazing. I’m so excited I forget my shame, I forget that they have ignored me for so long. They can’t miss this good news. They have to know. So I hurry to tell them and to bring them to him. “Come see a man who told me everything I have ever done!” I cry. Of course, they come. They forget my shame too, in the excitement. They crowd around, wanting to learn from him, calling out questions. Each vying to have him stay in their homes, and least a couple of nights. And an amazing thing happened. I became like a kind of prophet! Yes, me. I had brought them the good news of this man’s presence, the one with the living water. I had drunk deeply and thirstily of that water And it restored me: to community, to new life, it washed away my shame. I am whole. And now, I am one who gives water to the thirsty people. Living water. So tell me, are you thirsty? Can I give you a drink? Come, receive the living water, and never be thirsty again! Amen
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