Selling Water by the River

One of the nice things that churches do is give away bottled water during hot summer months. Some congregations put labels that invite people to share in their congregation's ministry.

One of the stranger things that Christians do is try to bottle the water of life with denominational labels. In my library is a book left over from my Zen period. It is a training manual from a Zen monastery titled Selling Water by the River. Sometimes I reflect on rows of churches [like those along 39th St in Independence or thousands of other streets across America] as little kiosks set up along the river of the water of life ... trying to label and sell what is obviously available for free! I guess we each believe that we have a flavor or additive that somehow improves the grace of God! [I've thought of some fun labels: Robert Schuler's Orange County Soda; Jimmy Swaggert's Lake of Fire; an emergent always fresh/never recycled; Saddleback's Useful; Willow Creek's Each Time Like the First Time; of course my own Methodist/Always Lukewarm.]

I understand the need and desire to hold, contain, or understand something. Years ago in Israel I bought several little ceramic bottles of water from Jacob's Well. For $2 it seemed a nice sacramental reminder of ancient history along with my visit. You could hear the water swishing in the little clay pot. The cork was sealed with wax.  Oddly enough ... even though the bottle was sealed ... the water evaporated before I returned to America. The bottle (wax seal intact) sits in my office as a gentle echo of Jesus encounter with the Samaritan woman at Jacob's well ... and his encouragement to drink from well-springs that will truly quench our thirst.

psalm 42

In June, 1974, I skipped lunch and found my way to the garden next to the seminary chapel. While our class on death and dying had listened the the powerful music of Leonard Bernstein's "Kaddish" (in memory of John F. Kennedy), I found myself sinking into a spiritual abyss ... with an awful sense of being alone, abandoned and submerged into darkness.  In the garden, I read Psalm 42: As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you O God ... The prayer poem expressed the deepest yearnings of my life. Then I began reading Mark's account of Jesus' crucifixion. Gently, quietly a sense of awareness and assurance emerged that what happened on the cross was intimately connected to my life and that Jesus Christ is risen!

I wish I could say that sense of assurance completely quenched the thirsting of my soul. It has taken over 30 years to realize that the promise of streams of living water are not symbolic promises but rather the clearest truth of Creation. Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. ... And he said to me, "These words are trustworthy and true ..." Rev. 22: 1, 6

Boyhood visits to my grandparent's farm featured drinks of cool, fresh water drawn from a well and dipped out of a galvanized bucket on the back porch. The water was clear, cold and delicious on hot summer afternoons. Once my grandfather invited us to point a small tree branch toward the ground to search for the stream of water that fed the well and emerged near the creek that ran through the farm. With amazing, mysterious power I felt the branch pull my hands toward the earth! A small four inch wide channel was tracked by the tugging of the branch.
Little did I know my life would become a search for streams of living water flowing deep within me and through my life. Years would pass before I understood the truth of Jesus promise: The water I give will be an artesian spring within, gushing fountains of endless life. John 4: 14 MSG