The well of vibrant life

a Sermon for Lent 3A
Text: John 4:5-42

 
Jesus walks
Through the eyes of others, we see our Lord walking
on water, through deserts, in our minds.
We focus on photographs left to time
by those that saw something in Him, something different,
maybe even dangerous. But compelling.
In this picture, a woman stands before Him,
and he sits, relaxed and confident and
when they speak, you can see the magic flowing
between their lips, more intimate than a kiss,
more close than their bodies clutched together.
What we see is love. A dangerous love.

This talk is different. It is a linguistic dance between Jesus and this Samaritan woman. It begins with her self-consciousness; she knows that her people are outcasts and aren’t the right kind of Jews. That they are lesser. But Jesus doesn’t treat her that way. He treats her differently: not like a princess: elevated: but as an equal and participant. That they are the same. And in the end, she is changed. Remember last week’s reading about Nicodemus? Jesus asks if he is willing to undergo a life-long transformation: of being re-created. No. This woman gets the same question and she says yes.

Living Waters
When Jesus says that this living water
gushes up to eternal life, we scratch our heads,
confused: is He talking about heaven?
We focus on the physicality of the water
and permanence of time; but just as John invites us
to see Jesus as offering constant transformation
he offers this woman eternal life—a life

a now
a being
a way

a vibrant life that radiates love
that exemplifies Jesus like a mirror
reflecting life and love onto everything.

The conversation that Jesus and the woman have starts out talking about water, H2O and turns metaphorical, poetic. We often forget that John isn’t writing a biography, but a poetic form that we might today call creative nonfiction. Jesus sees in this well the opportunity to reveal a message about love and about being re-created.

Jacob’s Well
Jacob came across a well with sheep around it.
And a man was there, waiting for more to arrive,
when Rachel comes with her sheep. He refuses
to move the stone from the well, for not all
of the sheep have come. Jacob shoves the rock
so that these sheep may drink now.
This well becomes the people’s well.

Jesus uses Jacob’s well to speak about the power of the Living Water and Eternal Life—this vibrant life of being re-created. That Jesus, like Jacob shoves the rock away. Jesus brings that vibrant spirit to us immediately—we don’t have to wait for everybody to get there. And when this woman hears this, she runs into town to tell everybody.

The Disciples
They don’t get it.
They never do.
Following their master
like puppies, devoted,
always hungry, and
marking their territory.

Jesus gives them this living picture,
our photograph of a woman
transformed into vibrant life
and he tells them
`One sows and another reaps.'
Because she is off to sow and
the bountiful harvest will need reapers.

The woman is filled with the Spirit, and yet the disciples still aren’t sure of their jobs—their place in the story. Jesus has to put the tools in their hands and say “Look! The people will be here soon! Get ready to help them find the vibrant life of being re-created.”

Being Re-Created
I know I’m wrong from time to time.
I know I don’t live the life I should
or follow Jesus’s teachings closely enough
and I certainly don’t pray enough,
so why am I afraid of being re-created?
Why do I fear the vibrant life Jesus promises all of us?
Is it because he promises it to us all?
It certainly isn’t because I think that highly of myself
and this life. But I am. Being re-created means
things have to change and I have to change.
The Pious Young Man was asked to change
and he ran away. Is that what I’m doing?

This is a gospel of transformation. The woman goes from being a nobody and becomes a catalyst for the Kingdom. She isn’t convinced by Jesus’s arguments, nor is she magically given confidence because Jesus is a wizard or a shaman. She is filled with the Spirit because she realizes that she needs it. She realizes that her previous life was not a vibrant life and she was transformed. And was moved to bring others to the well to drink the Living Water offered not just by Jesus, but by his disciples. As Jesus says, we don’t have to drink from His well again—but we must be ready to act, to reap what others sow. May we be so ready and so moved.

Standing up to the wind

Text: Matthew 14:22-33

Our story today picks up from last week with cinematic detail. Jesus disperses the crowds that have just been fed (the Five Thousand + women and children), sends the disciples out in a boat, and walks up a mountain to pray. Suddenly, a storm gathers, Jesus walks on water, is mistaken for a ghost, and the terrified disciples cry out.

A few of us will remember this passage from Vacation Bible School in June in which we learned that Jesus gives us the power to be brave (“Aha!”). The participants had the chance to “walk on water” like Peter did. Bravery is one element in this gospel.

But think about where this takes place: it is immediately following the feeding of the Five Thousand. We know from that gospel from last week that Jesus asked four things of the disciples: collect the food, offer it up to God, distribute the food, and collect the remainder. Jesus’s miraculous act was an expression of God’s relationship to humanity, more than it was a showy display or a requirement of belief. Those two fish and five loaves feed thousands of people with twelve full baskets remaining, one for each disciple to take out into the community.

Think about how that story informs this immediately succeeding gospel. The disciples are sent out into a boat, into the middle of the water. They are separated from both Jesus and their ministry to the people. If they were on an island, that would at least imply stability—they’re in a boat, made vulnerable to the waves, the rain, and the wind. “The wind was against them” it says.

Like the disciples, we often feel like we are out in a boat in the middle of a storm. The very elements seem to be working against us.

Our Western model for dealing with adversity seems to be about overpowering it. Standing firm against it. Daring it to topple us. Standing in the middle of the storm ignoring conditions, yelling at the clouds, daring lightening to strike.

Those elements that make us afraid are everywhere. Many worry about crime, cultural change, numbers, rising costs of upkeep. Many worry about the direction of our local church, diocese, national church, or fear those that sow the seeds of separation. Many worry about budgets, youth, worship style, and music. Many worry about what Mt. Hope or St. Paul’s are doing. Many fear the government, the police, and intelligence agencies. Our environment so readily isolates us, pushing us out to sea—we drift further and further from our ministry partners and God.

Heading into Lambeth this summer, that every-10-years conference in England, attended by all of the bishops of the Anglican Communion, it was expected that this conference would be more wind, more storm. Just as every major meeting was supposed to settle our disagreements for ever, and then failed to do so. And there we were, with the world watching us—all eyes on Canterbury to see how things would fall, cameras poised, mics extended and… we talked. Bishops from all over the communion got together and talked. Even bishops from boycotting provinces were in attendance. Nearly every bishop that was there was giving the conference a shot.

But the issue isn’t really about a conference, communication, or collaboration. It’s about that bravery, isn’t it? Some think that they’re being like Peter when they jump out of the boat. Some think they’re going to walk on water. Or worse, some think the boat’s going in the wrong direction and choose to walk toward Jesus on their own—maybe they join another boat. They believe that they are following the will of God.

It is never that simple.

Jesus appears to the disciples, walking on the water. The very nature of this act is fantastic—but it is God that created the Earth. It is God that formed the rules—gravity, molecular shape, and form—and only God that is beyond those rules. Jesus’s appearance to the disciples is an expression of God. It is an expression of God’s command.

And as he approaches the disciples, Jesus says to them "Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid." That middle phrase, “it is I” is actually two words: I and AM. This, of course, is the divine revelation, the way God, the Great Mystery, was revealed to Moses in the burning bush: I AM. Jesus reveals to the disciples in visual sign (walking on water) and linguistic cue (I AM) that this moment is divine. It reveals Jesus’s relationship to the Great Mystery.

We may be tempted to push Jesus into that great theological shoebox in which most of us keep him most of the time. We might suggest that he is revealing himself as God, as divine. But that’s an argument for another time. Instead, we see that Jesus is revealing God’s work in the world. Like the Feast of the Transfiguration on Wednesday and last week’s gospel, God’s work is revealed to us by Jesus.

But Peter flips the script: he takes initiative. His love for Jesus and his desire to serve God causes him to try this audacious act. To actually walk on water.

He wants to do it, but he knows that he can’t do it on his own. He’s smart enough to know that. So he makes the audacious request: "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." He knows he can’t do it alone—he needs God to do it and Jesus has to command him to do it. So Jesus simply says “Come.”

We love courage and audacity and bravery. In Harry Potter, it is the preferred attribute to skill, compassion, and cunning. We expect our leaders to do things we ourselves are reluctant to do. We want other churches to try something out before we invest in it. Bravery is an attribute we seem to reserve for others or for the things we are sure about. The things we are certain about. Maybe that’s why we are so attached to tradition—it was someone else’s bravery.

For the disciples, bravery and faith are the same. To follow Jesus was an expression of valor and courage. For Peter to walk on water, spoke to the way faith in God is formed. So think about what this gospel tells us today about our bravery in faith: Peter’s “little faith” was the most mature of the disciples! Peter got it, but he just got distracted by the wind—the world around him kept his faith in check.

How easy it is for all of us, in our community of little faith, living out our lives of little faith to act like Peter. We’re here aren’t we? We each got up this morning, got ready, and came to church. Like Peter, we are making that request: “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” We are taking that audacious step today.

We are making that first move to be in relationship with the Great Mystery. But we don’t always listen for the response, do we? We don’t always listen for that simple command of “come”. We rather think about bills and count the people around us and dream of big churches filled with perfect people.

But the gospel reveals to us that the Great Mystery doesn’t want that kind of faith—it is security in bravery that God cares about. We can easily see the church in that boat, and like the disciples, we can cry and fret and make a stink. But Jesus shows a different way. A way of patience and love. He tells us to not be afraid because God is with us. Be brave because I AM here. Don’t be afraid.

So what do we do? We listen for God’s call to us and then we stand up and…