Reverend Janet Parsons
Gloucester UU Church
September 9, 2018

It has been a time of great thirst, these past few months. A hot, humid summer, with little rain.
An old friend came to visit me one day recently, and said, sighing, “Well, I brought all my beach stuff, but I think it’s too hot to go to the beach.” I poured her a glass of ice water and we sat in the air conditioning for a bit. We sought out a restaurant for lunch, and our first choice was closed because it was simply too hot for the restaurant staff.

The heat this past month bore down on us, unrelenting. We have known thirst. And when the rain came, this past Thursday afternoon and evening, what a welcome sight and sound that was: a sense that we could relax, that we were receiving a gift, that Nature was caring for us, quenching our thirst. How many of you joined me in thinking simply, “Ah!”

It continues to be a thirsty time for us in other ways as well. Those of us who care about justice and fairness, who long for times when there was more thoughtful dialogue, more depth to our national and international conversations, find ourselves thirsty for deeper discussion, thirsty for more compassion and understanding.

We seem locked into a time of great noise: strident opinions, rapid-fire announcements and angry denunciations, every day a new scandal, new drama, new fears. Truly it is a time of thirst for our souls. It is a shallow time: commotion and conflict roiling the water on the surface. It is difficult to get beneath the surface to the calmer, deeper waters.

What is happening in the larger world these days can feel overwhelming, and we can long to retreat, to hide, to protect ourselves from the drumbeat of negativity, the harsh, arid speech that leaves our spirits parched.

Not only our bodies are thirsty, but our spirits thirst as well. The heat and noise and daily assault on our spirits can drain us, leaving us feeling dry and used up.

Over this hot summer, as I have reflected on today’s worship service, I have returned to the image of a well: a source, a place of deep water, far below the surface, waiting to offer its nourishment. Offering us its healing and living waters.

We are in deep need of those living waters, represented by the image of a well, and captured by the words of the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins: “There lives the dearest, freshest, deep down things.” (God’s Grandeur)

We use many words to describe our community of faith: a church, a beacon, a meetinghouse. But during these hot summer days I have envisioned this sacred place over and over again as a well. A place of cool waters to quench our thirst for the spirit.

This month, we are considering the spiritual theme of Vision. We will be invited to think about the vision we have for our own lives, and beyond: a vision, perhaps, of a more compassionate country. We will be invited to think about our visions for our congregation: who we will be for one another and for the community. And more poetry comes to mind – from the poem Jeremy read a few moments ago:
“Don’t say, don’t say there is no water
to solace the dryness at our hearts.
I have seen
the fountain springing out of the rock wall
and you drinking there.” (Denise Levertov, The Fountain)

“I have seen the fountain springing out of the rock wall, and you drinking there.” And I have seen you all not only drinking here, but adding your own water to the well, over and over again.

We gather here, each year, to add our water to the well of this community, to create a well of living water from which we draw when we need to. We add our love, our compassion, our financial resources, our talent for music and writing, for governing, for helping one another with meals and rides, our willingness to listen to one another and understand each other. All this is poured into the well.

And at other times, we dip a cup into the well of living water, to drink when we are thirsty, when we need companionship, and solace. We drink when we seek to make meaning of our human lives, to understand that which is greater than ourselves, whatever our name for it may be: Love, or God, or Spirit. We drink when the world seems to be too much with us, and we need to find a sanctuary, a safe space to gather our courage and set forth once more.

My dear ones, may you always see this place as a well – a well for you to use as you need and to replenish as you can. May you always know it as yours. May you drink freely and pour generously.

Blessed be,
Amen.