Perry Lockett taught a boys’ Sunday School class for years at First Baptist, Brownfield.  He was also a farmer.  One Sunday, he told his class of boys about one of his irrigation wells.  He claimed that this well could pump pure water six days a week.  But, if he didn’t let it rest on the seventh day, the pump would start pulling up gravel from the bottom.  Not only did that risk pumping the well dry, if the gravel got into the irrigation system, it could choke and destroy some very expensive equipment.  Mr. Lockett, that’s what his class called him, said that with just one day’s rest, the well would recharge with enough water to pump for six more days.  He had learned the rhythm of rest, six days for pumping, one for recharging. 

Mr. Lockett wasn’t trying to instruct us in the finer art of West Texas crop irrigation; he was telling us a parable.  A parable that has had more meaning to this former student of his as I grow older than it did when I first heard it in the sixth grade.  This is what the parable still means.  This world, people, constantly changing circumstances, even religion, all of it, can suck the life right out of you.  Unless you have a resource that is greater than what life demands you will find yourself choking on the only thing left, the gravel of your very soul, being pulled up from the bottom, anger, despair, hopelessness, depression and bitterness.  Mr. Lockett wasn’t just trying to reinforce the biblical rhythm of six days of work and one day of rest.  He was pointing us to Jesus.  He knew the day would come when life would eventually turn to the Sahara desert around us, we’d need Jesus water in our well to survive. 

When Jesus said, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let anyone who believes in me drink,” he was doing the same thing as Mr. Lockett.  Using a physical experience to point to a spiritual opportunity. 

The truth is, others around us can usually tell what we’ve been drinking by what spills out of us.  My oldest son tells of a classmate showing up one morning with slurred speech and stumbling all over the place.  Griffin said it was obvious from his behavior that he’d had more than milk with his Cheerios.  I couldn’t help but wonder what was, or wasn’t, happening in that young man’s life that would make being drunk at 8:30 in the morning more appealing.  People around us can always tell what we’ve been drinking.  And, it’s always a clue to what is, or isn’t happening in the bottom of our souls. 

Jesus was a people watcher.  He was sensitive to what he saw in their eyes, in their hearts, especially to what spilled out of them.  It was always a clue to him what they’d been drinking.  We find him in this text in the Temple, during the Feast of the Tabernacles, a Jewish religious festival, a time of expressing faith in God’s good provisions.  This was the last day of the feast, a day on which the worshippers celebrated a great water festival expressing faith in God for next year’s rain.  Water, that’s what they needed.  But, not the kind that came from the sky.  Jesus knew, from watching their behavior, that they needed the kind of water that quenches soul thirst.  The kind of water that cleans deep wounds, soothes burned out places, restores life to the heart’s gardens, where love and peace are nurtured.  “Anyone who is thirsty,” Jesus said, “come to me . . . and drink.  Out of (their) heart shall flow rivers of living water.”

We know what he was talking about.  The scripture tells us.  “Now he said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive.”  The Holy Spirit.  To anyone who trusted his words enough to follow him, Jesus said he’d give of his very self, his Spirit, to live within forever.  In that deep place within where we know that, more than anything, we’re made for relationships, especially relationships that give life and hope, especially relationship with God.  In that place where we know that if we don’t have that kind of relationship, then no matter how green and lush the world around us may be, it feels like the Sahara on the inside, the palms of our hands and our knees bloody raw from crawling around in gravel.  “Come to me,” Jesus said, and in that place where we’re most alone, we’ll never be alone again.  “Anyone thirsty?” Jesus asked.  “Come, and drink.”

Cool water, refreshing water.  You remember, don’t you?  Can you see yourself, in those silent black and white 16mm home movies?  You remember how it felt, don’t you?  It’s a hot summer day, you’re splashing, half-naked, in a plastic pool in your grandparents’ backyard.  The one they filled with the really cold water from the plastic hose your grandmother always used to water her geraniums.  The one they kept running so no matter how much splashed out, the pool never ran dry.  Every now and then you’d pick it up and chase your dad around.  He filmed it all as he ran backwards.  Then, you’d stop chasing him and take a drink, straight from the hose.  Running so hard made you hot, and very thirsty.  Remember how good the water tasted, straight from the hose?  A hot summer day, but more water than you’d ever need.  Jesus said, “If anyone is thirsty . . ..”

Jesus offers thirsty people what they need most, something to drink.  But, the preacher held up the Bible and said, “This is a book of rules.  That’s what we need, rules.  That’s what the Bible is,” she said.  But, her words weren’t helpful because they weren’t totally true.  Sure, the Bible tells us how to live.  It has rules.  And, if we break them, life can turn into the Sahara overnight.  But, we’re not in trouble because we don’t have rules.  We didn’t get in trouble because we didn’t know the rules.  We’re in trouble because we couldn’t, wouldn’t keep them.   We need rules.  We need hope more.  Thank God, the Bible is more than just a book of rules.  It’s a roadmap to a well in the Sahara desert our lives have become without Jesus.  It tells us where to find a well we can drink from, a well that never runs dry. 

Some preachers only want to tells us about just one more rule we need.  Jesus wants to give us soul water, his very Holy Spirit.  Not Casper the Holy ghost, but his very spirit in us.  Jesus has not come to judge us in our failure, but to offer us something to drink when we finally decide to stop running.  “If anyone is thirsty . . .,” Jesus said, “come to me . . . and drink.”  Only thirsty people hear those words.  Until we’re thirsty enough, they won’t mean much, really.  Until one day, maybe we stumble into church, choking on soul gravel, and something is said, or sung, or prayed and, suddenly, we realize that how very thirsty we really are.  And, suddenly, we see Jesus

standing there holding a cold glass of water, just for us.  Offering us a drink full of relationship, hope, forgiveness, cleansing deep down inside where we all live with our private guilt and shame.  Do you know what that water tastes like?

We buried Melba George this week.  If you ever heard her pray, you heard her, every time, talking to her “sweet Jesus.”  Sweet, she said.  Like she could taste how good he was.  Like she’d been to the well over and over again and couldn’t get enough.  Sweet Jesus. 

I eventually grew up to work for Perry Lockett on his farm in the summers.  One very hot day, I found my way to the irrigation tank, where the water was stored until it was pumped to the fields.  The pump was running.  Fresh, ice cold water from deep down in the earth was pouring out of a huge pipe into the tank.  It was so very hot.  So, I climbed up on the edge of the tank and just buried my face in the water.  It ran all over me, cleansing and refreshing my face.  I can still remember.  It was so cold, so good, so sweet.  I drank until my belly hurt.  It was so good.  I’ve never tasted water that good.  If you were to ask me exactly what that water tasted like, it’d be nearly impossible to tell you.  I can’t describe it.  But, I can tell you where the well is.  The well where the water is so very sweet.  A well that never runs dry.  So that, even if your life turns to the Sahara desert, you’ll always have plenty to drink.  And other sojourners can stop by and fill their canteens because you will have more than enough to share.  “Rivers of living water,” Jesus said, out of your heart will overflow.  Streams of mercy, never ceasing.  And, hope.  And, peace.  And, life itself.  Water so very sweet.

Water like I drank last Sunday when the choir sang, “Breathe.”  Did you get a drink, too?  For one brief moment I was so lost in worship.  Tears came spontaneously from somewhere deep inside.  The words they were singing rushed like cold water over something deep within that needed to be washed.  These words, “This is the air I breathe.  This is the air I breathe.  Your holy presence, living, in me.  This is my daily bread.  This is my daily bread.  Your very word, spoken, to me.  And, I, I’m desperate for you.  And, I, I’m lost without you.” 

Jesus said, “Anyone who is thirsty,” Jesus said, “come to me . . . and drink.  Out of (their) heart shall flow rivers of living water.”  Anyone.  Anyone who is thirsty.