The Invitation of Living Water

One of the most foreboding places on this earth is a scorching, dry desert.

I remember my first church off the 395 Highway in Randsburg, California.  Randsburg in the 1890s had been a thriving gold mining community of over 6000.  More gold was taken out of the Yellow Aster Mine on the outskirts of that town than from any other mine in California.

A number of citizens of that town had banded together to build a Methodist church and from stories of the old timers — those pews for some 80 persons were mostly filled on any given Sunday.

By the time I arrived as pastor, some 80 years later the town had dwindled down to some 200 souls and the remnant congregation was comprised of 4 persons.  That’s right, just 4.

My assignment was to follow up on a major bequest that had been given the church, collect the money for the denomination and then close the church.

What I soon discovered was that my predecessor had been a rather cranky personality who alienated many in that community and the other adjacent communities of Red Mountain and Johannesburg.  He also hated visiting folks.  He was uniquely ill-at-ease with people.

I also discovered that if I spent a couple of days a week visiting around the three towns, all about a mile apart, there were a number of folks interested in having a vital alternative to the bars and TV.

Within weeks we had a little congregation of 10, then 20-some. 

When I had first arrived, besides the minute congregation – the most depressing thing was that there was no water.  The water had been shut off a couple of years ago to save money.

Out in that scorching desert without water – I desperately wanted it to flow for our little group. Another new member of the church and I did the repairs to the plumbing, paid the fees and got the water flowing.  The next Sunday was a real celebration.  Water was the sacramental sign that the Spirit was alive in this place.

We did a lot of other things in the six years I served there:  Started a senior citizen’s lunch program in the community hall in Johannesburg, started a youth group, had a church breakfast before the Sunday services began.  Even built the first indoor flush toilets.  Previously it had been taking your chances with the black widow spiders in the outhouse. 

But I always felt that getting the water running was the sign of the real beginning.  The proof that there was life in that place.  That small community of faith was Living Water for those three towns.

In our lectionary readings appointed for this Sunday we have two passages where water is front and center.

In Exodus we read of the grumbling of the parched Israelites as they travel the desert wilderness under the leadership of Moses.  In fact, they are at the point of mutiny, about to stone Moses.  Their complaint was about the lack of water to drink.

“But the people thirsted there for water; and the people complained against Moses and said, ‘Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?’”

The upshot was that God instructed Moses to take some elders and go to the rock at Horeb.  Strike it with the staff used to strike the Nile.  Moses did as told and water flowed from that rock.

Water, the precious substance of life, was the sure sign, the answer to the people’s quarrel with the Lord, “Is the Lord among us or not?”

In our passage from John, this gift of water is also life itself.  What Jesus provided at the well for that Samaritan woman was Living Water, the very substance of Eternity itself.  In those few moments at that well Jesus reveals her to herself at the deepest level. 

With amazement she leaves her water jug and runs back to her village, summoning one and all.  “Come and see.”  This Living Water is Jesus himself.  “Come and see.”  And all in that town made their way to him.  She had come upon the very substance of Life Everlasting – and her life overflowed with it as well.

“Living Water” is a metaphor – a word-symbol that connotates multiple meanings.  That is its richness.

When those words become sacramental – a physical substance revealing a spiritual reality – they are just that, real.

That woman at the well experienced a profound reality in the truth Jesus revealed about her life.  And in his lack of judgement, he freed her.  She became a living witness to his reality.  In her being that soulful exuberance was Living Water.

In this passage from John’s gospel, he is not only speaking to that woman long ago, but he’s speaking to us.  As we drink deeply of what Jesus is offering, we become “Living Water.”

We live in a parched land.  Hate and division are the weeds of this desert landscape.  Greed and racism the tumbleweeds that are blown by an ill wind.  We have a politics that feeds on it all.  And billionaire grifters that profit from it.

So, where in our deepest souls do we encounter that saving “Living Water.” 

One theologian, Stanley Hauerwas, identified that essential life-giving substance as Truth.

When I immerse myself in my Book of Hours, prayerbook readings for traditional times of daily prayer for each day of the week, I find myself before a Centering Reality.  There I find the redeeming truth that God loves me and all of creation – that you and I are persons of worth, persons who matter, bound up together in a life-affirming mutuality. 

These prayers are a needed reminder that no matter my pitiful state of mind, that’s not the final story.  Yes, God is love and those who abide in love abide in God and God in them.  End of story.

These passages from scripture are Living Water.

Yesterday, in my dialysis chair I had the opportunity to watch the funeral service for the Rev. Jesse Jackson.  The eulogies and singing – a huge gospel choir – they were a gusher of Living Water.

Remember his signature mantra.  “Keep Hope Alive.  Keep Hope Alive.”

As former president Obama cautioned, in our day, given the outrages of this current administration, that’s a difficult task.

Every day we are assaulted by new disasters, new incompetencies.  Lies upon lies that give the “Father of all Lies” a run for his money.

We were not going to have anymore “Forever Wars” was the pledge, yet with no congressional approval we’ve committed American forces to a debacle that is now consuming the entire Middle East.  Americans are being slaughtered in our city streets by ICE thugs right out of a Gestapo play book.  The planet continues to heat up and the response of White House incompetents who seem to have never read a science book is, “Drill, baby, drill.  Drill, baby, drill.” And fire all the people at EPA who had previously monitored the increasing amounts of greenhouse gasses.  Yeah, what’s that burning smell?

All this to avoid the fallout and consequences of the Jeffrey Epstein files?  All to distract us from the testimony of an underage thirteen-year-old girl who had allegedly been sexually assaulted by Trump at an Epstein party?  Any FBI investigation into her story?  Nothing!  All swept under the rug.  Nothing to see here, folks.  Just move on.  Just move on.

Every day a new outrage.  Yes, it’s difficult under such a barrage of sewage to Keep Hope Alive.

Yet, Jackson’s memorial service was a tonic for the soul.  An overflowing fountain of Living Water.  A river of Gospel Goodness straight from our Lord, running down through the centuries to that church auditorium yesterday.

President Obama laid out the challenge facing the community of faith these coming days.  The temptation is just to keep our heads down and hope this would all go away or pass us by.

Rev. Al Sharpton, in the midst of this debilitating chaos, gave us our assignment.  Much as Jesse Jackson would hand out assignments at his rallies.  Our assignment is to be that Living Water, nourishing all we lift up, all we sustain by Holy Resistance, uniting not dividing.  Rev. Al gave us our commission to Keep Hope Alive in whatever small ways we can.  He buoyed up our faith that Hope might flow through us.

That service was a healing balm to the souls of all who witnessed it.  You can catch the entire event on MSNOW YouTube.

And so the community is gathered in around this life-enhancing Word, a bountiful spring of Living Water.  We share stories of family and of hardship. Stories of grandchildren.  We share stories of adventure and joy.  And the stories of such legends as Jesse Jackson.

And the garden just outside our parish hall that feeds 470 persons each week with nutritious vegetables and fruit – that also is Living Water for those who come to St. John’s Food Bank every Wednesday.

We are a community of Living Water that nourishes not only the soul but our real-life neighbors in need.  Those veggies are Spirit made flesh.

Here is the Living Water we thirst for in this barren desert now called America.   Our assignment is to pass along those stories, to be those stories of Living Water in word and deed.

I close with a favorite story from my dear friend Dick Bunce.  A story flowing with pure Grace.  Living Water.

Early in the last century, a minister boarded a train and went looking for a seat.  The train was crowded and he felt fortunate to land a seat.  He found himself sitting next to a young man who seemed disinterested in conversation.  As the train got underway, the minister saw that the young man seemed burdened and preoccupied.  The minister found a way to get a light conversation started, and this led to a question to the young man about the purpose of his trip.  

Somehow, the youthful man sensed that this older fellow was trustworthy and genuinely interested.  So he shared his story.

A couple of years prior, while in his late teens, he had become rebellious.  He wanted more freedom and pursued it in a lot of the wrong ways.  One evening, when confronted by his parents, he exploded with anger and shouted over his shoulder as he strutted out that he was leaving and would not be coming back.  

He held to that for two years.  He hitchhiked, took odd jobs, and made no attempt to reach out to his parents.  

During his self-imposed exile, he matured.  One day, at long last, he sat down to write a letter – perhaps the hardest letter he’d ever attempted to write.  He stated that he been wrong and that he would like to see them again.  He said he’d be on the 4:30 afternoon special and gave the date.  

This was the train he was on as he talked to the minister.  It happened to pass the backyard of his parent’s home.  By simply looking out he’d be able to get a good view of the yard.  

After writing the date and time, he said to his parents that if they wanted to see him, simply hang something white on the Sycamore tree.  He was quick to add that he would understand if they preferred not to see him considering how rudely and irresponsibly he had behaved. 

Eventually, the train neared his old neighborhood.  The minister and young man fell silent as the train rounded a wide curve that would bring the yard into view.  The yard appeared.  And there was something white hanging from the tree.

Oh yes!  White towels, sheets, blankets, pillow cases, you name it – a blizzard of white hanging from the tree, eaves of the house, even the telephone wires. 

The minister watched as this young fellow stepped off the train at the station just a mile or so from the house.  As soon as he was off the train, he ran.  

He ran toward the open arms of his mother and dad.  

Just as, at our end, when our journey’s over, we run into the open arms of our Lord Jesus Christ – Living Water for all who thirst for something of eternity.

Amen

March 8, 2026
Lent 3
  “The Invitation of Living Water”

The Rev. Dr. John C. Forney
Exodus 17:1-7; Psalm 95;
Romans 5:1-11; John 4:5-42