Sermon for Friends Congregational Church
“Taste the Living Water”
Delivered by Reverend Dan De Leon
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Psalm 95; Exodus 17:1-7; John 4:5-42
Rules, rules, rules. Guidelines this, social etiquette that. There are so many rules we have to follow just to fit in; just to go with the flow. I know it’s early, but think about how many rules you followed before you plopped down in your chair in this sanctuary this morning.
You had to follow a lot of rules in your home just to get out the door. And if you drove here this morning, or even biked here, you had to obey traffic laws: stopping at stoplights, yielding the right of way and going the speed limit. More rules.
Thank God we’re finally here in church where we don’t have to worry about any more rules, right? Are you kidding me? The church was where I learned some hard and fast rules early in life. According to my mom, I couldn’t chew gum or bring food or drink of any kind into the sanctuary (or into Big Church, as I called it). And according to my dad, I couldn’t wear shorts or a hat to church ever.
I would follow rules all week at school and at home, so getting up early on a Sunday morning to follow more rules wasn’t the most attractive thing in the world to me as a kid. But over time I came to appreciate those rules just as a matter of familiarity. And I came to understand that those rules weren’t in the Ten Commandments or anything, they were just the unspoken etiquette of the church, and all the “insiders” got it.
There was a kid in the youth group I served at a Baptist church a few years ago named John. And John’s dad sang in the choir. The choir would be seated just behind and to the right of the pulpit, all of them wearing their green robes and seated on risers. John’s dad sat on the back row, looking at the entire sanctuary from that vantage point.
And I’ll never forget this one Sunday when John came into the sanctuary for worship. The service had already started and the pastor was giving the announcements. From where I sat just behind and to the left of the pulpit, I watched John make his way in from the isle to the pew. And I noticed he was wearing a baseball cap.
I didn’t think anything of it, but then I looked up at John’s dad. The man’s face was blood red with anger. Keep in mind, the distance between the back row of the choir behind the pulpit and the back row of the pews in this big sanctuary was about the distance from this pulpit to the fountain out front. And from that distance John’s dad could see his son sneaking in late to church wearing a hat in the sanctuary.
And from that distance, John looked up and saw his dad’s red face and his expression that seemed to say, “I brought you into this world, and I can just as easily take you out of it.” So, the next thing I see is John reaching up sheepishly to take his hat off and then bring it down with both hands as if to say, “Please accept my apology.”
Rules aren’t always a bad thing, and some rules are better than others, but I sure am glad that many churches have become less strict over time when it comes to the social etiquette of attire—this church being one of them. I’m glad because I’ve always felt like the church has something good to offer. What a shame it would be for someone to go without receiving that goodness from the church because some rule scared them away.
When I was in college I played in a band with a guy named Glenn, and we’d rehearse over at Glenn’s mom’s house. And after most of our rehearsals Glenn’s mom would feed us, and we’d never turn down free food.
Glenn’s mom was from Spain. Her name was Marisol, and Marisol was an incredible cook. Some of the food she’d put in front of us I’d never seen or heard of before, and once I tasted it, I felt like I was having some kind of culinary epiphany. It was good stuff.
But Marisol was also very particular about how we should behave in her home and at her dinner table. If we got up from the table during the meal, Marisol would simple glare her disappointment so that we would quickly sit back down. When we cleared the table we weren’t aloud to stack the plates on top of each other. That drove Marisol crazy. And when we finished our food, it was near blasphemy to say the words, “I’m full.” For some reason that was an insult in Marisol’s ears to hear her guests say, “I’m full.” And if you ever forgot one of these rules, Marisol would verbally reprimand you in front of the other guests as if you had broken her fine China.
The food was amazing, like nothing I’d ever received, but the rules were too much of a turnoff. After a while, I would politely abstain from dinner after rehearsal, and I’d just go home and eat another hot pocket.
I wonder if Marisol had known how amazing, how good her food was, would she have bothered with those intimidating glances when someone spoke out of turn at the dinner table? If she knew how important those hot meals were to college students like me who survived off ramen, would she have cared whether the plates were stacked on top of each other?
We are familiar with what Jesus tells us when it comes to sharing what is good with the world. Jesus says, “You are the light of the world. Don’t hide your light under a bushel basket, but place it on the lamp stand for all to see.” But we usually hear this Scripture in personal terms: Jesus is talking to me. I need to let my light shine. It’s a self-confidence booster from Jesus, and that’s always nice.
But Scripture also informs us that Jesus Christ is the head of the church, and each of us make up the church collective. So, wouldn’t it make sense that Jesus is also talking to the church when he preaches that sermon on the mount: “You are the light of the world. Let your light shine.”?
It’s hard to hear Jesus talking to us (the church) versus me (the individual person of faith) if we don’t first own up to the good things the church has to offer. And I’m not just talking in terms of programs and events and curricula. I’m talking about those things that we seldom even notice. I’m talking about those moments of God’s grace being palpably evident; moments that we might miss because we are comfortably wrapped up in our rules, guidelines and etiquette.
I’m talking about moments for evangelism. And “evangelism wasted” is those moments when the hand of our neighbor is extended to us and we don’t even notice that it’s there.
Now, part of what evangelism means is growth. Evangelism partly means growth. And we at Friends Congregational Church identify ourselves as a progressive Christian church. So how does evangelism fit into that identity?
Rev. James Rowe Adams is the founder of the Center for Progressive Christianity. Here’s what he has to say: “The growth of a progressive Christian congregation may not lie in its ability to make believers out of skeptics or to talk conventional Christians into switching their loyalties. Rather, the increase in membership is most likely to be the result of evangelism; that is, letting secular people discover what others have found of value in the life of the church.”
Evangelism is about letting people who don’t know and don’t care about our rules or etiquette discover what we have found of value in the life of the church. That means that we have to acknowledge and appreciate and testify to the good things the church has to offer so that our actions would reflect that thanksgiving in all that we do. That’s evangelism.
So, what’s so good about the church? What are those moments I mentioned that we might be overlooking?
Rev. Adams recalls a Sunday at his church in Washington, D.C. when they observed the passing of the peace. People were invited to extend a handshake or share an embrace as a sign of Christ’s peace. One of the congregants hugged a woman who had never been to the church before, and the woman burst into tears. She said, “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve lived in here in the city for six months, and except for being bumped when I board the subway, nobody has touched me during that time.”
Sounds an awful lot like the woman at the well. Jesus comes across a woman from Samaria. And after he talks to her at the well, her life is changed. She’s overjoyed.
This woman is a Samaritan, and Jesus is a Jew. The woman’s geographical origin makes her an outcast from Jewish culture. In the Judaism of that day, the term ‘good Samaritan’ is an oxymoron. And the woman’s gender excludes her from participating in religious customs, religious dialogue and religious leadership of any kind. In that moment at the well, Jesus is an informed person of power and the woman a lost nobody. He has no reason to reach out to her, and she has no business talking to him.
But Jesus knows that what he offers is good beyond measure. And Jesus has this thing for the lost. His love is border-breaking, boundary-breaking and unconditional.
The woman had no awareness of the living water Jesus mentioned to her until he offered it. She had no interest in having a relationship with a Messiah, until he reached out to her. In that moment, Jesus bent the rules and said, “Taste the living water and never thirst again.”
Jesus knows that what he’s offering is good, and he can’t keep it to himself. Even when he does try to keep things quiet (like after he performs a miraculous healing and he tells people to keep a lid on things for a while), the people are too excited about what they have seen and experienced. And just like the woman at the well, they go telling everyone about the amazing love of Christ.
Why does Jesus do what he does? Why does he go sharing living water with anyone from the Nicodemus, the powerful Jewish insider, to the woman at the well, the helpless Samaritan outsider? Why? He can’t help it. The goodness he possesses is too good to keep under a bushel basket: “In my Father’s house there are many rooms,” says Jesus, “If it were not so, I would have told you.”
We can call Jesus many different things to have a relationship with him. We call Jesus a teacher, prophet, radical , Messiah, Savior, Son of Man, Lamb of God, Bread of heaven, Rabbi, master, and so on. But Jesus is also an evangelist. Shouldn’t we, then, take a look at evangelism and what that could mean for us?
Evangelism doesn’t mean that we go out there and talk people into accepting Christ as their personal savior. Jesus didn’t do that in his ministry. Evangelism is about sharing what we know to be good with those who don’t know and don’t care.
It’s about being like Jesus: Unable to conceal what we have received in the eyes of the world. Like Rev. Adams says, evangelism is about letting secular people discover what we have found of value in the life of the church. It’s about tasting the living water and sharing it with a world that thirsts for justice, thirsts for mercy, thirsts for righteousness and thirsts for love.
And evangelism is simple. You don’t have to grow a white mane of hair and wear a pin-striped suit and wield your Bible like a sword to be an evangelist. You just have to be true to yourself. Be who you are, and don’t take for granted the living water that you have received in this place called the church.
I can’t stress enough, though, how important it is for us in the church to realize how good we’ve got it. I know there are times in committee meetings or sermons that don’t seem to ever end when you might think otherwise. But what a liberating blessing it is to meet with a group of people to plan the life of the church, and what a blessing it is to gather in this place and let our minds wander in the stillness of this hour. What we’ve got is good, and we’re here because evangelism touched us in some way.
Something I want to point out that’s good that we might overlook is our sign out front. From time to time people in our flock volunteer to change the message on the sign. Sometimes it stays the same for a few weeks, and sometimes it changes three times in a week. We might not think much of it. But I received a letter the other day from a woman named Stephanie who lives in our neighborhood. She wrote, “I’ve never been to your church, but I drive by often and I see your sign. You have no idea how much that message has ministered to me in good times and bad. I felt compelled by God to offer the enclosed tithe.” Stephanie didn’t ask for anything in return except that we pray for her and her family.
A sign. A simple sign. Think of evangelism like this. When we go from this place, we are called to be that sign wherever we go, not through words (and don’t go making a sandwich board); but through how we live our lives we can be that sign.
We are called to let our light shine always. So, we should let our lives speak—let our lives speak for Christ. That sign isn’t going anywhere, and there are only so many people who drive and bike past it, and even fewer people who take the time to notice what it has to say.
Mother Teresa said that Christ has no hands in this world but yours; no feet in this world but yours. We are Christ’s sign to share a message by our very lives that says, “Taste the living water and never thirst again.”
That message transcends all rules, guidelines and etiquette. That message changes God’s world one act of love at a time. That message makes the church grow and grow and grow until the world can’t help but notice what’s going on in here. And there is enough living water for everyone to have a taste.
Let your life speak for Christ and never thirst again. Amen.