Are you thirsty?
Commentary
Object:
Here's a parable by a cartoonist named Saxon. It's about a fellow who has just reached retirement. Now he wonders about his place in society. He begins to spend much of his weekend time walking alone in the woods. One day he finds himself on an unfamiliar path that leads him to a small pond. As he stands beside the pond, the water begins to stir and bubble until there is a lovely little fountain. Astonishingly, a voice calls out to him: "Arnold Flagler! This is the Fountain of Youth!"
In the next frame Arnold is hiding behind a tree, distress written all over his face. He shrinks back in fear as the fountain leaps and soars and a sound of unbelievable music fills the air.
The voice calls to him again: "This is the Fountain of Youth, Arnold Flagler. Drink!"
Arnold isn't quite sure what to do. He peaks around the trunk of the tree and asks, "What will happen to me if I drink?"
"Youth will be yours!" cries the happy voice.
Arnold kneels at the water's edge. "I mean," he says, "how does it work? How young will I be?"
The fountain swirls and sings as it dances higher and higher. "Youth will be yours!" it calls again.
But Arnold has more questions. "Will my family know me? What about my pension and the cumulative profit-sharing plan, and all that?"
Once again the reply is the same: "Youth will be yours!"
But the voice is fainter, and the fountain begins to droop and shiver.
"Listen," says Arnold in desperation, "just tell me one thing. Has anybody else ever tried this? Anybody I know?"
By now his nose nearly touches the water, spurting only a bit on the surface. In a slow moment the music fades away and the waters subside until the fountain vanishes entirely and the pond is still.
A despondent Arnold Flagler wanders slowly home, hands in his pockets. That evening, his wife asks him, "What did you do in the woods today?"
"I got lost," he says.
We get lost in life, don't we? We wander in the wilderness with the Israelites, hoping against belief that some rock will spurt living water. We theologize with Paul, fearful of drowning while we pray to find spiritual resurrection. We faint at Jacob's well with the Samaritan woman, wondering if this is all there really is. Then comes Jesus, and suddenly we crave for something we never knew we needed. Are you thirsty?
The story of water from the rock is among the most widely known, even among those who seldom or never read the Bible. Yet its significance is often as lost as the wilderness in which it first was found. There are a number of critical factors to remember when reflecting on its place and meaning within the whole of Exodus and the life of Israel.
First, there is the literary movement of the book, and the neighborhood in which this story is located. In broad outline, the book of Exodus has three major literary sections: Struggles (1-19); Stipulations (20-24); Symbols (25-40) (for more on this see Covenant Documents: Reading the Bible Again for the First Time; Cognella, 2009). The original covenant document and its stipulations, defining the nature of the relationship between Israel and Yahweh (20-24), is the literary and theological center of the book. The first nineteen chapters are a prologue to that covenant, explaining the manner in which this people, the Israelites, became the unique possession of Yahweh. It is a kind of catalogue of struggles endured by both Israel and Yahweh on the road to Mount Sinai. Israel struggles with slavery (1, 5), threats (13) and deprivation (16, 17); Moses struggles with survival (2), vocation (3-4) and leadership (14-19); Pharaoh struggles with a changing world (1, 5-12); and Yahweh struggles with Moses (3-4), Pharaoh (5-12), and Israel (13-19). Today's lectionary reading is epigrammatic of Yahweh's and Israel's struggles engaging one another with lock-horn tenacity.
Second, the incidents of chapters 16-17 are juxtaposed over against those of chapters 14-15. Having just come through the Red Sea in the miraculous deliverance of the parting of waters, coupled with death-by-baptism for the Egyptian military force in pursuit, Israel should have known the power of Yahweh to preserve and protect, and the divine tenacity to care for them. Yet almost immediately the negative reactions set in, and complaining became the dialect of the day. It is easy for us to see the folly of Israel in these stories, from our omniscient vantage point with the narrator, but in context the national agitation probably made a lot of sense. These people were used to highly structured lives with great demands leaching away the collective testosterone. Suddenly they were self-responsible, in a setting where survival was neither easy nor guaranteed. Shortages of life essentials quickly escalated from personal discomfort to mob hysteria, and in the unruly, disorganized chaos of life on the run, every spark ignited a huge conflagration.
Still, the literary movement of the narrative sandwiches these tales in between episodes of incredible deliverance and direct divine instruction. The clear message is that Israel is an unworthy partner for Yahweh. At the same time, it is precisely this unequal yoking that makes the whole biblical story of salvation so marvelously beautiful. It cannot be predicted. It has no parallel. It is precisely because of the scenes of Exodus 16-17 that the idea of "grace" begins to make sense. God chooses to live in the community of those who do not understand him, do not like him, and do not deserve him.
Third, the action of bringing water out of a rock declares the possibility of the impossible in the world of faith. We are not supposed to figure out how this could happen or whether there were underground streams that were nearly breaking through the surface and only needed a little help from Moses' angry staff to burst forth. The story is told to amaze both Israel and us. We are limited, we are finite, and we are temporal and ephemeral. But God has chosen to change our fortunes and make us the center of the divine attention. Almost immediately after this story, Yahweh will actually move into the center of the Israel camp and take up residence in the tabernacle to experience desert life with them! Amazing! Unheard of! Life-changing!
Fourth, in hindsight, this tale will re-echo in Numbers 20 when it comes back with sinister significance. Once again Israel will be thirsty. Once again mob hysteria will push Moses beyond exasperation. Once again Yahweh will respond with miraculous power. Yet even though this time the rationality of the word will be available, Moses will revert to the savagery of brutality, striking the rock that needs to be addressed, and reducing the miraculous to brute demand. When we seek to manipulate that which is astounding, power becomes force and help is turned into coercion.
So this story about thirst is a good reminder in the season of Lent. We are all with Israel in the wilderness, needy and unsatisfied. We cry out with passion, we call out in desperation. Is there someone out there who hears, who puts things back into perspective, who provides, who blesses all things with renewal and redemption? Can we get to the mountain of grace or will we die here in the desert? The questions linger; faith pleads; the gospel says, "God is good, and will never leave us or forsake us."
Romans 5:1-11
The story of God's love in the Bible focuses on Jesus. But Jesus did not appear in a vacuum. Throughout the Old Testament already God made it clear that God would send a specially commissioned person to bring healing and forgiveness to the citizens of earth. As priests and kings and prophets were anointed with oil at the start of their careers, so this person, too, would be anointed. In fact, this special deliver would be called "The Anointed," a term that comes across in Hebrew as "Messiah" and in Greek as "Christ." This is what Paul had in mind when he wrote to the Roman Christians about the coming of Christ as God's agent of grace and goodness.
Walter Wangerin Jr., powerfully summarized the meaning of Jesus as Messiah in his allegory of the Ragman. Wangerin pictures himself in a city on a Friday morning. A handsome young man comes to town, dragging behind him a cart made of wood. The cart is piled high with new, clean clothes, bright and shiny and freshly pressed.
Wandering through the streets the trader marches, crying out his strange deal: "Rags! New rags for old! Give me your old rags, your tired rags, your torn and soiled rags!" He sees a woman on the back porch of a house. She is old and tired and weary of living. She has a dirty handkerchief pressed to her nose, and she is crying a thousand tears, sobbing over the pains of her life.
The Ragman takes a clean linen handkerchief from his wagon and brings it to the woman. He lays it across her arm. She blinks at him, wondering what he is up to. Gently the young man opens her fingers and releases the old, dirty, soaking handkerchief from her knotted fist.
Then comes the wonder. The Ragman touches the old rag to his own eyes and begins to weep her tears. Meanwhile, behind him on her porch stands the old woman, tears gone, eyes full of peace.
It happens again. "New rags for old!" he cries, and he comes to a young girl wearing a bloody bandage on her head. He takes the caked and soiled wrap away and gives her a new bonnet from his cart. Then he wraps the old rags around his head. As he does this, the girl's cuts disappear and her skin turns rosy. She dances away with laughter and returns to her friends to play. But the Ragman begins to moan and from her rags on his head the blood spills down.
He next meets a man. "Do you have a job?" the Ragman asks. With a sneer the man replies, "Are you kidding?" and holds up his shirtsleeve. There is no arm in it. He cannot work. He is disabled.
But the Ragman says, "Give me your shirt. I'll give you mine."
The man's shirt hangs limp as he takes it off, but the Ragman's shirt hangs firm and full because one of the Ragman's arms is still in the sleeve. It goes with the shirt. When the man puts it on, he has a new arm. But the Ragman walks away with one sleeve dangling. It happens over and over again. The Ragman takes the clothes from the tired, the hurting, the lost, and the lonely. He gathers them to his own body and takes the pains into his own heart. Then he gives new clothes to new lives with new purpose and new joy.
Finally, around mid-day, the Ragman finds himself at the center of the city where nothing remains but a stinking garbage heap. It is the accumulated refuse of a society lost to anxiety and torture. On Friday afternoon the Ragman climbs the hill, stumbling as he drags his cart behind him. He is tired and sore, pained and bleeding. He falls on the wooden beams of the cart, alone and dying from the disease and disaster he has garnered from others.
Wangerin wonders at the sight. In exhaustion and uncertainty he falls asleep. He lies dreaming nightmares through all of Saturday, until he is shaken from his fitful slumbers early on Sunday morning. The ground quakes. Wangerin looks up. In surprise he sees the Ragman stand up. He is alive! The sores are gone, though the scars remain. But the Ragman's clothes are new and clean. Death has been swallowed up and transformed by life!
Still worn and troubled in his spirit, Wangerin cries up to the Ragman, "Dress me, Ragman! Give me your clothes to wear! Make me new!"
We know the picture. It is Jesus coming into our world to share our sufferings and to bear our shame and guilt. Jesus stands in our place, dying our death so that we might gain a new and renewing relationship with God.
Sure, it is hard to explain. But it is also something, according to Paul, that we cannot live without.
John 4:5-42
When Jesus walked the dusty roads of Palestine, many came to him to beg for relief from the troubles that plagued their souls. And he released them. He rescued them. He snatched their spirits from whatever torments of hell they suffered.
Today's gospel reading is one of the most dramatic of them all. John tells us that Jesus needed to go through Samaria when he left the conflicts of Jerusalem to return home to Galilee (v. 4). This was not true either culturally or geographically. Most Jews avoided contact with the Samaritans because a long history of conflict. The "Samaritans" figure prominently in post-exilic literature (Ezra) and also in the New Testament (e.g., Luke 10 and Acts 8, beside this passage). Who were these people and where did they come from?
The story begins in 2 Kings 17 where, after the northern kingdom of Israel had been conquered and displaced, the Assyrians relocated other tribes into the area. Following a series of local mishaps that fed their superstitions, these settlers begged for someone from among the former inhabitants who might teach them about the gods of this region. An Israelite priest was found. Since the northern kingdom of Israel had cut itself off from Jerusalem and the temple, the only sourcebook of ancient Israelite religion was the Pentateuch, Genesis through Deuteronomy.
In that collection Moses laid great emphasis on the covenant renewal ceremony that was to take place near Shechem from Mounts Gerezim and Ebal. Since the blessings of the covenant were to be shouted from Mount Gerezim, this high spot became associated with holiness. Instructions related to the tabernacle (Exodus 25-40) were used to create a worship shrine on that mountain, and the minimalist religious identity of the Samaritans began.
Since the Jews (people of Judah) considered these Samaritans deficient in religious understanding and ethnically outsiders to the original Israelite nation, they treated the Samaritans with disdain and scorn. This led to several incidents of military violence and terrorist activities as each community grew in resentment toward the other.
For this reason, the usual path between Jerusalem and Galilee involved going down to Jericho and traveling up the Jordan River valley to the Sea of Galilee, avoiding the Samaritans altogether. But Jesus is under the compulsion of another map. He has to meet and see this woman at Sychar, site of both the ancient city of Shechem, nestled between the mountains of Gerezim and Ebal, and also the location of a still older well of Jacob. He has to bring hope and healing to one life, and in that way establish a new center of divine radiance according to the theme of light penetrating darkness that pervades John's gospel (note the missionary nature of the woman's interaction with her village after being illumined by Jesus, and the evangelistic instructions concluding the passage).
After Jesus probes the woman's needs, and the woman deflects the investigations with theological bantering, the mark of Jesus hits home. Then comes the point of the passage: As with other such instances of healing and renewal, where Jesus says things like "Go and sin no more" or "Go in peace" or "Go and tell others what great things God has done for you," here the Master nurtures the woman's eager spirit of sharing.
Faith, said Jesus, is not only something that helped produce a miracle in your life; faith is also the preventative medicine that will keep many of the things that plagued you from happening again. A healthy spiritual life is far more valuable than an emergency faith; it's a preventative medicine that keeps some of the crises of life at bay. This is why the receiver becomes the giver, and the woman turns into an evangelist. Her community, which often rejected her, is in need of something that she never knew she could possess. But once she drank from Jesus' well, Jacob's cistern was insufficient.
Application
Are you thirsty?
If I ask you that question often enough, you'll probably have to get something to drink. Thirst is one of the unconscious demands that shape our lives. After all, more than 80% of our bodies is water. A drink of water now and then is the best thing we can do to keep our bodies running well.
Thirst, though, is more than just a physical necessity. Thirst is the craving that sets in when an addiction takes over. Thirst is the incessant call of the heart for love. Thirst is the emotional overload that demands peace and security in an unsettling world.
Thirst is the word Jesus uses to describe spiritual needs. A desire for God's presence and blessing is one thing; our need for God's attention and care is quite another. The first is a conscious choice. The latter is unconscious; it is urgent and overwhelming.
One writer paints this picture of his spiritual quest. He's like a man stranded alone in the middle of a vast desert. The sun punishes him from above. The horizon shimmers with heat. The hot sand burns blisters onto his toes.
As he stumbles along, he carries in his hand a small canteen, now nearly empty of precious water. Just as he raises it to his mouth for one final drink, his eye is caught by a blur in the distance.
He lowers the canteen, wipes the dust from his eyes with his sweaty sleeve, and blinks several times, squinting to see more clearly. It's real. But a real what?
He caps the canteen and begins to stagger toward the blur. It's an old shack that once was home to another human being. Winds and weather have stripped the outside, and rodents have licked the inside clean. There's nothing here to keep him alive. But at least it's a place to die.
Once more he lifts the canteen to his lips. But now he stops again. Fifteen meters away is a rusty cast-iron pump. With surprising strength he pushes himself toward it. He pumps the handle feverishly but no water comes. After years without use, the rod scrapes and screams.
But what's this? Down by the spout is a small sign, lettered in the fine hand of another generation. Friend, it says, there is a river of water flowing beneath these sands. Drink your fill at this pump. But to start the flow, you must prime the pump. Empty your canteen in the hole above.
What should he do? The pump hasn't been used in years. Maybe the water dried up long ago. If he empties his canteen and the pump gives no water, he'll surely die. If he drinks the last swallow, perhaps he'll live long enough for rescuers to find him.
What should he do? What would you do?
Then faith takes hold. Faith in words written by an unknown friend. Faith in words of hope and life. He tips his canteen over the hole; he pours out the precious drops of his future; he empties what he has brought with him in hopes of finding a gift that is greater than himself.
He pushes down on the handle and feels the gentle resistance of the water below. He pushes again, and again, and again… And streams of living water burst from the spout!
This is the miracle we all need. It preaches well.
Alternative Application
John 4:5-42. The story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman begs to be preached on its own, especially during the season of Lent. We are the woman, sidelined from spiritual certainty, lost in the complexity of social distinctions, hoping for a future better than we deserve, caught by the message of Jesus that comes at us from our blind spots, and transformed into light-bearers who bring the gospel to our neighborhoods.
Don't over-dramatize. And keep Jesus at the center. Without him, the rest falls apart.
Preaching the Psalm
Psalm 95
by Schuyler Rhodes
Making joyful noise
No one wants to speak for others, but let's be honest. Sometimes there's simply too much noise. No matter what circumstances surround us, noise is ever-present. Traffic, TV, piped in music in practically every location; it just gets to be too much sometimes. From the constant din of culture and life there emerges a deep yearning for simple silence. And if that's not attainable, could we at least turn down the volume?
Yet, in the midst of the pounding decibels of our lives, there is one "noise" that is worth making. In the cacophony of work and the ceaseless hum of life's demands, one sound is to be valued. And that sound is the joyful noise we make to our God. What does that sound like? A specific definition is hard to find. Perhaps a list will do. Joyful noises to the Lord include, but are not limited to:
* Church choirs singing off key
* An overlong passing of the peace on Sunday morning where people find joy in greeting one another.
* Sounds of children laughing in Vacation Bible School
* The quiet thank you of someone who has received a blessing.
* The rowdy shouting in the throes of a contemporary praise service.
* The quiet prayers of our elders in their traditional worship.
* The indescribable sound of prayer coming from the mouth of a new believer.
* The funeral of a saint of the community whose life was well lived.
* The sounds of fourteen language groups praying the Lord's prayer all at the same time in their own language.
* The Alleluia Chorus sung by any choir anywhere in the world.
What would your list of joyful noises look like? The beauty, of course, is that the list is virtually endless. Each person can summon some voice of praise, note of passion, some utterance of joy that is found simply by discerning God's marvelous presence.
Perhaps the call that comes to us all today is a yearning on God's part for us to do something, anything, that shows praise. Stomping feet will do. Shouting the Lord's name will do. Dancing and laughing are just fine. But whatever we do, let us all hear the call to make a joyful noise to the Lord!
In the next frame Arnold is hiding behind a tree, distress written all over his face. He shrinks back in fear as the fountain leaps and soars and a sound of unbelievable music fills the air.
The voice calls to him again: "This is the Fountain of Youth, Arnold Flagler. Drink!"
Arnold isn't quite sure what to do. He peaks around the trunk of the tree and asks, "What will happen to me if I drink?"
"Youth will be yours!" cries the happy voice.
Arnold kneels at the water's edge. "I mean," he says, "how does it work? How young will I be?"
The fountain swirls and sings as it dances higher and higher. "Youth will be yours!" it calls again.
But Arnold has more questions. "Will my family know me? What about my pension and the cumulative profit-sharing plan, and all that?"
Once again the reply is the same: "Youth will be yours!"
But the voice is fainter, and the fountain begins to droop and shiver.
"Listen," says Arnold in desperation, "just tell me one thing. Has anybody else ever tried this? Anybody I know?"
By now his nose nearly touches the water, spurting only a bit on the surface. In a slow moment the music fades away and the waters subside until the fountain vanishes entirely and the pond is still.
A despondent Arnold Flagler wanders slowly home, hands in his pockets. That evening, his wife asks him, "What did you do in the woods today?"
"I got lost," he says.
We get lost in life, don't we? We wander in the wilderness with the Israelites, hoping against belief that some rock will spurt living water. We theologize with Paul, fearful of drowning while we pray to find spiritual resurrection. We faint at Jacob's well with the Samaritan woman, wondering if this is all there really is. Then comes Jesus, and suddenly we crave for something we never knew we needed. Are you thirsty?
The story of water from the rock is among the most widely known, even among those who seldom or never read the Bible. Yet its significance is often as lost as the wilderness in which it first was found. There are a number of critical factors to remember when reflecting on its place and meaning within the whole of Exodus and the life of Israel.
First, there is the literary movement of the book, and the neighborhood in which this story is located. In broad outline, the book of Exodus has three major literary sections: Struggles (1-19); Stipulations (20-24); Symbols (25-40) (for more on this see Covenant Documents: Reading the Bible Again for the First Time; Cognella, 2009). The original covenant document and its stipulations, defining the nature of the relationship between Israel and Yahweh (20-24), is the literary and theological center of the book. The first nineteen chapters are a prologue to that covenant, explaining the manner in which this people, the Israelites, became the unique possession of Yahweh. It is a kind of catalogue of struggles endured by both Israel and Yahweh on the road to Mount Sinai. Israel struggles with slavery (1, 5), threats (13) and deprivation (16, 17); Moses struggles with survival (2), vocation (3-4) and leadership (14-19); Pharaoh struggles with a changing world (1, 5-12); and Yahweh struggles with Moses (3-4), Pharaoh (5-12), and Israel (13-19). Today's lectionary reading is epigrammatic of Yahweh's and Israel's struggles engaging one another with lock-horn tenacity.
Second, the incidents of chapters 16-17 are juxtaposed over against those of chapters 14-15. Having just come through the Red Sea in the miraculous deliverance of the parting of waters, coupled with death-by-baptism for the Egyptian military force in pursuit, Israel should have known the power of Yahweh to preserve and protect, and the divine tenacity to care for them. Yet almost immediately the negative reactions set in, and complaining became the dialect of the day. It is easy for us to see the folly of Israel in these stories, from our omniscient vantage point with the narrator, but in context the national agitation probably made a lot of sense. These people were used to highly structured lives with great demands leaching away the collective testosterone. Suddenly they were self-responsible, in a setting where survival was neither easy nor guaranteed. Shortages of life essentials quickly escalated from personal discomfort to mob hysteria, and in the unruly, disorganized chaos of life on the run, every spark ignited a huge conflagration.
Still, the literary movement of the narrative sandwiches these tales in between episodes of incredible deliverance and direct divine instruction. The clear message is that Israel is an unworthy partner for Yahweh. At the same time, it is precisely this unequal yoking that makes the whole biblical story of salvation so marvelously beautiful. It cannot be predicted. It has no parallel. It is precisely because of the scenes of Exodus 16-17 that the idea of "grace" begins to make sense. God chooses to live in the community of those who do not understand him, do not like him, and do not deserve him.
Third, the action of bringing water out of a rock declares the possibility of the impossible in the world of faith. We are not supposed to figure out how this could happen or whether there were underground streams that were nearly breaking through the surface and only needed a little help from Moses' angry staff to burst forth. The story is told to amaze both Israel and us. We are limited, we are finite, and we are temporal and ephemeral. But God has chosen to change our fortunes and make us the center of the divine attention. Almost immediately after this story, Yahweh will actually move into the center of the Israel camp and take up residence in the tabernacle to experience desert life with them! Amazing! Unheard of! Life-changing!
Fourth, in hindsight, this tale will re-echo in Numbers 20 when it comes back with sinister significance. Once again Israel will be thirsty. Once again mob hysteria will push Moses beyond exasperation. Once again Yahweh will respond with miraculous power. Yet even though this time the rationality of the word will be available, Moses will revert to the savagery of brutality, striking the rock that needs to be addressed, and reducing the miraculous to brute demand. When we seek to manipulate that which is astounding, power becomes force and help is turned into coercion.
So this story about thirst is a good reminder in the season of Lent. We are all with Israel in the wilderness, needy and unsatisfied. We cry out with passion, we call out in desperation. Is there someone out there who hears, who puts things back into perspective, who provides, who blesses all things with renewal and redemption? Can we get to the mountain of grace or will we die here in the desert? The questions linger; faith pleads; the gospel says, "God is good, and will never leave us or forsake us."
Romans 5:1-11
The story of God's love in the Bible focuses on Jesus. But Jesus did not appear in a vacuum. Throughout the Old Testament already God made it clear that God would send a specially commissioned person to bring healing and forgiveness to the citizens of earth. As priests and kings and prophets were anointed with oil at the start of their careers, so this person, too, would be anointed. In fact, this special deliver would be called "The Anointed," a term that comes across in Hebrew as "Messiah" and in Greek as "Christ." This is what Paul had in mind when he wrote to the Roman Christians about the coming of Christ as God's agent of grace and goodness.
Walter Wangerin Jr., powerfully summarized the meaning of Jesus as Messiah in his allegory of the Ragman. Wangerin pictures himself in a city on a Friday morning. A handsome young man comes to town, dragging behind him a cart made of wood. The cart is piled high with new, clean clothes, bright and shiny and freshly pressed.
Wandering through the streets the trader marches, crying out his strange deal: "Rags! New rags for old! Give me your old rags, your tired rags, your torn and soiled rags!" He sees a woman on the back porch of a house. She is old and tired and weary of living. She has a dirty handkerchief pressed to her nose, and she is crying a thousand tears, sobbing over the pains of her life.
The Ragman takes a clean linen handkerchief from his wagon and brings it to the woman. He lays it across her arm. She blinks at him, wondering what he is up to. Gently the young man opens her fingers and releases the old, dirty, soaking handkerchief from her knotted fist.
Then comes the wonder. The Ragman touches the old rag to his own eyes and begins to weep her tears. Meanwhile, behind him on her porch stands the old woman, tears gone, eyes full of peace.
It happens again. "New rags for old!" he cries, and he comes to a young girl wearing a bloody bandage on her head. He takes the caked and soiled wrap away and gives her a new bonnet from his cart. Then he wraps the old rags around his head. As he does this, the girl's cuts disappear and her skin turns rosy. She dances away with laughter and returns to her friends to play. But the Ragman begins to moan and from her rags on his head the blood spills down.
He next meets a man. "Do you have a job?" the Ragman asks. With a sneer the man replies, "Are you kidding?" and holds up his shirtsleeve. There is no arm in it. He cannot work. He is disabled.
But the Ragman says, "Give me your shirt. I'll give you mine."
The man's shirt hangs limp as he takes it off, but the Ragman's shirt hangs firm and full because one of the Ragman's arms is still in the sleeve. It goes with the shirt. When the man puts it on, he has a new arm. But the Ragman walks away with one sleeve dangling. It happens over and over again. The Ragman takes the clothes from the tired, the hurting, the lost, and the lonely. He gathers them to his own body and takes the pains into his own heart. Then he gives new clothes to new lives with new purpose and new joy.
Finally, around mid-day, the Ragman finds himself at the center of the city where nothing remains but a stinking garbage heap. It is the accumulated refuse of a society lost to anxiety and torture. On Friday afternoon the Ragman climbs the hill, stumbling as he drags his cart behind him. He is tired and sore, pained and bleeding. He falls on the wooden beams of the cart, alone and dying from the disease and disaster he has garnered from others.
Wangerin wonders at the sight. In exhaustion and uncertainty he falls asleep. He lies dreaming nightmares through all of Saturday, until he is shaken from his fitful slumbers early on Sunday morning. The ground quakes. Wangerin looks up. In surprise he sees the Ragman stand up. He is alive! The sores are gone, though the scars remain. But the Ragman's clothes are new and clean. Death has been swallowed up and transformed by life!
Still worn and troubled in his spirit, Wangerin cries up to the Ragman, "Dress me, Ragman! Give me your clothes to wear! Make me new!"
We know the picture. It is Jesus coming into our world to share our sufferings and to bear our shame and guilt. Jesus stands in our place, dying our death so that we might gain a new and renewing relationship with God.
Sure, it is hard to explain. But it is also something, according to Paul, that we cannot live without.
John 4:5-42
When Jesus walked the dusty roads of Palestine, many came to him to beg for relief from the troubles that plagued their souls. And he released them. He rescued them. He snatched their spirits from whatever torments of hell they suffered.
Today's gospel reading is one of the most dramatic of them all. John tells us that Jesus needed to go through Samaria when he left the conflicts of Jerusalem to return home to Galilee (v. 4). This was not true either culturally or geographically. Most Jews avoided contact with the Samaritans because a long history of conflict. The "Samaritans" figure prominently in post-exilic literature (Ezra) and also in the New Testament (e.g., Luke 10 and Acts 8, beside this passage). Who were these people and where did they come from?
The story begins in 2 Kings 17 where, after the northern kingdom of Israel had been conquered and displaced, the Assyrians relocated other tribes into the area. Following a series of local mishaps that fed their superstitions, these settlers begged for someone from among the former inhabitants who might teach them about the gods of this region. An Israelite priest was found. Since the northern kingdom of Israel had cut itself off from Jerusalem and the temple, the only sourcebook of ancient Israelite religion was the Pentateuch, Genesis through Deuteronomy.
In that collection Moses laid great emphasis on the covenant renewal ceremony that was to take place near Shechem from Mounts Gerezim and Ebal. Since the blessings of the covenant were to be shouted from Mount Gerezim, this high spot became associated with holiness. Instructions related to the tabernacle (Exodus 25-40) were used to create a worship shrine on that mountain, and the minimalist religious identity of the Samaritans began.
Since the Jews (people of Judah) considered these Samaritans deficient in religious understanding and ethnically outsiders to the original Israelite nation, they treated the Samaritans with disdain and scorn. This led to several incidents of military violence and terrorist activities as each community grew in resentment toward the other.
For this reason, the usual path between Jerusalem and Galilee involved going down to Jericho and traveling up the Jordan River valley to the Sea of Galilee, avoiding the Samaritans altogether. But Jesus is under the compulsion of another map. He has to meet and see this woman at Sychar, site of both the ancient city of Shechem, nestled between the mountains of Gerezim and Ebal, and also the location of a still older well of Jacob. He has to bring hope and healing to one life, and in that way establish a new center of divine radiance according to the theme of light penetrating darkness that pervades John's gospel (note the missionary nature of the woman's interaction with her village after being illumined by Jesus, and the evangelistic instructions concluding the passage).
After Jesus probes the woman's needs, and the woman deflects the investigations with theological bantering, the mark of Jesus hits home. Then comes the point of the passage: As with other such instances of healing and renewal, where Jesus says things like "Go and sin no more" or "Go in peace" or "Go and tell others what great things God has done for you," here the Master nurtures the woman's eager spirit of sharing.
Faith, said Jesus, is not only something that helped produce a miracle in your life; faith is also the preventative medicine that will keep many of the things that plagued you from happening again. A healthy spiritual life is far more valuable than an emergency faith; it's a preventative medicine that keeps some of the crises of life at bay. This is why the receiver becomes the giver, and the woman turns into an evangelist. Her community, which often rejected her, is in need of something that she never knew she could possess. But once she drank from Jesus' well, Jacob's cistern was insufficient.
Application
Are you thirsty?
If I ask you that question often enough, you'll probably have to get something to drink. Thirst is one of the unconscious demands that shape our lives. After all, more than 80% of our bodies is water. A drink of water now and then is the best thing we can do to keep our bodies running well.
Thirst, though, is more than just a physical necessity. Thirst is the craving that sets in when an addiction takes over. Thirst is the incessant call of the heart for love. Thirst is the emotional overload that demands peace and security in an unsettling world.
Thirst is the word Jesus uses to describe spiritual needs. A desire for God's presence and blessing is one thing; our need for God's attention and care is quite another. The first is a conscious choice. The latter is unconscious; it is urgent and overwhelming.
One writer paints this picture of his spiritual quest. He's like a man stranded alone in the middle of a vast desert. The sun punishes him from above. The horizon shimmers with heat. The hot sand burns blisters onto his toes.
As he stumbles along, he carries in his hand a small canteen, now nearly empty of precious water. Just as he raises it to his mouth for one final drink, his eye is caught by a blur in the distance.
He lowers the canteen, wipes the dust from his eyes with his sweaty sleeve, and blinks several times, squinting to see more clearly. It's real. But a real what?
He caps the canteen and begins to stagger toward the blur. It's an old shack that once was home to another human being. Winds and weather have stripped the outside, and rodents have licked the inside clean. There's nothing here to keep him alive. But at least it's a place to die.
Once more he lifts the canteen to his lips. But now he stops again. Fifteen meters away is a rusty cast-iron pump. With surprising strength he pushes himself toward it. He pumps the handle feverishly but no water comes. After years without use, the rod scrapes and screams.
But what's this? Down by the spout is a small sign, lettered in the fine hand of another generation. Friend, it says, there is a river of water flowing beneath these sands. Drink your fill at this pump. But to start the flow, you must prime the pump. Empty your canteen in the hole above.
What should he do? The pump hasn't been used in years. Maybe the water dried up long ago. If he empties his canteen and the pump gives no water, he'll surely die. If he drinks the last swallow, perhaps he'll live long enough for rescuers to find him.
What should he do? What would you do?
Then faith takes hold. Faith in words written by an unknown friend. Faith in words of hope and life. He tips his canteen over the hole; he pours out the precious drops of his future; he empties what he has brought with him in hopes of finding a gift that is greater than himself.
He pushes down on the handle and feels the gentle resistance of the water below. He pushes again, and again, and again… And streams of living water burst from the spout!
This is the miracle we all need. It preaches well.
Alternative Application
John 4:5-42. The story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman begs to be preached on its own, especially during the season of Lent. We are the woman, sidelined from spiritual certainty, lost in the complexity of social distinctions, hoping for a future better than we deserve, caught by the message of Jesus that comes at us from our blind spots, and transformed into light-bearers who bring the gospel to our neighborhoods.
Don't over-dramatize. And keep Jesus at the center. Without him, the rest falls apart.
Preaching the Psalm
Psalm 95
by Schuyler Rhodes
Making joyful noise
No one wants to speak for others, but let's be honest. Sometimes there's simply too much noise. No matter what circumstances surround us, noise is ever-present. Traffic, TV, piped in music in practically every location; it just gets to be too much sometimes. From the constant din of culture and life there emerges a deep yearning for simple silence. And if that's not attainable, could we at least turn down the volume?
Yet, in the midst of the pounding decibels of our lives, there is one "noise" that is worth making. In the cacophony of work and the ceaseless hum of life's demands, one sound is to be valued. And that sound is the joyful noise we make to our God. What does that sound like? A specific definition is hard to find. Perhaps a list will do. Joyful noises to the Lord include, but are not limited to:
* Church choirs singing off key
* An overlong passing of the peace on Sunday morning where people find joy in greeting one another.
* Sounds of children laughing in Vacation Bible School
* The quiet thank you of someone who has received a blessing.
* The rowdy shouting in the throes of a contemporary praise service.
* The quiet prayers of our elders in their traditional worship.
* The indescribable sound of prayer coming from the mouth of a new believer.
* The funeral of a saint of the community whose life was well lived.
* The sounds of fourteen language groups praying the Lord's prayer all at the same time in their own language.
* The Alleluia Chorus sung by any choir anywhere in the world.
What would your list of joyful noises look like? The beauty, of course, is that the list is virtually endless. Each person can summon some voice of praise, note of passion, some utterance of joy that is found simply by discerning God's marvelous presence.
Perhaps the call that comes to us all today is a yearning on God's part for us to do something, anything, that shows praise. Stomping feet will do. Shouting the Lord's name will do. Dancing and laughing are just fine. But whatever we do, let us all hear the call to make a joyful noise to the Lord!
