Rev. Nick Cheek
John 4: 1-15 and John 19: 28-29
Back in college, I was a member of Pi Kappa Phi fraternity. This fraternity was unique in that it created its own philanthropy called Push America. Push America raised funds and awareness for people with disabilities. One way they did this was through a cross country bike ride in the summer called “The Journey of Hope.”
Brian, a friend of mine from our chapter, was one of 50 cyclists selected, and he kept a blog of his journey. He posted pictures of the incredible sites they visited, the people they encountered, the service work they accomplished, and the tough terrain they had to go through.
At one point in the trek, the team was in Arizona during the hottest month of the year. He wrote in his blog, “The days are long, hot, and exhausting. I hope we get through this soon because it seems we are the only 50 people on earth traveling this desert highway.”
On one fateful day, Brian and his group of cyclists got turned around and found themselves lost. While their supply vehicles kept traveling straight ahead, they veered off into uncharted territory. Hours went by. Their water ran out. All 50 of them were stranded on the side of a rocky hill overlooking a vast wilderness of nothingness.
Their radios were unable to pick up the signal of their suppliers, who had plenty of water, and the cell phone reception was spotty at best, remember, this was the 90s. They had no choice but to backtrack. They gathered what strength they had left and got back on their bikes. Their dehydration hit dangerous levels. After every turn, the lead bike checked the radio. Nothing.
The day passed into night. As the sun began to set, they wondered if they would make it. And then their miracle happened. Out of nowhere, at the intersection up ahead, a charter bus pulled to a stop. Brian remembers yelling and waving his hands in desperation. The bus turned down their path, the door opened, and out came a young woman who said kindly, “Y’all must be thirsty.”
Out came three cases of water. The charter group was heading on a mission trip, and it turns out Brian and this group of thirsty young men were a part of their mission. When Brian drank the water, it was life giving, as though it was literally saving his life, because it was. His body desperately needed it, and so did his spirit.
Our story this morning is about thirst. Jesus is on the cross, physically, emotionally, and spiritually thirsty. On this cross, we need to remember that Jesus is very much human. His words convey the deep and natural emptiness he felt in that moment. “I thirst. I am without. I am in need.”
As Jesus hangs there, I have to wonder if, in his thirst, he remembered his time in the wilderness. Forty days of fasting and going without. It was there that he was tempted to use his own divinity to save himself, to turn stones into bread, to give himself a drink, to quench the longing within him.
And now on this cross, was he yet tempted to do the same. To break free from the nails, the pain, and the humiliation. To break free and live a little longer. To break free and taste the refreshment of life and freedom. “I thirst.”
Have you ever been thirsty, church. In need of being quenched.
Our bodies are 70 percent water. We can only go about three days without a drink. Science suggests that the moment we first begin to feel thirsty, we are already a quart or so depleted. We have catching up to do.
Church, I sometimes wonder if that is how we live our lives, waiting until we are desperately thirsty before we seek to replenish ourselves.
The word “thirst” that Jesus uses in our passage most certainly refers to his physical need in that moment. He was thirsty.
However, this word is also used throughout the Gospels as a symbol of the thirst we carry deep within our souls, which we too often forget. We go about our days doing fairly well, addressing our physical needs, while neglecting our spiritual and emotional ones.
Our first story this morning reveals this truth about our human condition. Jesus is traveling through Samaria and arrives at Jacob’s well around noon and encounters a woman. This detail matters because this is not when women came to draw water. Women gathered in the morning, not only because it was cooler, but because that is when they could talk. The well was a place of connection, conversation, and community, and perhaps a little gossip here and there.
But this woman comes alone, which tells us something right away. Gail O’Day, a New Testament scholar from Wake Forest, points out that the woman’s timing likely reflects her social reality. She is not part of that community space. Whether because of her past, her relationships, or the way others have defined her, she lives at a distance from the very people who would normally stand beside her. So she comes when she will not have to face them. She carries a jar, but she also carries the weight of being on the outside.
Jesus sees her and asks her for a drink. Immediately she realizes how unusual this is. “Why are you, a Jewish man, speaking to me, a Samaritan woman.”
Jesus does not let the social, cultural, or religious boundaries set by society prevent their interaction. “If you knew the gift of God before you, you would have asked, and he would have given you living water.”
The woman does not understand at first. She has come seeking water, but Jesus sees the deeper thirst within her soul, a yearning for connection and belonging. As Jesus speaks to her, he not only brings her story to light, he brings grace with him. Instead of condemnation, there is understanding. He sees her. He sees her thirst to be known and loved.
Henri Nouwen once wrote, “What we most need is to be reminded that we are the beloved.” This is precisely what Jesus does for the Samaritan woman. In being truly seen, she is not defined by her past. She is not dismissed or avoided but addressed as someone worthy of dignity and acceptance.
Friends, what do you thirst for. Where are you drawing water from. What is sustaining you. What replenishes your heart, your mind, your energy. What well brings you back to your center, where you are known and seen and loved.
This story invites us into it. We are there too, standing at the well, bringing with us our burdens and worries, our histories, our failures, our anxieties, our exhaustion, and a persistent sense that something is still missing, a deep thirst for something more.
Something beyond what this world keeps offering us. Because if we are honest, we have already tried so many wells.
We have drawn from the well of success, believing that if we could just achieve enough, arrive at the right place, finally feel established, then maybe we would feel whole.
We have gone to the well of busyness, filling our days and our calendars, thinking that if we just keep moving, we will not have to face what feels empty inside.
We return again and again to the well of perfection, trying to get it right, to be enough, to prove ourselves worthy, to God, to others, even to ourselves.
We draw from the well of control, trying to manage every outcome, believing that if we can just keep things together, we will finally feel secure.
At times, we also go to the well of escape, numbing the ache, distracting ourselves, turning to whatever helps us not feel the weight of our lives for a moment.
We try it all, and we usually end up back at another well, saying the same thing, “I thirst. I thirst.”
And maybe that is the most honest place we can stand, with this woman, not pretending we are full, but admitting that many times we are not. We are still thirsty.
But there is good news today, church. Because just like the woman, it is right there, in that place, where Jesus meets us. He does not meet us there to judge what we carry. He does not meet us there to shame us. He meets us there to see every part of us and to love us anyway.
Is that not what we thirst for more than anything else. We thirst for what money cannot buy. We long to be welcomed as we are, to be accepted, to be known, to be cared for, to be reminded that we matter. We thirst to know that even in our failures, even in our imperfection, we are deeply loved.
And when we know that, when we have been filled with that love, we find the strength to press on through whatever we are facing. We can endure even the driest and darkest valleys.
Artist Scott Freeman, in his painting Water to the Thirsty, reimagines Michelangelo’s Creation. Michelangelo paints Adam as strong and complete. Freeman paints him as frail, thirsty, and depleted, in need of living water.
And there is also a child, holding a bowl, catching water from the heavenly realm and reaching out to Adam, offering a drink.
There are moments when we are Adam, tired, depleted, aware of our need.
And there are moments when we are the child, holding what has been given to us, offering it, allowing that living water to reach someone else.
We are people in need of living water, and we are people, by the grace of God, called to carry it.
Friends, if you are in need of a drink today, of living water, then drink. Without reservation. Without shame. Without excuse. Let the love and grace of God wash over you.
And when you are filled, share that water with others.
May we be the cup God uses to help quench the thirst of the weary, the hopeless, and the forgotten. May we be living water to a dry and thirsty land.
In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.