Thirsty

I'm thirsty; and so are you. We're all thirsty for some normalcy in these very abnormal times. And some of us are thirsty to be able to encounter God in the ways that we did before COVID hit. That's what this sermon is about: our thirst for God, and what we can do to satisfy that thirst.

“I’m thirsty.” We’ve all said that at one time of another. We laugh about toddlers saying it to get out of going to bed; but thirst isn’t limited to toddlers. That’s no problem this morning, of course. I can just reach over and take a sip from my little plastic Kool-Aid cup that I have with me every Sunday morning. Even if my cup isn’t at my elbow, the water tap in the next room isn’t far away. But there have been times when I was truly thirsty; and there was no water close by. On occasion, I have gone hiking and underestimated how hot the day was going to be. After emptying my canteen, I still had a distance to go. My mouth tasted like dust, the sun beat down on the back of my neck, and each plodding step became more difficult that the last. That’s what thirst is like. Instead of enjoying the beauty of the scenery, I focused only on the water that I wanted so desperately.

This scripture from the psalms, though, isn’t concerned physical thirst, even though it begins describing a deer searching for water in a drought. No, this psalm describes the thirst we feel when we are wrenched away from the place where we have always encountered God. The psalmist can’t get to his place of worship, and memories are all that he has left. “These things I remember,” he says, “as I pour out my soul: how I used to go to the house of God… with shouts of joy and praise among the festive throng.” But that familiar, beloved location is now off limits; and all he can do is weep tears of yearning. “I’m thirsty,” he whispers. “I want to see God again.”

I know how he feels, and I imagine that you do, too. I remember those Easter Sundays when I gathered with my church family for breakfast, and then delighted in the beauty of the Easter flowers in the sanctuary while we all joined in singing, “Jesus Christ Is Risen Today! Alleluia!” That didn’t happen this year. I remember the days when we enjoyed cake and punch after worship while honoring our graduates. That didn’t happen this year, either. Heck, I remember the not-so-special Sundays when the sanctuary wasn’t even full, but when those who were there enjoyed each other’s company! It’s been four months since that happened. I’m thirsty. I want to see God again in my own sanctuary. 

But see, here’s the thing. This psalm doesn’t end there. “Thirst” isn’t the last word. No, the last word is “hope.” “Put your hope in God,” the psalmist advises, “for I will yet praise him, my savior and my God.” But… what is it that we are supposed to hope for? Are we supposed to hope that everything will go back to the way that it was? That might be the case; and it’s a good thing to hope for! But that might not happen. At least, it might not happen anytime soon. So, maybe it would be better to simply hope that our thirst for God will somehow be satisfied, and not pin our hopes on the way that our thirst will be satisfied.

When I’m physically thirsty, I’m not going to hold out for an icy cold bottle of Evian water that was bottled in the French Alps! I’ll be grateful for tap water, or iced tea, or even lukewarm lemonade! Those things will all quench my thirst. We need to remember that when we are thirsty for God. We all yearn for the church sanctuary where we have spent so many happy hours worshiping next to our friends and relatives. If you don’t yearn for the sanctuary at Nashville UCC, I’ll bet that you yearn for some other place where you have encountered God on a regular basis. Maybe that place is summer camp, closed this season because of COVID-19. Maybe it’s a restaurant where you have gathered with beloved friends, but because you’re at high risk for the virus, you don’t dare eat there right now. Maybe it’s a yearly reunion where you have always reconnected with folks you don’t see on a regular basis, but this year… well, it’s just not worth the risk. I’m thirsty, myself, for all those things! But here’s the good news of the gospel: God isn’t confined to any of those places. We expect to encounter God in a church sanctuary, or at summer camp, or in a gathering of beloved friends; but God doesn’t only live there! We can encounter God in any place, and at any time.

The truth is that we can encounter God in the most common places and through the most common things around us. If the sacrament of Holy Communion tells us anything, it tells us that. On the evening of that first Holy Communion, Jesus and his disciples were nowhere special. They weren’t in a church or in a five-star restaurant. They were in somebody’s spare room that person was generous enough to let them use for the evening. My guess is that they weren’t dressed up to the nines in their new Passover outfits, complete with new sandals and maybe a new walking staff. They were just wearing their everyday clothing. And, most important of all, Jesus didn’t offer them escargots, or duck à l’orange, or flaming cherries jubilee. He offered them bread and wine, because that was what they had for supper every single night. “This is my body,” he told them, and “this is my blood.” If you are thirsty for me, you’ll find me in the ordinary things that you encounter every single day: in bread and wine; in the smile of a trusted companion; and in the rising and the setting of the sun. That’s where I am, and that’s where I’ll always be.

One of the songs that I learned at summer camp a long time ago was one that asks the question, “Have you seen Jesus my Lord?” No sooner than the question is asked, though, it is answered: “He’s here in plain view. Take a look, open your eyes. He’ll show it to you! Have you ever looked at the sunset, with the sky yellow and red, and the clouds suspended like feathers? Then I say, you’ve seen Jesus my Lord.” Oh, I know; it’s difficult to see God in the sunset because… well, it’s so ordinary. We are thirsty for those extraordinary places and times – places like our own church sanctuary on Christmas Eve. How can you NOT encounter God during Christmas Eve service in a candlelit sanctuary? But we can be thankful that when those special times and places aren’t available, we can encounter God in the ordinariness of bread and juice, at the table to which Jesus invites us. We’ll gather together in the Spirit at that table in just a few minutes. And as we join together at the table this morning, my prayer is that you all encounter the divine One through the common things of our lives: the beauty of your backyard flowers that you enjoy from your porch, your computer screen or cell phone that enables you to worship with your community of faith, and ordinary bread and juice. Through the grace of Jesus Christ, they will help you to stay near to the heart of God, so that you might never thirst again.