Psalm 147:1-11; John 7:37-52
As we all know, the Mardi Gras season is in full swing with all of its joy and consequences. Since we have some who worship with us online I’m compelled to say that there are members of this congregation who are crucial supporters of various aspects of the community celebration that is Mardi Gras, and I am thankful that they work hard every year to be sure that things are done as faithfully as they can be.That means that in all the formal balls and other excesses of the cultural phenomenon that is Mardi Grass in Lafayette, there are people who love deeply working to be sure that our congregation can benefit without being predatory, that we can support and encourage joyful release, and that decisions that impact our community are made with thought and care — even as we are still coming out of a pandemic that is slowly giving ground to become an endemic disease.
Again, for those that are not from here — but also to emphasize for those that are — Mardi Gras planning starts in January, with formal balls soon to follow, and the parade season started on Friday with Crew de Kanais and goes through the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. In the past, I have railed against the excesses of Mardi Gras — which is decidedly more family-friendly in Lafayette — that includes the impact on the poor; the incredible amount of money spent on excesses that few experiences; and the amount of trash we that we generate in a town plagued with drainage issues; and I have to say that these all remain concerns of mine.
I can’t help feeling a bit like the Lorax, screaming in vain for the trees against cultural and economic engines, and yet I have this hope that there might be something more to it than all of this. In the words of Madeleine L’Engle "I do not think that it is naïve to think that it is the tiny, particular acts of love and joy which are going to swing the balance."
I am persuaded to think that these words are not too far out of line from the words of Jesus who shouted out, on the last day of the festival — the great day, when water was taken from the pool of Siloam to be poured out as a libation on the Temple Alter — “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let anyone who believes in me drink. As the scripture has said, Out of the believer's heart shall flow rivers of living water.”
The festival that Jesus attended was Sukkot, the Festival of Booths. You know I thought it was strange to see someone stake a spot at 2 pm for last night’s parade, but these people built booths and lived in them for a week! Imagine the trash that the festival created. According to Gail O’Day in the New Interpreter’s Bible, this festival “originally celebrated the completion of the harvest, but eventually also came to commemorate God’s protection of Israel in the wilderness. In New Testament times, the festival had grown to an eight-day celebration centered at the Temple…
During a second procession, the priests processed from the Temple to the pool of Siloam to draw water, returning through the Water Gate to pour the water on the altar as a libation…”
Think about that for a second. Imagine this procession is going on and Jesus is sitting there watching it. The same temple that he had previously chased away vendors and money changers from had become, once again, the center of promise and praise for something that it could not offer — something that he had come to offer.
It’s unclear what passages he was referring to, but it was certainly the understanding of the people that these waters symbolized God’s providence and care. Psalm 78 refers to God providing water from a rock in the wilderness. Ezekiel 47 and Joel 3 promise rivers flowing from the temple and from Jerusalem in Zecharaiah 3:18. Even the fiery prophet Amos reminds us in 5:24 that “justice will roll down like mighty waters and righteousness will flow like an ever-flowing stream.”
The people were celebrating the hope of God, which was a good thing, but Jesus needed them to know – and needs us to know – that he is the source of that hope. What’s more, through him, so are you. Jesus wanted them to know – and wants you and me to know – not only that he is the source of God’s providence and love, but those who believe in him will become conduits of love and hope and justice and mercy. What does this mean in the face of a cultural reality like Mardi Gras, where people come from all around to rejoice? What does it mean in a community where festival time means a spike in arrests for those who live in booths (if they have them)? What does it mean in a community that marvels at the beauty of creation even while we clog our waterways?
I don’t say these things to guilt-trip anyone. I say them to state the reality of our situation. It’s not a reality that any one of us created. Like many issues of justice and concern, it is bigger than us. As a congregation, we have a voice in all of this, and as I said before, there are members acting faithfully in many aspects of the celebrations that take place this time of year. I’ve seen members bear the weight of negotiating parade routes and regulations. I’ve seen members march in costume, making statements about the injustice of institutional racism. I’ve seen members work full-time hours to provide a safe, welcome space to community members — giving special consideration for diversity while caring for long-standing relationships and creating new ones.
For it is not naïve to think that it is the tiny, particular acts of love and joy which are going to swing the balance. Whether it is an act of defiance, like the Temple Police in 7:45 who refused to arrest Jesus, or advocacy for others, like our old friend Nicodemus who called for a fair trial in 7:51, we are called to stop and take a sip from the living waters of Jesus in order to figure out how to stand for and with the cause of Christ.
Here’s the really troublesome part about that. If we are like anyone in this story, culturally, we are more like the religious authorities. Western Christianity has become more about regulating the status quo than challenging it, and the status quo always leans more toward supporting those in power than compassion for those who have none.
Likewise, in John 7:41 we find that there is division among the people over who Jesus is because of where he is from, and the religious authorities say the same in John 7:52. They even accuse Nicodemus of being from Galilee, just like Jesus. One thing you might notice about this is that Mathew and Luke spend a fair amount of energy proving that Jesus was born in Bethlehem and is from the line of David. It doesn't really come up in Mark’s gospel, but John doesn’t seem to care about proving the lineage of Jesus. If anything, it is as though John’s gospel is saying, “You guys are a little too focused on the rules. Jesus is from God. That’s what matters. The fact that you are hung up on Galilee just proves the point that you are trying to be in control.”
They were trying to be in control of God’s providence and mercy and even the justice and righteousness of God. That’s an easy potshot to make against the religious leaders of a time and place so far removed that they could never respond, but what about us? Where do we expect the liberating presence of God to come from? Do we truly think that we, on the corner of University and Johnson, have cornered the market on the presence of God? Of course, we don’t. That’s why we have a statement of welcome and inclusion on our website. That’s why we seek ecumenical partnerships to do everything from Meals on Wheels to Campus Ministry to food collection and support for families in crisis. That’s why we don’t call our relationship with our sister church in Cuba a project but instead, we call it a partnership.
All that is good and well, and slightly leaning toward what some may call a humblebrag, but the question of today’s gospel remains one of whether or not we are drinking from the living waters of Jesus or seeking to control the flow of love and hospitality that we have received. As a congregation, I truly believe we are seeking to be faithful in that pursuit. Each of us has our own calling to follow in regard to the living water that we receive from Jesus. Will we hoard it? Will we share it? Will we care where someone else who needs it comes from? Will he refuse it if it comes from a source that we do not expect it to come from — ethnically, religiously, or morally?
I think it all comes down to the example of two bodies of water — the Dead Sea and the Sea of Galilee. The Dead Sea is amazing in its own right, with salt content that creates beautiful formations and buoyancy that I am told allows you to float, but the water that enters only evaporates. It has no outlet. No life can grow there. The Sea of Galilee, on the other hand, has water flowing in and through it that supports a dynamic ecosystem that is consistent though always changing.
I’m reminded here of a member in another congregation who used to say, “No matter how old you are, you are either green and growing or brown and rotting. Every day I have above ground, I plan to be green.” May the same be true of all those who come to the living waters of Christ, that we may become conduits of hope and love and justice and mercy. Amen!
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