By THIS Everyone Will Know That You Are My Disciples

²⁰Very truly, I tell you, whoever receives one whom I send receives me; and whoever receives me receives him who sent me.’

21 After saying this Jesus was troubled in spirit, and declared, ‘Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me.’ ²²The disciples looked at one another, uncertain of whom he was speaking. ²³One of his disciples—the one whom Jesus loved—was reclining next to him; ²⁴Simon Peter therefore motioned to him to ask Jesus of whom he was speaking. ²⁵So while reclining next to Jesus, he asked him, ‘Lord, who is it?’ ²⁶Jesus answered, ‘It is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.’^* So when he had dipped the piece of bread, he gave it to Judas son of Simon Iscariot.^* 27After he received the piece of bread,^*Satan entered into him. Jesus said to him, ‘Do quickly what you are going to do.’ ²⁸Now no one at the table knew why he said this to him. ²⁹Some thought that, because Judas had the common purse, Jesus was telling him, ‘Buy what we need for the festival’; or, that he should give something to the poor. ³⁰So, after receiving the piece of bread, he immediately went out. And it was night.

31 When he had gone out, Jesus said, ‘Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. ³²If God has been glorified in him,^* God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once.³³Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, “Where I am going, you cannot come.” ³⁴I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. ³⁵By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.’

John 13:20-35

“By THIS Everyone Will Know That You Are My Disciples”

I’m not sure about you, but in so many different ways, the news of the last few days and months has threatened to overwhelm me and shut me down. The news of violence and threats against our sisters and brothers who practice different religions and whose skin colors and whose sexual practices vary, the reports of hatred and harsh words used against people who dare to express varying political beliefs, the fear expressed by folks who are scared about their present or futures because of they fear lack of access to health care or education or accessibility to our country—it is all simply overwhelming. The seeming loss of empathy and kindness and gentleness in our country has left me, has left so man of us, at a loss for words, confused, dumbfounded. In the last few weeks, I have wanted to shut down after experiencing fear in our own generally quiet and peaceful Auburn community as a white nationalist came to speak on campus, causing his own supporters and anti-facists to clash with each other; I’ve wanted to shut down after hearing one of our United States congressmen from Alabama imply that folks like myself with pre-existing conditions bring them on ourselves and deserve them by the way we live our lives.

While I went to DC in January to march for the right health care for all folks no matter what, and while I have called our congressmen and women over and over to express many concerns, I am still left with a feeling of emptiness, a feeling of hollowness, a feeling of not knowing what to do or where to turn. It feels like we as a country are being swallowed up by hate, by a lack of empathy, by selfishness—and it seems so hard to know what to do about it, so tempting to just let ourselves be shut down by it, to just quit.

A few weeks ago, however, I read a viral facebook post that has provided some hope for the yearning, and I hope many of you did, as well. It was written by our former Surgeon General, Dr. Vivik Murthy. Dr. Murthy, the grandson of a farmer from India, was asked by President Obama to serve as the 19^th Surgeon General for the United States. In his post the day after he resigned in the midst of a new administration, he talked about what an honor it was to serve the American people, and how delighted he was to see America as the descendant of an Indian immigrant, to teach us and help us, to serve us and to learn from all of us. He wrote these things about what he learned during his tenure, and I think, especially in this day and time when it is so easy to be overwhelmed by the darkness of the world, we all need to hear them. He wrote to all of us that

1. Kindness is more than a virtue. It is a source of strength. If we teach our children to be kind and remind each other of the same, we can live from a place of strength, not fear. I have seen this strength manifest every day in the words and actions of people all across our great nation. It is what gives me hope that we can heal during challenging times. 

2. We will only be successful in addressing addiction – and other illnesses – when we recognize the humanity within each of us. People are more than their disease. All of us are more than our worst mistakes. We must ensure our nation always reflects a fundamental value: every life matters.

3. Healing happens when we are able to truly talk to and connect with each other. That means listening and understanding. It means assuming good, not the worst. It means pausing before we judge. Building a more connected America will require us to find new ways to talk to each other. 

4. The world is locked in a struggle between love and fear. Choose love. Always. It is the world's oldest medicine. It is what we need to build a nation that is safe and strong for us and our children.

What words he gives us here, folks, for us, for our country. I have thought about them everyday since. Kindness is a source of strength. We are gathered here as Christians today, and we need to be reminded that kindness is our source of strength. If we truly believe this and teach our children this—and that is what we are in the business of doing—then we can’t and won’t live in fear. We must live in kindness. When kindness is manifest our lives, it can’t help but be manifest in our nation. When kindness is manifest in our lives, it can’t help but heal us in challenging times such as these.

As Christians, we will only be successful in addressing not only addiction, but also depression and illness and selfishness and so many other things that threaten to overtake us only when we recognize the humanity within all of us. When we take the time to truly look into each other’s eyes and realize that each one of us is hurting in some way, that each one of us has a story to share, that each one of us in this room and outside of it is dealing with something in our lives, then we will realize that each person is valuable and worthy. That is the way we make sure our nation is successful, and more importantly whole—when we make sure that every single life is important and valued and human and loved.

Healing happens when we stop assuming the bad in each other and start looking for the good. When we open ourselves up to see each person around us as a created and loved child of God, then we free ourselves up to look for the good in each other. That is where healing happens. Looking for the good in each other is where connection happens.

And all of that happens because we have been so greatly loved—and when we choose to love in return. Dr. Murthy is so right here. The world is locked in a battle between love and fear. And when we’re locked in a battle, something, some side has to win. He calls us to choose love and make it win. Always. Love is the world's oldest medicine. Love is what we need to build a nation that is safe and strong for us and our children.

The world is locked in a battle between love and fear. We see it every day, every time we turn the tv or look at social media or even walk down the street.  We are locked in a battle, and we have a choice. As people of faith, we are called to choose love. Always to choose love. I would say that I’m not sure that anyone could say it better than Dr. Murthy has, but as we all just heard in our Scripture, there is always someone who does say it better than any of us ever could.

On that night, in that room, as Jesus knew that these folks around him were locked in a battle and would ultimately choose fear, Jesus chose love. Jesus knew what was about to happen, and he chose love. He shared a meal with the disciples, then he washed their feet. He set an example for them and then said to them one of the last things he would say in the world, making it the most important: “Where I am going, you cannot come. I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you should also love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Friends, we are gathered here today, gathered to worship, to laugh and debate and discuss, gathered to eat and share and sing. We are gathered to ask questions and challenge and welcome. As presbyters, we are gathered here for business. But let us take some time to look around because we are gathered for something so much more important. Let us take time to see and breathe in what is before us. We are gathered around the font full of water, the table set with Christ’s meal, gathered at the foot of the cross, the cross that reminds us of God’s great love for all of us. Let us remember the words we have sung, “He came down that we may have love.” There aren’t words much better than those—we are gathered because we are so greatly loved by God, and we are called to go out as disciples and choose love in the world, to go out and be God’s love in the world. Thanks to God for that amazing gift. Amen.

Shepherd

A Psalm of David.
¹ The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. 
²   He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;^* 
3   he restores my soul.^*
He leads me in right paths^*
   for his name’s sake.

⁴ Even though I walk through the darkest valley,^*
   I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
   your rod and your staff—
   they comfort me.

⁵ You prepare a table before me

   in the presence of my enemies;

you anoint my head with oil;

   my cup overflows. 

⁶ Surely^* goodness and mercy^* shall follow me

   all the days of my life,

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord

   my whole life long.

Psalm 23

“Shepherd”

These words from the 23^rd Psalm are so iconic and so deep for many of us, familiar probably for many of us who have heard them so often in different moments of our lives. They are beautiful and telling mostly because of their simplicity—just a few verses overflowing with profound words and imagery, verses that make us think of a God who loves us deeply, a God who welcomes us in life and death, a God who gives us all we need, our God who shepherds through all the days of our life.  This Psalm is one of so many prayed to God—these psalms are a collection of songs to God, prayers of thanksgiving sung in times of celebration, prayers of agony and anguish cried to God in times of darkness and pain.

I imagine that, for most of us when we read this Psalm, we most often focus on the 4^th verse: “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me, God; your rod and your staff—they comfort me.” How many of us have read and heard and prayed this verse in the darkest times of our lives, in the valleys of depression and questioning and sadness, in the times when we have doubted and grieved and not known what was coming next? We say this verse, pray this verse, hoping for the reassurance that God is our strength, our comfort as we walk through the darkest valley, praying that God is walking with us when times seem the darkest. We hear this verse, read it, pray it because we need to be have the reassurance that God is with us, walking beside us, shepherding us just when things life seems most bleak, most sad, just when we feel like we can’t see any light ahead of us. In the shadow of death, we need the assurance that God is with us.

How many of us have read and heard and prayed this verse in hospital waiting room and at bedsides as our loved ones are drawing closer to God, found comfort in these words as they are read at memorial services or at the sides of graves? Most, if not all of us in this room, have experienced death in our lives, whether the death of a parent or a spouse, the death of a child or a relative, the death of a pet or a friend or a loved one. We know what it feels like to grieve and to seek comfort, to need God’s strength and comfort and love in our lives.

It is significant that this text is found first in our lectionary cycle a few weeks before Good Friday as Jesus is journeying towards his own death, walking through his own darkest valleys. Can you imagine how Jesus must have felt as he was journeying toward his death—how he must have felt lonely and abandoned and scared out of his wits? Although he knew he was called to be the Good Shepherd, he needed some comfort of his own, someone to be a shepherd for him, someone to walk with him and comfort him. Maybe he, too, just like we do in those darkest valleys, recited these words to himself, calling and reaching out to God: “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me, your rod and your staff, God, they comfort me.”  

This 23^rd Psalm is used in our Lenten journey with Christ—the imagery of death and sorrow and the need for comfort from this text is deep here. During Lent, we journey with Christ through the deepest valleys of death towards his crucifixion on the cross; we see him face the evils of our betrayal, of our words, of our sin, so much so that he dies for all of us on that Good Friday. But the good news, friends, the best news for all of us, is that—just as Good Friday was not the end of Christ’s journey, Christ’s story, Good Friday is not the end of our journey, our story as Christ’s people. The best news is that our story is a story of resurrection. The best news is that we are called to live as Christ’s people, as Easter people, as people who believe and celebrate that Christ has risen from the tomb, risen from the darkest valley, come back to life to shepherd and lead us again.

I love that the 23^rd Psalm appears again in our lectionary cycle a few weeks after Easter, too. For as much as this text is a Lenten text about endings, it is so much more an Easter text about beginnings for all of us, a text about community, a text about celebration, a text about every day life in the presence of the good Shepherd. In his commentary on this Psalm, John White writes this:

This psalm is often read and heard in the midst of death and dying, at it can offer comfort to a grieving family as well as hope for all who listen, but to limit this psalm exclusively to this usage limits the power and scope of its message…this particular psalm is not merely for moments of death. It needs to be read, heard, and understood more importantly as a psalm about living, for it puts daily activities, such as eating, drinking, and seeking security, in a radically God-centered perspective that challenges our usual way of thinking…Yes, our Lord is the shepherd; God is also our host. Throughout the entirety of our lives, we should never lose sight that we dwell in the house of the Lord. We rejoice in the constant presence and vigilance of a God who has cared for us, and will always care for us, both as individuals, and as a community of the faithful.

His words here reflect the richness of this Psalm.  God is our Shepherd, our Lord. And because of that, God shepherds us along the way and gives us all that we will ever need. God creates a stunning world full of green pastures for us and calls us to stop in the midst of the craziness and busyness of our lives—calls us to stop and lie down in those pastures, to appreciate them and to breathe in the breath of life that comes besides the still waters. God gives us free spirits and free wills, but somehow we walk along paths knowing that we are always somehow tethered back, no matter how dark they may seem. God sets our tables and fills them with all kinds of faces, those familiar and loved, and also with those whom we have deemed our enemies, simply because we never know what we can learn from each other. God fills our cups and never lets them go empty, always serving as host, always filling us and anointing us along the way.

This text does give us the imagery of the deepest and darkest valleys, but it gives us so much more imagery about life—imagery about green pastures and still waters, imagery about restored souls and right paths, about prepared tables and anointed heads and cups filled to overflowing, about goodness and mercy, imagery about living in the house of the Lord our whole lives long. And the best news of all is that this text gives us the crucial imagery of a shepherd who is with us all along the way—walking with us through the deepest and darkest valleys, sitting with us at all of our different tables-tables small and empty, tables long and full, lying with us in the greenest pastures, a shepherd following us every day of our lives.

You know, I have seen that shepherd living in, living through all of you. I would like to take a few moments to thank all of you for being Easter people for me, for being shepherds over the past several years, for showing God’s love to me and encouraging me to get out of the valley to live as an Easter person. When you live in fear every day as I have been doing in the shadow of an uncertain illness, it is easy to stay in the deepest depths of the valley and to not be able to look around to see the green pastures beside you or the still waters around you. But, because you all have been so greatly loved by God, you have greatly loved me. You have welcomed me to your tables and literally fed me with meals.  You have fed me with your prayers and with your love and with your hugs. You have welcomed me with grace and understood when I couldn’t talk and stood with me when I struggled. I can never thank you enough. You all have shepherded me and welcomed me back to life. You have been shepherds for me and the greatest source of comfort I could have ever imagined. Thank you.

I could spend days thanking you, but then I will cry more and it will get ugly! So, since I love to sing and love to hear you sing, let’s sing together. As we take some time to sing our hymn together, take some time to reflect not only on the gorgeous tune, but also on these words, words about comfort in death, words about assurance in life:

“When I walk through the shades of death your presence is my stay; one word of your supporting breath drives all my fears away…The sure provisions of my God attend me all my days; O may your house be my abode, and all my work be praise. There would I find a settled rest, while others go and come; no more a stranger, or a guest, but like a child at home.”

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

"Where Do You Get That Living Water?"

John 4:5-42

5 So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. 6 Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon. 7 A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” 8 (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) 9 The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.)[a] 10 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” 11 The woman said to him, “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? 12 Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” 13 Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, 14 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.” 15 The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.” 16 Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come back.” 17 The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; 18 for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!” 19 The woman said to him, “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. 20 Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you[b] say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” 21 Jesus said to her, “Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. 22 You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. 23 But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. 24 God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” 25 The woman said to him, “I know that Messiah is coming” (who is called Christ). “When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.” 26 Jesus said to her, “I am he,[c] the one who is speaking to you.” 27 Just then his disciples came. They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, but no one said, “What do you want?” or, “Why are you speaking with her?” 28 Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, 29 “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah,[d] can he?” 30 They left the city and were on their way to him. 31 Meanwhile the disciples were urging him, “Rabbi, eat something.” 32 But he said to them, “I have food to eat that you do not know about.” 33 So the disciples said to one another, “Surely no one has brought him something to eat?” 34 Jesus said to them, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work. 35 Do you not say, ‘Four months more, then comes the harvest’? But I tell you, look around you, and see how the fields are ripe for harvesting. 36 The reaper is already receiving[e] wages and is gathering fruit for eternal life, so that sower and reaper may rejoice together. 37 For here the saying holds true, ‘One sows and another reaps.’ 38 I sent you to reap that for which you did not labor. Others have labored, and you have entered into their labor.” 39 Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I have ever done.” 40 So when the Samaritans came to him, they asked him to stay with them; and he stayed there two days. 41 And many more believed because of his word. 42 They said to the woman, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world.”

“Where Do You Get That Living Water?”

This story of Jesus and the woman at the well is a beautiful one in so many ways. For so many reasons, it is one of my favorites from the Gospels, if not my favorite. This story says so much to us about how Jesus treats those around him—to him, there are no boundaries when there are people who need to be healed, need to be forgiven, and given living water. Jesus’ interaction with the woman at the well is the longest in the gospels. This is significant because Jesus is meeting with a woman, one who has been battered and torn by life, one who has been judged by the people of her time and the people of ours. She has been married five times, leading folks over time to think that she is sinful and whorish, that she uses men. But Jesus reminds us that we shouldn’t judge because we don’t know anyone’s story until we ask them—perhaps she has lost husbands one at a time to death and obeyed the marriage laws that she marry their brothers. Maybe she has been abused by her husbands or left by them. We don’t know her story, and as much as we would like to know it, what we ultimately need to know is that her brokenness has brought her to the well in the heat of the day, not normally when the women come to draw water. Perhaps she has sensed that something special might happen while she is there, that she might be noticed, that there might some relief and forgiveness and welcome.

That the woman at the well is from Samaria is also a significant part of this story. According to tradition and history, Samaritans and Jews are not to be seen together talking or interacting. This story reminds us of Luke’s story of the man who is beaten and left on the side of the road to die—while the people who we think should be the ones to help him pass by him and do nothing, the Samaritan, the outcast, the person we would never expect to do so is the one who helps him. So, for Jesus to be seen spending time with this woman who is from the wrong side of the tracks, who has been judged for what she has done, for what her circumstances have been, judged simply for where she was born—this is telling. This says something to the people gathered around the well, and it says something to us today as we struggle and discuss and fight about how we treat the refugees in our midst, the people who are born in different places, the people whom we have judged without ever taking the time to listen to their stories or learn about their lives.

The baptismal imagery in the story is stunning. When we baptize a child or an adult in this place, we talk about living water, the living water that comes from God, water that cleanses and refreshes us, water that washes us and makes us ready for a new life as a claimed child of God. Jesus, in our story today, approaches the woman at the well, asking her for a drink, asking for water that that is new, that is refreshing. “Sir, you have no bucket,” she says, “and the well is so deep. Where do you get that living water?”

Jesus offers her living water—the water that can refresh and heal what is broken in her. Jesus offers her new life, proclaiming to all who are there that the woman is claimed by him, loved by him through the gift of living water: “Everyone who drinks of this water [from the 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.”

Her response is simple, and beautiful in its telling: Where do you get that living water? Please give it to me, so that I may never be thirsty again.

In her commentary on this passage. Anna Carter Florence, a preaching professor at Columbia Theological Seminary, writes this:

If I were asked to pick one story that shows us the most about who Jesus is, it would be this one. Here is a passage for a preaching life and a lifetime of preaching. Here too is a text with its own bucket, ready for the filling. Let it down again and again, and each time it comes up with another sermon of living water, another deep drink from the well that will not go dry.

I love Anna’s recognition of how deep and filling this text is. As she goes on to suggest several different ways for us preachers to preach this text, she offers this:

Notice that it is Jesus who is thirsty. The walk through Samaria is long and tiring. Jesus sits down by the well…this is where he and the woman meet. It ought to be easy for a thirsty man to get a drink at a well, but notice that Jesus cannot do this by himself. He asks the woman to give him a drink, gives her the chance to recognize the face of Christ in a stranger. There is something beautifully simple in the staging of this scene as well as its premise: Jesus is thirsty at the well, and we are the ones with the bucket. The deeper metaphorical conversation that follows makes no sense until we really take this in. Can a little thing like a cup of cool water, offered in love, be the beginning of a salvation journey? Yes; and we will never know until we meet the stranger and tend to the human need first.

Wow. Every time I’ve preached and read this text, I’ve always been narrow in the approach: Jesus offers the woman and the well the living water, offering to all of us at the same time. But I’ve never stopped to think that maybe he needs living water, too—that he is thirsty for conversation and relief and a different kind of recognition than he is used to receiving. Surely he can draw the water from the well himself, but he opens himself up to this Samaritan, this woman, this sister who is desperate for some healing. We are all on our own journey to salvation, but maybe we need to stop and recognize that Jesus is on his own journey, too. It can’t be easy for him to walk from town to town, place to place, knowing that he is walking toward his death, but he is. Maybe Jesus needs a little bit of living water of his own. Perhaps he needs someone to draw it for him, someone to tend to him, too. This story does tell us so much about Jesus—that he welcomes the stranger and loves her, that he forgives and accepts, that he offers living water. And the story tells us what we either can’t see or tend to forget—that Jesus needs to be welcomed and loved, too. It reminds us that we never know when Jesus will show up in the face of a stranger. The woman doesn’t know who Jesus is. But that doesn’t matter. She talks with him and spends time with him and welcomes him. She is who we all should be—someone who welcomes the refugee, the stranger in our midst—no matter what.

On our UKirk mission trip a few weeks ago, it was a delight to see our crew interact with so many new people, strangers who became friends, friends who will always now hold a place in our hearts. These folks are etched in our memories—people with whom we served at the food bank, folks who came seeking the free food that was donated to anyone who could use it, food that we were fortunate enough to be able to give away. We played with lots of kids—kids who were poor, kids for whom English was not their first language, kids who were food insecure.  We were amazed by a feisty woman who, despite her own health problems, gave every hour she had to make sure these kids had food and a safe place to hang out after school. We were hosted by an amazing man who started the Asheville Youth Mission with his wife who passed away several years later, a man who is now rejoicing that he has found love again and will be married later this month. All of these folks are folks who need to be given the grace of living water, while at the same time giving it to so many others.

On our favorite day, we served lunch at the Haywood Street Congregation to anyone who wanted to come. One of our UKirk alums, Emily Bentley, is the companion coordinator there, and she organizes lunch twice a week for 300 guests. There was a volunteer orientation where the pastor read the story of the woman at the well and we all acknowledged that we are broken in some way and need living water, while being called at the same time to offer it to others. We prayed together and the pastor and Emily offered us living water as we came and washed our hands in a bowl of living water.

During our worship experience with the community after lunch, we cried with a young man who is transitioning into a woman—a woman who had just spent the previous weekend with her family, listening to them say that she wasn’t a child of God, that she was sinful, that she was no longer welcome in their family. And then we listened to her sing praise to Jesus through a church that accepted and loved her and called her to sing. We, along with everyone else gathered in worship, laid hands on her and prayed for her along her journey to find living water. In many ways, we were the ones who gave living water to those who were broken, damaged, and thirsty. We were the ones who went and drew the water for others as we played and sang and sorted and welcomed guests to the table. And in so many other ways, we were the ones who were coming to the well thirsty and in need, coming to the well looking for relief from the ways we have been damaged, and from the ways we have broken the world and ourselves. We needed someone to draw the water for us.

I will let the rest of our group share their own stories because the stories are theirs to tell, but I want to end by sharing my own living water experience from our trip. As we were each serving at different tables to get food and drinks and seconds for the guests who had been welcomed to the table that day, Steve Hickok asked one of our students to come get me so I could talk to a woman he had met. Steve had gently listened to her story, and he knew she needed to hear my story and I needed to hear hers. She was a beautiful woman with gorgeous dark skin and long braids, a little too skinny, very weary looking. We asked each other’s names: “I’m Kim, she said.” “I’m Rachel, I replied.”

I told her that she was beautiful, but that also looked sad and tired. I asked her what was happening. As tears started to stream down her cheeks, she said, “I’m married, but my husband is not kind, so I’m living off and on with my daughters and other friends. In the last few months, I’ve had several seizures and have been in the hospital several times. I’m 41 and have never had seizures. Since I’m close to being homeless, people don’t believe that I’m having seizures. They think it’s because I’m on drugs and I’m not. I’ve woken up not knowing what has happened to me. I’ve woken up in the hospital not knowing how I got there. I have a black eye since I fell when I had one last week. I’m scared about what’s going to happen every day, and I’m scared about how my medicine makes me feel. I’m scared to keep my grandchildren alone because I don’t want to hurt one of them if I’m holding them and they fall. My brain doesn’t work well and I don’t know why and it scares me.” And then she said, “No one understands what I’m going through.”

I put my hand on her knee and said, “Oh, Kim, I actually do understand, at least most of what’s happening, anyway. I had my first seizure at 40 and have had 5 more since. I have woken up with paramedics standing above me, and woken up in an ambulance.” I showed her the scar on my forehead and the ones on my hands from falling and hurting myself. Even though I cannot imagine being close to homeless as I’ve experienced this and acknowledged that to her, I said to her, “I know what it’s like to be scared every day. To not know if your brain is going to go insane. I’m scared that something is going to happen while I’m alone with my niece and nephew. I know what it’s like to feel alone when you are scared, to not know what will happen the next minute.”

We both knew that I had more advantages than she did because of a steady job, good health insurance, and a home to live in, but those things didn’t matter then. What mattered is that we both understood each other, understood what not many others could. In that moment, Kim and I became living water for each other. We held hands and hugged each other. We both said to each other that is was so life-giving to hear from someone who understood what it was like to be scared each day, what it was like to wonder where God was in the midst of this. As she left to go home, we hugged each other. I said, “Kim, I say a little prayer every morning and I will include you in it from here on out.” We hugged and I told her I loved her. She kissed me on the cheek and gently said to me, “I love you more.”

Friends, Jesus Christ meets us at the well in the face of strangers, meets us in our brokenness, and gives us the living water that will last. But in asking for it himself, he reminds us that all of us—even he, himself, needs living water, too. Christ reminds us that we all have living water to give, living water with which to forgive, no matter if we know it or not. Thanks be to God.