I'm Thirsty -- A Lectionary Meditation

Exodus 17:1-7



Romans 5:1-11


John 4:5-42

I’m Thirsty

Water is essential to life. The human body is somewhere between 55% and 78% water, and water covers about 70% of the earth’s surface. Although we can go a while without water, eventually we’ll die without water. Water and life – they go hand in hand.

Two of the texts for this Third Sunday of Lent focus on water. Moses has to deal with a people who complain vociferously because they don’t have water to drink, while Jesus finds himself tired and thirsty and sitting next to Jacob’s well. He doesn’t complain, but he does ask for water! As we think about water and thirst we might want to look ahead for a moment to Jesus’s cry from the cross – I Thirst (John 19:28). Paul’s not quite ready to get to the water (Baptism appears in Romans 6), but he deals with the issue of suffering and hope, ideas that are present in the other two texts. Each of these scriptures remind us that no matter how difficult the journey, God is present and faithful.

In the Exodus story, the people have again grown cantankerous. Although God provided food for the journey – not that they enjoyed the menu – now they’re thirsty. This leads to quarreling and complaining to Moses – why, they ask, have you led us out here into the wilderness so that we might die of thirst. You would have thought that they preferred slavery in Egypt, and perhaps they did. We often prefer the misery we know to the potential misery that might face us in the unknown. With all the harping and complaining, Moses grows frustrated with this people God had entrusted to his care. They were never satisfied, no matter what God did – whether it was the rescue from the clutches of Pharaoh’s army or the manna from heaven – they weren’t satisfied. Wanting water they begin to quarrel amongst themselves, and Moses cries to God – “What am I to do with this people? They’re ready to stone me.” As I read this, I’m reminded of political leaders, especially Presidents, who find that they can never satisfy the populace, no matter what they do. It’s never enough!

But God is gracious and hears Moses, telling him to gather the Elders and then go out ahead of the people. God tells Moses to meet at the Rock at Horeb, and there in front of the Elders, Moses does as God commanded. He strikes the rock with the staff he had used to strike the Nile, and from that rock sprang water to quench the thirst of the people. God had provided, but in a bit of frustration, Moses calls this place Masseh and Meribah, because the Israelites “quarreled and tested the Lord saying - “is the Lord among us.” I sense that the word we need to hear in this story concerns typical human behavior – even in the church – in spite of our complaining and insolence, God is faithful. So instead of complaining, let us give thanks to God.

Before we turn to story of Jesus’ encounter with the woman at the well, we must heed Paul’s discourse in Romans 5. The chapter begins familiarly – “Since we are justified we have peace with God through the Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to the grace in which we stand.” In Christ we’re justified, saved, and reconciled. I’m afraid it’s easy to read this passage in a very transactional way. We’re sinners who face the wrath of God, and Jesus’ blood substitutes for our blood. For centuries theologians have interpreted the cross in a quid pro quo fashion – the life of Jesus for my life. But why does God need blood to be satisfied? What is it that I have done that requires the death of another, especially one who is innocent of all changes? I struggle with the idea of divine wrath. I don’t have space to delve into this question here in this place, but perhaps there is another way of reading this text. Maybe the issue is one of separation between Jew and Gentile – in the cross a way has been created that brings the two together. I don’t know, but what I do hear in this text is a promise that no matter what happens there is hope. Suffering, which we all experience, produces endurance, and endurance leads to character, and character builds hope, and as Paul says – this hope doesn’t disappoint. That is because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit. That is the message we need to hear – not that we’re miserable sinners who need someone to suffer our due punishment so that God will accept us. No the word we should hear in this text is that God’s love will transform our lives in ways that lead to hope. That is a word of salvation.

Finally we come to the story Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s Well. According to John, Jesus is sitting by the well because he’s tired. He’s on his way to Jerusalem, where he will taste suffering The disciples have gone into town to get some food. It’s about noon when a woman comes to the well to draw water, and so Jesus asks her to draw him some water to drink, because he’s thirsty. This woman is caught off guard because Jesus is a Jew and she’s a Samaritan (and a woman) so why is he asking her for water? My guess is that he’s thirsty and she has the means to get him a cup of water, but that’s too simple an explanation. The point isn’t the physical thirst, but the spiritual thirst that lies within. The request for water leads to a theological discussion, but first Jesus has to overcome the woman’s literalist mind set, just as he had to do in John 3 with regard to Nicodemus. That’s just the way we are – we think literally first and only later are we able to move onto something more spiritual in nature.

Having asked the woman for a cup of water, Jesus in turn offers the woman living water. At first she can’t comprehend what he’s saying. How can Jesus offer her living water when he doesn’t have a bucket to draw water with. But, when Jesus says that once she drinks this living water she’ll never thirst again, she becomes intrigued. How does this happen? But, besides that, this well belonged to Jacob. How could any other water exceed it in value? Still, water that fulfilled thirst eternally, that was worth pursuing. Having such water would eliminate the need to come to the well. As she’s contemplating this reality, Jesus tells her to go and get her husband. Of course, she’s not married, but apparently he already knows this. In fact, although she’s been married five times, the man she’s with whom she now lives isn’t her husband. Not only is she a woman and a Samaritan, but it would appear that she’s also a sinner, but Jesus doesn’t make anything of that. He seems to understand that she has lived a life of suffering – probably at the hands of the men who have been in her life. Perhaps she has become ostracized, which is why she was at the well at the height of the noon day sun. I don’t know any of this for sure, but it does appear that Jesus has pricked her heart. His revelation of her life causes her to move from her focus on getting water to understanding whom Jesus is.

How do you know this about me? You must be a prophet of God, but then there’s this theological problem. We worship here on this mountain, and you worship in Jerusalem. We’re divided, separated from each other by our theologies of worship. We think God is present here in this place, you think God is some place else. And yet he has spoken truth to her and so she’s intrigued. But Jesus has a surprise for her – place doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if it’s Sychar or Jerusalem, Wittenberg or Rome, the point is that God is Spirit and those who would worship God must worship in Spirit and truth. What a freeing thing this word must be, though still she’s not ready to receive it. How often do we resist a word of liberation and freedom? We stay locked within the box that we’ve built for ourselves. The box may have its use once, but now its time to move on, to grasp that God is bigger than the box. The woman who is now a theologian says to Jesus, well when the Messiah comes, then we’ll know what to do. Yes, when the prophet comes who we’re expecting, that person will make this all clear. And Jesus says – “I am he.” I’m the one you’ve been waiting for.

As Jesus makes this claim, the Disciples return to find him deep in conversation with this woman. They’re surprised at all of this. I’m not sure whether this is because the conversation partner is a woman or a Samaritan, but they’re not prepared. This interruption gives the woman an opportunity to return to the village, where she spreads the news about the one who revealed her life to her, and her testimony draws out the people to the well. While she’s doing her evangelistic effort, the Disciples talk to Jesus about the food they’ve procured, but Jesus says – “I have food you know nothing about.” Yes, once again it’s a question of literal versus spiritual. And the Disciples are confused – where did he get the food, but the food he has to offer is spiritual food. As they discuss what to eat, the Samaritans gather around Jesus and invite him to stay a few days and teach them. Afterwards they say to the woman: We no longer have to rely on your testimony, we’ve heard enough to know that he is the savior of the world.

Our thirst is physical, even as our hunger is physical. We are physical beings and we need food and water – whether we’re in the desert of Sinai or at Jacob’s Well. But we’re more than physical beings who need food and water. We’re spiritual beings, who need spiritual food and spiritual drink. Each week, at least in my tradition, we gather at the table of the Lord and take bread and cup. It’s not enough to stave off our physical hunger and thirst, but it is a reminder that our hope is found in the one whom we worship in spirit and in truth, the one who is faithful and who provides what we need, so that we might grow into people of hope.

Salvation Amidst Suffering -- A Lectionary Meditation for the Sunday after Christmas

Isaiah 63:7-9



Hebrews 2:10-18


Matthew 2:13-23

Salvation Amidst Suffering

As we moved through Advent into Christmas, we focused on the emergence of light into the realm of darkness. Where darkness sought to rule the day, light ultimately won the battle. It is a struggle that is marked by the observance of the Solstice, which while not Christian aspects of this observance have been drawn up into our observance of Christmas. The message of light breaking into the darkness is seen in the greeting given to the Christ child by the Angelic chorus, and we see it in the star that led the Magi to the Christ child. Yes, the message of the season is that a great light is shining into the darkness, and the darkness, though it will try, cannot overwhelm it. Despite the message of the season that we have been blessed by the unconquerable light of God, this doesn’t mean that the darkness has given up without a fight. The one who brings light into the world may have arrived, but the darkness will do all that is necessary to extinguish it.

As a fan of the original Star Wars trilogy, I see this Sunday’s texts, especially the Gospel text, representing the theme of the second film in the series – The Empire Strikes Back. Is that not the message of the text from Matthew? Despite the victory won by the incarnation, when light pushed back at the darkness, the darkness has struck back with a vengeance. This leaves us with a question – shall the empire win? And if not, what resources may we bring to bear to resist the darkness? How will the light prevail? And the answer that these three texts seem to deliver is that this effort will involve suffering. The Incarnate One will suffer, but so will those who are identified with him.

In this set of lectionary readings laid out for the Sunday after Christmas, we find much that requires thought and interpretation. We must wrestle with texts that suggest suffering is the path through which salvation makes it way, and we must also deal with passages that suggest that substitutionary atonement might be part of the deal. There is also the slaughter of the innocents to deal with, along with a passage that emerges from a time of concern about the future, a time when suffering continues to hang over the people. Yes, there is much darkness to contend within these texts – human sin and rebellion and cruelty – a reminder that God’s work of bringing wholeness to our broken world doesn’t come easily. But, there is hope present here in this set of texts. Isaiah 63 reminds us that by God’s presence the people are saved, Hebrews suggests that the one who is incarnate has shared our lives and will wipe away our sins. And despite the attempt on his life, Jesus and family escape so that they may live for another day. Yes, but all of this comes in the midst of suffering.

Let us look more closely at our texts, beginning with the selection from Isaiah. Whereas the two Isaiah texts we most closely connect with Advent and Christmas, Isaiah 7 and 9, come from a much earlier period in Israel’s history, a time when Judah is under pressure from enemies north and south, but it remains intact. This text, three verses that emerge from a much longer poem, comes from either the exile, or more likely from the post-exilic period. There is restoration, but this restoration has not come without difficulties. There is a mixture of emotions in the complete poem, but these three verses that lead us into the discussion of salvation in the midst of suffering, calls on us to offer praise to God. As we go forth to resist the darkness, that is itself resisting the light, we must recognize that we go forth in the presence of the one who brings to bear grace, steadfast love, and mercy. Yes, even as God became their savior in the midst of their distress, and saved them through God’s great love and pity, redeeming them and lifting them and carrying them all their days, while things might look bad, God in God’s faithfulness was there to lift them up and carry them. Do you not hear a bit of the Footprints poem in this text?

The Lord replied, "My precious, precious child. I love you, and I would never, never leave you during your times of trial and suffering.

When you saw only one set of footprints,

It was then that I carried you."

If Isaiah holds out the promise of God’s saving presence and offers words of praise in response, the anonymous sermon that goes by the title of the Letter to the Hebrews speaks of the one who has been tested in all things as we have, and therefore is able to wipe away the sins of the people. The passage begins by reminding us that God had thought it fitting that the “pioneer of their salvation” should be made “perfect through sufferings.” This passage seems to suggest that Christ has died in our stead to take care of sins, but it doesn’t define what that means. Perhaps, then, it is better that we stay clear of atonement theory and instead see Christ as the one who, being the pioneer of our salvation, and having tasted life as we experience it, understands that part of experience is suffering. By going through this experience of suffering, indeed, even going through death itself (thought death isn’t mentioned here) we begin to understand the true message of incarnation. This one who came into the world didn’t just make an appearance, but experienced all that we experience, and due to his embrace of God’s mission, faced inordinate suffering. As a result, he has become for us a merciful and faithful high priest before God, representing us before God and as a result wiping away all our sins. He tasted life in the darkness, and brought light instead – but not without experiencing suffering.

The Gospel lesson for this Sunday after Christmas makes us skip over the story of the Magi, which is reserved for the Day of Epiphany. It is a text that offers a story of salvation, but it also offers the most graphic description of the manner in which darkness resists the light. Here is the story of Herod and the “Slaughter of the Innocents.” Herod is the one who builds the grand Temple in Jerusalem, but whose own sins are so great that he stands among the pantheon of history’s cruelest tyrants. As Matthew tells the story, Herod reenacts the story of Pharaoh’s slaughter of the Hebrew male children, by having his soldiers massacre all the male children two years and younger. In the case of Herod, the malevolent despot fears anyone who would threaten his hold on the throne, even a small and innocent child. Although there isn’t any historical evidence that Herod ordered the slaughter of the male children of Bethlehem, such an action wasn’t beyond the capabilities of this ruler, who had members of his own family killed lest they try to supplant him. Yes, because he was cruel and sadistic, such an act represents well his personality. And he does stand forth as a symbol of the empire of darkness.

In this story, the child who would be a threat to his throne escapes due to an angelic vision. A father has a dream, and as a result, takes his family to safety in Egypt, reversing the trip the Hebrews took from slavery in Egypt to the freedom of the Promised Land. Isn’t it ironic that the land of light had become a place of darkness?

And the message here? Could it be that the mission of God often comes with a cost to those involved? In this story, the suffering comes not to the one through whom the darkness is defeated, but those near him. We call this collateral damage. Why, we ask, must this be so?

Perhaps the answer to the question of why suffering is part of the story is that darkness will not allow the light to take root without a struggle that leads to suffering. Yes, the darkness will not give up easily. Jesus may have, according to Matthew, survived this first onslaught of darkness unscathed, but as we continue reading, we’ll discover that darkness, and with it suffering, will not go away without a fight. Yes, even as Rachel weeps for her children, a day will come when Mary will weep for her child. But, darkness will not have the last word. Christmas marks the beginning, but a full orbed gospel includes Good Friday and Easter. There is joy and there is sadness. There is victory and seeming defeat. But the reality here is that in the end, the God who comes to us not with violence, but with peace, will bring us healing and salvation.

The Suffering Christ and the Future Hope

Jurgen Moltmann is known both for his work on the Theology of Hope and for his work on the The Crucified God . He understands that it is in the suffering Christ that God experiences our suffering.  As he  writes in his latest book, The Sun of Righteousness Arise!:   

 He writes further:

If God goes wherever Chrit goes, then Christ brings God's fellowship to people who are humiliated, persecuted, assailed and murdered just as he was himself.  His cross stands between the unnumbered crosses which line the paths of the perpetrators of violence on this earth, in the Roman Empire from Spartacus to Jerusalem, from the death camps of the German Third Reich to the "disappeared" under the military dictatorships in Latin America.

But God in Christ not only walks with us in our sufferings, as a companion on the way, participating in our suffering, through his own suffering, but there is hope for the future. 

The fellowship of Christ is experienced not only as the fellowship of the humiliated Christ with us, but also as our fellowship with Christ who was raised from the dead and exalted into the future glory.  The Son of Man who finds us when we are lost takes us with him on his way to God's future.  We experience the other side of Christ when we feel the energies of life and are born again to a living hope.  Then we sense how the "fountain of life" opens (Ps. 36:9) and fills us with new love for life, in spite of all the negations.  Our powers are re-energized, and in the midst of the world of death we enter upon the "path of life."  Then we live in the divine Spirit's field of force, and experience his vitalizing efficacies.  Then we see this deathly world in the light of Christ's resurrection, and in the vital powers of the Spirit receive "the powers of the world to come" (Heb. 6:5).  The night of God's remoteness passes away, and the dayspring colours of God's new day are visible (Rom. 13:12).  We exist in the radiance it throws ahead of itself, and act in anticipation of God's future.  (Moltmann, Sun of Righteousness, p. 115) 

I think that the reason why I keep coming back to the centrality of the resurrection is that without it there is only death, there is no future.  I remember watching Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ, and after all the brutality that filled the movie, the moment of resurrection was passed over so quickly that it didn't seem to matter.  I sat their wallowing in suffering, with no hope for the future.  Moltmann, who acknowledges the reality that God in Christ has experienced our suffering and has walked with us in our suffering, does not let suffering have the last word.  There is hope for the future, a hope that sees the fragmentation of this world healed and made whole.  It is that hope of the future wholeness that should empower and inspire us to engage in the work of reconciliation and healing now, as the Spirit of God is present in our midst and in our lives.