I’m Feeling a Little Thirsty . . . And That’s Good

As I think about my life with Jesus, I really long for a satisfying, vital, genuine relationship. I do not want a theoretical relationship; I don’t want an ethical system based on the teachings of Jesus. I want life with him. I want genuine intimacy with someone.

But at times I just don’t feel it. I don’t taste the richness of life with him. It doesn’t “seem real.” I wonder if I am merely deluding myself. I think about whether masses of Christians are just telling themselves this “happy tale” and trying to embrace something that is not real.

But I do catch glimpses. Like the aroma of sweet rolls or the smell of bacon that wafts through the house as breakfast is being prepared. Although you might not be enjoying the meal yet, those whiffs tantalize and arouse hunger. The smells are connected to something real, yet to be fully enjoyed.

Thinking about living in this having-tasted-but-not-fully-enjoying place, I’ve been wondering about how to press on. What will help me get out of the spiritual doldrums and continue on the journey of living for and loving the great treasure that Jesus is?

Jesus helps me think through this. I recall his words.

Now on the last day, the great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. He who believes in me, as the Scripture said, ‘From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.’” (John 7:37-38)

During one of the feasts of Israel, when Jesus was in the temple in Jerusalem, he called out to the people who were there. They must have been there because they had some longing after God. They were, after all, in the temple for the feast. But they all needed more. As do I.

What I long for is that flow of “rivers of living water.” I want a well-irrigated soul. I long for the flood of rich spiritual reality to carry me along. I do not want to merely plod through my days. I want to know the refreshing presence of the Spirit and the dynamic reality of God’s manifest life pressing through my own life.

Jesus’ words point me to a way forward. I don’t want to reduce it to a formula, but there does seem to be a progression in what he says.

If anyone is thirsty . . .

Let him come to me . . .

Let him . . . drink . . .

And out of his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.

For me to experience this rich life of flowing rivers of life-giving water, I will have to drink. How do I drink of someone? The metaphor seems to be that of embracing, welcoming, enjoying, taking in. Like taking long draws from a cold glass of clear water on a hot day, I drink of Jesus by settling in for long, intentional, focused attention on him.

For me to drink of Jesus, I will have to come to him. How do I come to him? He is not physically present in the same way he was when he spoke these words in the temple. But the truth is still true. I come to him by turning to him, by giving attention to his words, by lifting my voice to him in prayer and praise, by looking to him with the eyes of my soul.

For me to come to Jesus, all I need is the desperation of thirst. How do I cultivate such thirst? It seems to me that one of the obstacles to this life of flowing rivers of living water is that when I first begin to feel soul thirst I quickly try to stifle or quench the thirst with weak substitutes for living water. I distract myself from the thirst. I self-medicate with superficial pleasures that dull the sense of my soul to the reality of my ever-increasing thirstiness.

The television. The internet. Getting lost in work. Getting consumed by busy-ness. A fleeting flirt. A protracted affair. Certain foods. A vacation . . . or two or three. Shopping. Pornography. A drink . . . or two . . . or more.

I do all kinds of things to mask the disquiet in my soul. I distract myself from the thirst.

Not feeling the thirst, I do not draw near to Jesus. Not drawing near to Jesus, I do not drink deeply. Not drinking deeply of Jesus, I do not experience rivers of living water.

Today I am feeling a little thirsty. And that is good. I want to give into that thirst. I want it to grow. I want to become desperate to have my thirst quenched. And then I will go–I will go to Jesus and not substitutes. I’m starting to sip; I intend to drink deeply.

In the distance I can hear the roar of the rapids. There are rivers. Living water. The floods are coming. I’m feeling a little thirsty . . . and that is good.

The Husband’s Call

There are a variety of things that I appreciate about how the Spirit led Paul to counsel and encourage followers of Jesus. Paul provides clear and practical advice. He writes about what we really deal with (even if there are times when I wish that he had given us a few more details!). He offers his counsel based on Gospel-truth. He doesn’t call us to become something that we are not, but invites followers of Jesus to live out what they are, in Christ. Also, his instructions for life come to us in ways that we can respond to, act on. He doesn’t set me up for failure by calling me to live in a certain way, but anchoring my ability to live that way on the response or reactions of others. I can live the way Paul describes, in the power of the Spirit.

After reflecting on life in Christ in general terms with the Colossians, Paul turns attention to some specifics. He addresses family relationships. In previous posts we looked at what he says to wives. We now turn attention to the husbands.

Husbands, love your wives and do not be embittered against them. (Colossians 3:19)

When Paul issues such a call, he is obviously calling for something that doesn’t always just naturally happen. If that were the case, it would not be necessary for Paul to say anything. (Notice, there are no commands in Paul’s letters to eat regularly, keep on breathing, laugh when someone tells a truly funny story, and the like. We already do all of that stuff!)

When Paul tells husbands to “love your wives” the truth must be that husbands don’t just naturally fall into a full and appropriate “loving” of their wives. Paul’s language points to more than simply “feel kindly toward” one’s wife; the word for love used here speaks of a genuine passion (think “all in,” not necessarily “passion” in the way popular culture pictures it).

Now in other passages of Paul, he unpacks certain facets of this love. Here he touches on just one thing. Love you wife “and do not be embittered against” her. This suggests something about how Paul understands the struggle husbands face in loving their wives.

“Embittered” is a relatively rare word in the New Testament. One fascinating snapshot of this word is found in Acts 8. When the Gospel comes to Samaria, a local popular religious leader ends up losing some of his status. When the apostles come to the area and there is a breaking out of the Spirit’s manifest presence, this religious leader wants in on that. Simon is his name and he is struggling with what is happening in and around him that he can’t take credit for, get in on. And the apostles identify his problem as being stuck in “the gall of bitterness” (Acts 8:23).

Simon is apparently tasting or wrestling with some kind of combination of jealousy, rivalry, and resentment. He clearly doesn’t like what is happening around him that he can’t take responsibility or credit for. He isn’t happy with the success others are experiencing that doesn’t make him look good. And that provokes him to a subtle competitive animosity.

Using this word, Paul says that husbands should stop (his language suggests they need to stop something they are already often doing) allowing themselves to be stirred to such feelings (his language indicating that it is the husbands who are becoming embittered rather than the wives who are causing them to be embittered).

Well, that’s a lot to unpack in one post. Sufficient to say, Paul’s call is for husbands to genuinely love their wives and to abandon the “I’m not sure I like what you are doing so I am just going to be a little antagonistic” attitude that often arises in their own hearts.

The Trouble with Honor

When a question is asked, it often forces the one asked to re-evaluate, to re-think his or her point of view. It can be a gracious way to raise an issue without provoking the knee-jerk reaction of opposition. This is not the only reason that Jesus asks questions, but we can see the gears turning in the minds and hearts of those he in talking with when he does ask questions.

In tracking through John’s Gospel, I am trying to watch and learn from Jesus as he does just that. When he asks questions, I want to understand why he is asking what he does and then to wrestle through the implications of that particular question for myself . . . and for you.

In John 5, Jesus is in the midst of an exchange with some religious leaders, some pious people–and they are a bit antagonistic toward him. In 5:19-37, Jesus seeks to help his hearers see that the way he is living and the testimony of John and the witness of the Father on his behalf all are working together to invite them to trust in him, to rely on him, to believe in him.

As he continues to unpack this call for his hearers to believe in him, Jesus asks another question. Having asserted that he is not seeking glory from men, not hungry for their approval (5:41), Jesus addresses those listening who find it hard to trust in him.

“How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another, and you do not seek the glory that is from the one and only God?” (John 5:44)

It’s an intriguing question. And when I first listen, it’s not immediately apparent what Jesus is driving at.

Clearly he wants those who are struggling to believe in him, to trust him, to think through why they find it hard to surrender in faith. And the question implies that the hunt for glory is part of what prevents them from believing well.

It seems to me that what he wants them to reflect on how their pursuit of approval and acceptance of those around them trumps the pursuit of the glory of God. And, seeing as they are not most hungry for God’s glory, they can more easily dismiss Jesus.

Although it is not a perfect analogy, in thinking about this my mind turned back to a moment in time with my son. He got on to the school soccer team; he was thrilled. He loved the game; he’d been playing in a rec league for some time. But the coach placed him on defense, in the backfield. Initially that didn’t settle well with my son. And, he was finding it hard to give in to the coach’s instructions; he wasn’t trusting the coach.

Part of the problem is that my son (like so many young boys!) wanted others to see what a good soccer player he was. He was hungry for “glory from one another.” The coach wanted a great team; my son wanted personal glory a bit more. And that trumped his trusting the coach. But only initially.

I was delighted to watch the transition in my son. He “got” that the coach was about the team. The coach wanted “glory” for the team, not for particular individuals. And when my son understood that and decided that was what he wanted, too, he found it easy to trust the coach.

As long as I am pursuing honor from others, making my goal to gain and maintain their approval of men, I will not be running after the glory that really matters.  Seeing as Jesus is not about that at all, not only will he not aid me in that pursuit but I won’t find much reason to rest in and rely on him. Hungry for such approval, trusting Jesus is going to be hard.

At least that is how I hear Jesus’ question . . . when he asks it of those in his day . . . as he asks it of me today.

Isn’t it Obvious?

I know that Jesus is brilliant and kind and gracious. Clearly he knows what he is doing and does what he does in love and wisdom. But at first read, sometimes the questions he asks strike me as, well, pretty crazy!

One of those seemingly crazy questions comes in John 5, when Jesus travels to the pool of Bethesda in the city of Jerusalem (John 5:1-9; you might want to read the account before continuing).

This particular pool was considered to have healing properties–at least when the waters were “stirred.” It was thought that an angel agitated the waters from time to time and the first to enter those moving waters would be healed. So, as you can imagine, the area around the pool was littered with the sick, the diseased, the deformed, the needy. All were waiting for the stirring of the water. Those who were blind would have had to have someone watching with them. The lame or the bed-ridden would have to have others ready to push them in when the water was stirred. A chaotic, crazy, desperate picture.

Jesus walks into that scene and approaches one lame man who had been crippled for thirty-eight years and had been lying there, in that condition, for a long time (John 5:5-6). And Jesus asks him a question:

“Do you wish to get well?” (John 5:6)

I can almost hear the man’s eyes roll around in his head as he stares incredulously at Jesus. “No, I’m just really happy to be lying here crippled among all these diseased and deformed people! I’ve grown so accustomed to the stench that I can’t imagine waking without the aroma of decaying flesh filling the air!” Now, the man doesn’t respond quite that way (although I might have).

The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, but while I am coming, another steps down before me.” (John 5:7)

Why would Jesus ask this man that particular question? Does it not, on the surface, appear to be a foolish, silly question? Why would the lame man be there unless he really wanted to be made whole?

And I begin to think. Sometimes we can get so accustomed to our particular “affliction” that we find ourselves defined by that. We see ourselves in a particular light based on what we have struggled with or are struggling through. And to be healed or delivered or set free would really radically change our lives.

The lame man would no longer be able to think of himself the same way if he got up and walked. No freedom to beg from others. No longer on the receiving end of almsgiving. His days would change. Those who cared for him might turn to others. He would have to find work. So it is a legitimate question: Do you really want to get well?

I think that is the kind of question Jesus asks all of us at various times in our journey with him. We find ourselves angry or frustrated with a particular situation. We are unhappy with how things are playing out. We want someone to help us but there doesn’t seem to be anyone there to “put us into the pool.” We can grow content with the discontentment, subtly enjoying the pity and the comfort others extend to us when they see our distress. And Jesus comes and asks, “Do you want to get well? Would you like to be healed? Can I change your life?”

That is a scary, challenging, eye-opening, life-shaping question. Am I really interested in having Jesus step into my brokenness and lameness and bring health and healing and wholeness? If does that, I won’t be able to just lie around, spiritually speaking, any longer. I would have to get up and get on with this journey with him.

Can you hear him asking?

The Beautiful Fight

Over the past few days I have been reminded again of something that I saw in working through Colossians–there is a fight, an agonizing struggle, that we are privileged to participate in.

In conversations with others, I found myself wrestling with truth issues, heart issues, life issues. Questions were raised about how we were reading Scripture, how we were thinking about Gospel truths. It was challenging, it was hard work. Hard head work to think well and hard heart work to engage well.

And I realize that it is easy to disengage from such conversations. It is fairly simple to avoid those issues, to exempt myself and others from such hard wrestling. But then I recalled Paul’s words about the beautiful fight he is engaged in:

We proclaim [Jesus Christ], admonishing every man and teaching every man with all wisdom, so that we may present every man complete in Christ. For this purpose also I labor, striving according to His power, which mightily works within me. (Colossians 1:28-29)

We proclaim Jesus–we make much of him in all we say and do.

We admonish and teach one another–we thoughtfully engage in truth discussions, wisely anchored in Scripture.

We look to see every person complete in Christ–we want ourselves and others to grow on to maturity, to not remain stuck.

And Paul labors for this. He strives after this. He yields to God’s great power at work toward these ends. And again I am lead to reflect on how I spend my time with others.

Is my conversation filled with Jesus? Am I most concerned that when all is said and done that others see Jesus?

Are my exchanges shaped by concern for Gospel truth? Am I content with sharing “good ideas” or will I settle for nothing less than hearing, and thinking, and sharing, and exploring, and embracing Gospel truth?

Do I really long for “completeness” in Christ for myself and others? Am I pressing on for maturity or will I settle for having my life “work” a bit better, for a little less distress, a little more manageability in my day-to-days?