Rest for a Thirsty Soul - Rev Michelle Tofts
This week’s Lenten sermon comes from Rev Michelle Tofts of St Luke’s Greytown, who explores the encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well — a moment of radical welcome, revelation, and transformation.
Hi, kia ora whānau.
I'm Rev Michelle Tofts from St Luke's in Greytown, and it's so wonderful to be able to share this third Lenten sermon with you today.
I have a little one-year-old called Hannah, and she absolutely loves water. She loves being outside at daycare doing all their water play and things, so much so that when I went to pick her up a couple of weeks ago, her kaiako—her teachers—told me that they'd all come inside for morning tea, and Hannah was standing at the door, banging, wanting to go back out and play again. And that really says something, because food is one of her absolute great joys in life.
We got Hannah a little paddling pool for Christmas, and she loves going in it on those few and far-between hot, sunny Wairarapa stunning afternoons that we've had, and her nightly bath is a highlight of her day. She loves to splash about in the bath, in the pool—and not just little, gentle splashes, but full-body splashes that propel her backwards and drench the walls and the floor and her daddy—and she loves it.
She also loves drinking the water. She's got various different toy cups with holes in the bottom, which she fills and drinks from, not that she realises that there's water leaking out the bottom as she drinks. And if the cup's not working for her on that particular day, no sweat—she chucks it away and drinks directly from the bath with a cheeky little grin.
And when we go out to the café, her treat is to be able to drink water from a big girl's glass. Her arms start waving and flapping in excitement as the cup draws near; her mouth opens so wide you can't believe it could open any wider, and she takes big gulps, almost drowning herself some days, it seems. But she doesn't mind at all. Nor does she mind that the water is spilling down her front and making her T‑shirt all wet.
And anything that she plays with that is even remotely cup‑like gets drunk from. Yesterday it was the bucket we keep our clothes pegs in—tipping it back again and again, pegs falling over her face. She didn't mind.
Hannah loves to drink water and to pretend to drink it. And this is the desire that Jesus says we should have for His living water—that if we really realised what it is and how good it is, we'd be doing all that we can to drink from it.
This Lent, we're following through four stories from John's Gospel of Jesus’ interactions with various people. Last week, Rev Guy Benton shared with us about Jesus’ meeting with Nicodemus. In today's Gospel reading, the story of the Samaritan woman at the well immediately follows on after this story, and Jesus’ conversation with the woman stands in direct contrast with Nicodemus’ conversations and responses.
And so, we remember Nicodemus, who was a Pharisee, a Jewish leader, and he met with Jesus in the depths of darkness in Jerusalem. It was he who sought out Jesus for a conversation, but he didn't understand what Jesus was saying, and he went away without recognising who Jesus truly was.
The Samaritan woman is opposite in almost every way. She's a woman, and she's not highly regarded, and even more, she's from Samaria. It's Jesus who initiates the conversation. And through the discussion, the woman begins to see who Jesus truly is—the Messiah—and she believes, and then shares with her whole village, who also see who Jesus truly is: the Saviour of the world.
Now, in the verses immediately before today's passage, we're told that Jesus knew that the Pharisees were starting to get upset with him, so he left Judea and went to Galilee. Now, Judea and Galilee are about 200 kilometres away from each other, or about three days’ walking if you were to take the direct route. This is the same distance as if we were going from Wellington up to Whanganui.
However, between these two places—perhaps around about Levin—was a place called Samaria, and Samaria was a place that the Jews avoided, for they did not get along with the Samaritans and would sometimes be attacked by them when passing through their land.
As the Samaritans also believed in the Pentateuch, those first five books of the Bible, and had Jewish origins—through their actions of marrying those in their land of exile and those who invaded their land back home—Samaritans lost their right to be considered truly Jewish. These Samaritans offered to help rebuild the temple in Jerusalem in the fifth century BC, but the Israelites refused their help, so the Samaritans then went to build their own temple to be able to worship God on Mount Gerizim, and this is what the Samaritan woman referred to in this story.
So that's a really brief overview of why the Samaritans and the Jews didn't get along. And it was so much so that they didn't get along that many Jews who travelled from Judea up to Galilee, or the reverse, would instead head east and cross the Jordan River to avoid Samaria altogether. It’d be like someone in our diocese travelling from Wellington to Whanganui through the mighty Wairarapa just to avoid that terrible place called Levin. And whilst it almost doubled the length of the trip, many found it to be a safer route.
Now, Jesus and his disciples didn't take the safer route, which already shows us something about Jesus—the fact that he is going to all, and that his ministry is for everyone, even beyond the Israelites. And so Jesus and his disciples went via the direct route. And it's on this trip that we're confronted by the humanity of Jesus. He's tired and he's thirsty; it's the blistering heat of the noonday sun, and so he sits down and waits while his disciples go off and find food. And here enters the Samaritan woman.
Now, many people have differing thoughts as to why it is that she's drawing water in the middle of the day, that very hottest part of the day. We're not going to explore them. We're just going to accept the fact that she's here having a conversation with Jesus, and she's shocked that Jesus, who's not just a man but a Jew and also a teacher and a rabbi, is speaking with her. This is something that just isn't done. Back in those days, many rabbis wouldn't even stop to talk to their daughters or their wives on the street. Yet Jesus not only talks with her, but he asks for a drink. He has nothing to drink with or draw water with, so he's asking, in fact, to share her bucket, which is an even bigger no‑no. And the Samaritan woman says that to him.
And Jesus replies: “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”
Now, just like last week, how Jesus’ phrase “born again” had a double meaning—it was a double entendre—so too does the phrase “living water”. The original Greek hearers of John's Gospel would have automatically understood Jesus’ play on words, but we miss this in our English translation. “Living water” in their day was used to describe running water like that of a stream or a river or a spring—running water versus the stagnant water of a well or a pond. Running water: water that is likely to be more fresh than the stagnant water of a pool.
We have much imagery throughout the Old Testament of living water being a source of life. I'm sure many different passages come to your mind. The first one that comes to my mind is Psalm 1, which speaks of being trees planted beside streams of living water—being planted beside a constant, refreshing life source, rooted next to something that sustains us. This is the living water that Jesus refers to, and one of many images that likely comes to mind for John's original audience.
And later in John's Gospel, in chapter seven, Jesus again refers to giving living water, sending out the living water. And here we're told that he's speaking of the Holy Spirit, which will be given to all those who believe.
I've been to Ngatiawa River Monastery for a retreat a number of times, and one of my favourite places to go while I'm there is to sit beside the river—the Ōtaki River—watching the water bubble and flow over the rocks, the little white rapids that are formed as the water gushes over the stones, gaining air. And more so, I like to go elsewhere watching water crash over the giant waterfalls, becoming white as more and more air is added to it. As the water takes on a new form—new life—the running water becomes more alive and more filled with life as it gushes over those stones.
And that's what Jesus says is offered to us. As we drink from his running water, we won't be thirsty, and we won't be looking to others to satisfy us. And as we drink this water, we'll be transformed, filled with the Spirit, and given eternal life.
But too often, we get distracted by other things—things that leave us thirsty again; things that satisfy us for a little but don't fully quench our thirst. Perhaps it's that never‑ending doom‑scroll of social media, or the praise and recognition from others; the latest and greatest this or that; or those things that the world deems important. Perhaps it's what used to only be one chocolate from the box that we enjoyed that's now become half a box—until we're satisfied. And then that satisfaction only lasts for ten minutes before we need another.
These are the things that we chase after, but quickly desire again—quickly get thirsty for again.
Jesus invites us to spend time with him so that we may no longer feel parched, no longer feel the dryness of our souls, but instead be filled and restored. As St Augustine says: “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” We may search the world; we may look and seek for rest; but it is only in God that we will be fully at rest. When we hunger and seek after God, our longings will be fulfilled. We will want no more.
And so, how do we do that? Well, it's as simple and as difficult as simply spending time with God. What seems so simple—spending time with God—is also so difficult for many of us. How many of us say each week that we want to spend more time in prayer, and then we get to the end of the week and realise we haven't managed any? We've allowed what is happening in our lives to crowd out our time that we want to spend with God. In our busyness, we prioritise the immediate and what we deem to be urgent over that which is eternal.
We—or at least I—often get caught up in thinking that because we can't see the outcome of missed prayer in the same way that we can see incomplete work or a task not done, or uncooked dinner, or the messy house, or whatever it is that is claiming our time, it is less important. But that's not true. Dwelling with God, whilst it might not seem to be seen by others, does transform us, and it does have a lasting impact on us.
So how do we continue to quench our thirst? How do we drink of the living water? We come back yet again to spiritual practices—tools to help us set our sights on God. And we don't do them just for the sake of achieving them or to show off to others, but they're tools helpful to guide us into God's presence. We're not going to be perfect at them, but we try. Some days will be easier than others, and some practices will be easier for us than others, but we show up and we give them a go so that we might be able to drink of the living water that bubbles up within us. We do this so that we may be transformed more into life with God, into walking in the ways of Jesus.
I have a friend who, this Lent, has decided to practise silence and solitude outside each morning. She is sharing brief reflections of this on her Instagram stories each day. And most days, her reflections include the challenges and barriers she's faced as she tried to engage in this space—being greeted by all three children; getting rained upon; having to restart her timer multiple times each session because she gets distracted—are some of the things she's shared. But my all‑time favourite is being given a fright by one of her kids tapping on the window behind her.
Yet each day, she goes out faithfully; she shows up; she resets the timer; and she orientates her heart and her morning to God. She sets aside this time to dwell in His presence, longing to drink his everlasting and eternal water.
And so, I encourage you this Lent to continue to have a go at the spiritual practices—perhaps those listed in our Lenten studies, or memorising Scripture as Bishop Ana suggested in Week One. Maybe it's silence and solitude like my friend, or fasting. Maybe you've given something up for Lent, or maybe there's some other spiritual practice you've decided to do this. And whatever it is, I encourage you to use these as a way to draw deeper into God's living water.
Let's pray.
Jesus, we thank you that you offer to us your living water. We thank you that you pour out your Spirit upon us to quench our thirst; that as we hunger and seek after you, that you are what sustains us, you are what nourishes us, you are what gives us rest. So we pray: help us to draw into you. Help us to dwell in your presence and to walk in your ways.
Amen.
