Sent

John 4:28-29

Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?”

Leaving behind the very thing

that took her to the well

in her haste to share

the gift she encountered there

She rushed back to the city 

Sent

With her thirst quenched

 and her passion ignited

 she could not wait

 to tell others

Sent

without being sure of response 

And, catching her excitement

and witnessing her renewal

her community took off

to see for themselves 

Sent

To check out

the witness she bore

the story she told

about the one 

who told her story.

Called

 

Called

John 4:7

A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.”

Arrested

In the midst of everyday toil

Startled out of routine

by the demands of a stranger

“Give me a drink”

A simple enough request

yet layered

as deep as the well

Who was he?

And who was she?

Conversing in the middle of the day

with no regard

to time

or tradition 

or culture

Yet riveted by encounter

Enough to throw aside convention

and truly see one another

Both were thirsty

She for understanding

He for mission

Their thirsts were pooled

as life took root in conversation

and out of the depths

sprang understanding 

and respect

and communion

that spilled over 

into response

Called and loved

Loved and called.

Formed

 

John 4:5-6

Jesus came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.

By the time Jesus got to the well

in the heat of the midday sun

many women had already drawn

from the depths 

Assembling in the cool morning air

Attending to the chores of the day

Gathering in community

sharing their news

and their lives

their wisdom

and their angst

Gathering around a source

that through every season

sustained life and work

encouraged the sharing of confidences 

witnessed to life in community

Those ancient stones

that protected the source

had stories to tell 

Stories of love and laughter

of trauma and tragedy

of flourishing and dying 

Little escaped 

that fount of formation

Around that well

love was kindled

possibility was imagined 

hope lived and died

and new stories 

were shaped and formed

Generations drank deeply

passing on tradition and culture

establishing customs and norms

creating kinship

And, in that place 

of community engagement

the Son of God experienced

a transformative encounter 

forged in intimacy 

confirmed in community

and preserved in story.

Intimacy, community, story

three elements of formation.

that make way for encounter

and lead us to transformation

Come to the well

 John 4:13-15

Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”

Lord I am thirsty

Come to the well

My soul is weary

Come to the well

Bruised and battered

Come to the well

Tired and discouraged 

Come to the well

Misunderstood

Come to the well

Judged and found wanting

Come to the well

Wounded and withdrawn

Come to the well

Ready to quit

Come to the well

Come to the well

where there is water that is

thirst quenching

wound healing

soul soothing

life giving

Water of life

found in the One

who knows our name

and calls us back

to drink deeply

of the Wisdom of the Well.

Autumn grief

When the grey edges in

stealing all the colour

leaving in its wake

sepia tinged memories 

When the light grows dim

and the edges become fuzzy 

between time and eternity

When the now and the then

no longer stand in stark contrast

but merge into a beige coloured sludge

And all the radiant golden hues

of a crisp morning in the woods

give way to a carpet of wet, brown leaves

Then we need strong arms around us

quiet souls who will not cajole us

into false cheer

but will allow us to wallow

in the melancholy

that we cannot shake off

Then we need love and companionship

that makes itself known

by tiptoeing in and staying put 

relentlessly reliable 

persistently present.

In that crevice between fear and hope

lies a world of creativity

only accessed by descending into the valley

to discover a new way to traverse the shadow

until bit by bit the colours re- emerge

and, in our own sweet time,

we edge closer to the light.

What are shrouds for?

Isaiah 42:9-10

See, the former things have come to pass,

and new things I now declare;

before they spring forth,

I tell you of them.

Sing to the Lord a new song,

his praise from the end of the earth!

Let the sea roar and all that fills it,

the coastlands and their inhabitants.

Shrouds are for the dead

For covering up decaying remains

They do not transform

They only mask

And underneath, erosion continues

until, in time, only an outline endures,

a hint of something once treasured and loved,

remaining only in memories and myths

that have become another form of shroud

through which it is impossible 

to distinguish truth 

In a season when our rituals of faith

are shrouded in mystery

weighed down by tradition

dare we peel back those shrouds?

Dare we lift a corner

to peek beneath

and recognise, 

before it is too late,

those things that may have served us well

in a dim and distant past

but that should be left now

to their natural demise

Dare we name aloud

a new truth for a new season?

A light for today’s darkness?

Dare we step away

from tiptoeing around the dead weights

and chart a new direction

that heads towards light and life?

Brush off the stray threads that still cling,

whose filaments, though slender, hold us back?

Dare we take good, long, freeing strides

that carry us on to a new threshold

where we are greeted by joy

and carried in love?

And, resolving not to look back

or yearn for the comfort of the familiar

by which we were weighed down

discover the new territory

that awaits with the promise

of a new course

for a new world

where these three remain:

Faith, hope and love.

 

Practice makes perfect

 

Romans 12:9-10

Love from the center of who you are; don't fake it. Run for dear life from evil; hold on for dear life to good. Be good friends who love deeply; practice playing second fiddle. (The Message)

The seconds occupy

a space inside 

usually sandwiched between

more vocal parts

Their role to enhance 

and amplify

all the beauty around

Contributing to the whole

in a nuanced, subtle way

Supporting

Bringing harmony

Interpreting another perspective

Providing a different insight

 Navigating tricky rhythms and intervals

The seconds bring depth

and focus

Occasionally coming to the fore

but mostly remaining hidden

Often overlooked

and underestimated

More noticed by their absence

than their presence

Their gifts and skills

may be misunderstood

deemed less than

by those who lack perception

A cost they are willing to bear

secure in their calling

not settling for less

but bringing more

And those who take the time

to affirm their gifts

and seek their accompaniment

are enriched by their giving

Caught up

and encircled

by a love that is fierce

in its passion

and clear in its mission:

To contribute to the creation

of something whole

and worthwhile

a thing of beauty

birthed in playful improvisation

delivered in wondrous accord.

The gift of second fiddle.