Give Me a Drink—A Sermon on World Water Day

Grace and Peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

Sometimes, I start sermons by asking everyone to take a deep breath together. Because it’s finals, I’m going to do that. Ready? Inhale, exhale. Good. Again? Inhale, exhale. Good. But because I’ve just read you the approximately 4,000 verses of tonight’s Gospel, within which Jesus had a convoluted conversation about water, I’m also going to ask everyone to take a drink of water. (Note to my dear readers at home: at this point, I literally poured glasses of water for my students. You should get up and get a glass of water, if you can. Stay hydrated!)

As your pastor, attending to a holistic view of your needs--spiritual, mental, emotional, physical--is my job. That’s why we feed you dinner every Wednesday, and keep a bowl full of snacks on the coffee table. It’s why I pray for you, especially during finals week, or when you’ve let me know there’s something going on in your universe. And it’s why I’ve asked you to drink some water. Your hydration is important to me!

In this week’s Gospel, Jesus goes to a well. We don’t do that anymore, we get water from faucets or bottles or pitchers in the chapel. Living in California, we know a thing or two about drought, and recently we have learned a thing or two about rainfall. In the last several months, we have become more familiar with the idea that #WaterIsLife, as we’ve followed the Dakota Access Pipeline and the Water Protectors. This week, the EPA disbursed $100 million dollars that Congress approved in December to be sent to Flint, Michigan, to repair its now infamous lead-damaged plumbing. [1] And, wouldn’t you know, today, March 22, is World Water Day!

This year’s theme for World Water Day, from the United Nations, is wastewater. What we do with our non-drinking water could use an overhaul. “1.8 billion people use a source of drinking water” that’s contaminated with human waste, “putting them at risk of contracting cholera, dysentery, typhoid and polio. Unsafe water, poor sanitation and hygiene cause around 842,000 deaths each year.” On its face, turning wastewater into drinking water may not sound very delicious to you, but “safely managed wastewater is an affordable and sustainable source of water, energy, nutrients and other recoverable materials.” [2] We have the capacity and technology to turn wastewater into life-sustaining clean water.

Since it’s World Water Day, your facebook feed, like mine, may have had a smattering of posts with links to organizations like charity:water, water.org, or religious organizations that focus on improving access to water. In any case, you’ve probably seen photos or videos of people in water-insecure communities around the globe trekking serious distances to retrieve water. These images are usually of women, usually in the Middle East or Africa, with various buckets, baskets, jugs, or other water-holding contraptions. They look a lot like what the Samaritan woman at the well might have looked like—thirsty, tired, and poor.

In verse 7 of the gospel reading, “a Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her ‘give me a drink.’”

Then she asked, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” to which Jesus replied that she ought to have asked him for “living water” for he would have given some to her, had she asked. Reasonably, she is perplexed by the idea of living water, and that Jesus doesn’t even have a bucket. And then verse 13 is where we—and the woman—come to understand that Jesus isn’t talking about water from this well, because he says, “Everyone who drinks of this water 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.”

This living water is the water of our baptism, and the coming of Jesus the Christ quenches our thirst for God. And to speak in poetry and metaphor like that is beautiful and comforting and true, but it is not all that this story offers us. It may seem odd and vague to you, or weirdly specific in its details and numbers and circling back to this whole ‘living water’ thing. In his exchange with the unnamed Samaritan woman, “Jesus does what he often does: Jesus crosses every conceivable boundary, Jesus sees the lines that are drawn in the sand and specifically walks right over them. The specifics are everything in this story.” [3]

It matters that the person Jesus meets at the well is a woman. It matters that she’s from Samaria, and that Jesus isn’t. If that wasn’t part of the point, the story would just say “a person.” And this would still be a good story but it wouldn’t be the same story. If we didn’t already know why these specifics mattered, the Gospel author reminds us, by saying that “Jews did not share things in common with Samaritans”. This stems from an old disagreement about which mountain—Zion or Gerizim—was the right place to meet God. Speaking with her is a pretty serious break from his previous conversation partners—usually men, usually Jewish religious leaders; not usually women, not usually non-Jews, especially not usually “enemy” Samaritans.

Jesus knows it, and she knows it. “Jesus’ journey to Samaria and his conversation with the woman demonstrate that the grace of God he offers is available to all. Jesus and his ministry will not be bound by social conventions.” [4] Jesus offers this living water to you, and to me, and to all of us. In this story, he illustrates the universality of the gift by giving it to someone who nobody else considered worthy.

On our earth, water is a precious resource. Each and every living thing—including each of us in this room—needs it, and a lot of it, to survive. But hoarding water is not the way to live. We know that it is possible to provide plenty of clean water to everyone we share this planet with. We know that plenty of water is wasted every day, instead.

The same is true for the grace of God. Keeping silent about what God has done for us, what the living water provides, is not the way to live. Sharing the good news of Jesus the Christ opens the floodgates for all to share in the beloved community. We know that plenty of people are shut out from the church every day, instead. All who are thirsty are welcome, here. All who are hungry are welcome, here. All are welcome, for it is Christ who does the inviting.

Thanks be to God!

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[3] The Rev. Jason Chesnut, sermon “Specifics Matter” soundcloud.com/jason-chesnut
[4] Gail R. O’Day, “John” in Women’s Bible Commentary, 384.

New Year, New You — A Sermon on the Baptism of Our Lord

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

Sometimes I get stuck while writing a sermon. It’s been almost two months since I have preached, since we had that long break and the few weeks before I was away in Colorado and we had the Moveable Feast and then Advent Lessons and Carols. A lot has happened in our nation and world since I last stood here and proclaimed the good news to you, and so maybe that’s why it felt so hard.

It’s January 11, 2017. We finally got out of 2016, a year full of wild rides. It’s the first week of the new quarter! Did you set a new year resolution to start studying for finals earlier? I have set resolutions often in my life, and have never really stuck with them. Setting big goals is important, but setting attainable goals is much more likely to be successful. This year, I decided to do things a little differently. I’m resolving not to reach for far-off achievements, but heading back to basics.

I’m going to be my best self, as I am. I’m going to practice gratitude for what I have. I’m going to remember that greatest commandment, to love my God and love my neighbor as I love myself. I’m going to gather with you all to read scripture and receive communion and pray and eat dinner. 2017 will, in that way, be simultaneously just like and not like every other year.

I think we’re going to talk a lot about how to be Christians in 2017. It’s the 500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation, when Martin Luther set out to resist an empire that most people thought was untouchable. Jesus, throughout his ministry, turned over the tables and forced his society to take stock of their allegiances and values.

And we’ll talk about that. I'll talk to you about it from here, and it'll probably come up over dinner, and you'll probably run into questions around campus, and on Facebook, and at Tapping Into Theology, and with the Interfaith Campus Council.

So tonight, we’re going to head back to basics. We can't go out and do things in the name of Christ without a firm foundation. We can't face big challenges without preparation.

Jesus knows this, and so before he begins his public ministry, he visits John the Baptizer. John, who knew about Jesus and spent much of his life pointing to Jesus as the coming Messiah, is, understandably, surprised by this. He thinks it makes more sense for Jesus to do the baptizing.

We may have varying understandings of the purpose or effect of baptism, and may wonder why Jesus needed to be baptized. If baptism is simply a cleansing of sin, why would the Son of God need that? If it’s an “initiation rite” into the family of God, why would the Son of God need that? If we see baptism as an outward sign of the grace of God—as a fresh start, a new beginning, a clean slate, a change of perspective, a starting place—Jesus’s baptism sets the stage for our own.  As we’ll sing, later, Jesus’ baptism “opens the door” to “healing, wholeness, and more.”

This time of year, you often hear people say “New Year, New Me,” right? Well, in our baptism, there’s a new us, too. Sure, we’re only baptized one time. But it didn’t only make us new that one time. In Christ, we are a new creation, and that’s not a one-and-done process. We grow and we change every minute of every day—the scientists among us would be the first to tell us that, on the molecular level, we are constantly being made new.

We have so many opportunities to remember our baptism. When I was a kid, and we’d go to confirmation camp, my pastor would wake us up in the morning by splashing water on us and yelling REMEMBER YOUR BAPTISM!

You’re welcome for not doing that to you tonight. What he was trying to get us to understand—other than that it was literally time to wake up—was to wake up each morning with the knowledge that we live and breathe the love of God. Our baptismal event—that other time he splashed us with water—was awhile ago, but its effects are new each morning.

The meaning of our baptism is constant, and it is always new. Paradoxes like that are some of the great joys of our faith, right? Baptism makes us new again and again and again.

I don’t think 2017 is any more or any less of a “new year, new you” than any other year. But I think we are going to spend a lot of our time this year taking stock of what we mean when we say that we are Christians. In the baptismal covenant that we have made—and continue to make—with God and with one another, to what have we committed ourselves?

Don’t worry, not a rhetorical question: we have promised and will again promise “To live among God’s faithful people; to hear the word of God and share in the Lord’s supper; to proclaim the good news of God in Christ through word and deed; to serve all people, following the example of Jesus; to strive for justice and peace in all the earth.”

In our baptism, we are connected to all those who have been baptized, even those first few with John in the Jordan River. The Holy Spirit has been moving and is still moving. She, too, is always being made new.

In the reading from the Acts of the Apostles tonight, Peter is talking about how he and the other apostles were “witnesses to all that [Jesus] did.” All the preaching, healing, teaching, and learning that the disciples participated in is over, and they’re telling the stories to the people who weren’t witnesses. What stories are we hearing and telling about what God has done through Jesus? Through us? What have we witnessed?

When we look out at the local, national, and global landscape, what do we see that is in line with the promises of our baptism? What do we see that is in violation?

What are we doing to do about it?

Listen — A Sermon on Water and Trees

[I preached this sermon for the good people of Calvary Lutheran Church in Rio Linda, filling in for my seminary classmate Kirsten Moore.]

Isaiah 55:1-9

Psalm 63:1-8

1 Corinthians 10:1-13

Luke 13:1-9

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

I spent Monday through Thursday of this week on retreat with the Lutheran Campus Ministers from Regions 1 and 2—everybody West of Colorado. We were at a lovely Jesuit retreat center in Los Altos, high in the hills over the San Francisco Bay.

The retreat leader was Lisa Dahill, an environmental ethics professor at California Lutheran University. She invited us to consider our place in the whole of creation, not just the human community.

Have you you heard of or engaged in the Bible study process of lectio divina? It means “divine reading.” You read a passage several times, noting words and phrases that stand out, praying and contemplating what meaning it might bring. It is often a communal process, and those participating can share their insights with one another.

Professor Dahill suggested we try out a variation on this theme, lectio creatura, “creation reading,” one might call it. You may have guessed that she wanted us to listen not to the word but to the world. She asked us to listen, pray, and contemplate. We listened to the natural world around us--birds, bugs, the creek, the wind...traffic on the 101.

One morning of our retreat, I sat on a bench in a little grove of trees, listening to the world, reading the scripture for this week in the crisp sunshine. I noticed how full of our theme the sentences managed to be. Funny how the Spirit moves, sometimes.

The Isaiah text jumped right off the page into those birdsongs: 

“Incline your ear and come to me; listen so that you may live.”

All right, apparently today is going to be about listening.

In this passage from the prophet we are reminded that being people of the covenant is not a one-and-done thing. The covenant is everlasting, yes, but that’s because God is everlasting. Not because our commitments are. It is so easy to “forsake our way.” It is so easy for us to walk away from God, from the living water, deciding that some other source will quench our thirst. We know, though, that our community of the baptized is not just for show. We are united with Christ and with one another in this ritual of death and life.

At the end of her time with us on our retreat, Professor Dahill gathered us around in the creek—sandal-wearers ankle deep in the cool current—to affirm our baptism. We talked about being washed in local waters—like when Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River—instead of indoors in bowls. Admittedly, I was baptized indoors with a bowl. But she invited us to consider how we might identify with the whole of our community—people, animals, land, plants, water, all ecologically bound—if we were baptized, instead, in the creek nearest our house. Or in the ocean. The Sacramento River, perhaps.

This strikes me. There’s a story in the Acts of the Apostles about an Ethiopian eunuch, who, after having the gospel explained to him in a carriage by the apostle Philip, gestures wildly toward the nearest body of water and exclaims, “Look! Here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized!?” It’s that simple. The elements are all here. All around us.

Except when they aren’t.

What happens when we are in a decades-long drought? What happens when there is no water to point to? No water to drink? No water to sustain crops? As Californians, we are intimately acquainted with the human/water relationship. This morning, we likely showered, made coffee, washed our breakfast dishes, all at the simple turn of a faucet. But our dear neighbors in the Central Valley are not so fortunate. Their farms are parched. They are thirsty.

And what happens when the nearest water to us is polluted? What happens, when the water that comes out of our faucets is poisoned with lead? The people of Flint, MI and other communities around this country have been preyed upon by the environmental racism and neglect of their political leaders. How can the clergy in Flint bless vessels of water for baptisms when it burns the skin of their children?

“Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters,” the prophet Isaiah says. “O God, you are my God, I seek you, my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water,” the psalmist cries. Where is this water?

How can we ensure that our thirsty neighbors have enough to drink, while also worrying about our own faucets? We can do nothing.

How easily we decide that the comfort, security, power, and wealth offered to us by the world is much better than the work for justice and freedom we are called to by the gospel. It’s work, for sure. Just look at the parable Jesus tells us in Luke’s Gospel this morning. I saw this parable, about the fig tree, and thought, “gosh, this is not the ‘harmony with nature’ storyline I was running with, before.” Jesus can be surprising like that. He uses stories about simple, familiar things—plants, farms, neighbors, etc.—to tell hard truths.

In this kind of confusing story, the people are clamoring for Jesus’ comment about an incident involving violent death at the hands of Pontius Pilate and other government officials. They want to hear, once and for all, that all of those folks are bad, and that they are good. Victory!

Alas. Jesus takes this opportunity not to come out and denounce those powerful people once and for all, but rather to remind his listeners that they, too, are sinners. They, too, have been swept away. They, too, must repent. Fortunately for them and for us, this is the season of Lent. As Sojourners contributor Michaela Bruzzese reminds us, “Lent offers us a unique opportunity to discard these false idols….we are free to cling to our idols, of course, but Jesus is quick to warn us that such a choice will surely lead to death.” [1]

As we sit here in this third week of Lent—halfway between Ash Wednesday and Easter—what are we hearing? What are we learning? How are we growing?

The fig tree is, at the moment, not showing great signs of life. Not blooming. Not bearing fruit. Not looking good. But the gardener promises to take better care of it. To provide it the optimal conditions for growth and for beauty and for productivity.

If, today, you resonate with that barren tree—I have good news for you! What you perceive as fruitlessness is not a permanent state. You get another “chance from God, another year of fertilization and care in the joyful hope that next year, perhaps, [you] may gift the world with real fruit.” [2] Imagine, if you took advantage of this opportunity to love yourself and your neighbor. Imagine the fruits we could share. Imagine the community we could cultivate.

And don’t worry. No matter how fruity you may or may not be today, you’re always part of God’s garden. And to just mix our metaphors a little further, we can hearken back to the Isaiah passage, in which, as Nyasha Junior has written, “God offers an open invitation to return. Isaiah describes this invitation as a free feast that is open to everyone….God welcomes all to the banquet table!” [3]

And for that, thanks be to God.

_

[3] Nyasha Junior, "Third Sunday in Lent" in Preaching God's Transformative Justice, Year C, (2012).