John 19:28
Jesus says,
I am thirsty.
I am thirsty for water, just a drop please.
We’ve come so far, searching, fleeing the threats that destroyed our home.
We are thirsty.
We are thirsty for water. Ours was poisoned, made toxic by racism, money, political oversight. Just a drop please.
We are thirsty for water. The summers get hotter and hotter, the rivers dried up, we go further and further in search of some water.
I need water.
I am thirsty.
Thirsty for touch,
for my body to be seen, to be known.
I am thirsty for the gentleness of an accepting embrace. I am thirsty for this imperfect vessel to be looked at, to be enjoyed, to be loved,
for what it is,
for it is me.
I am thirsty.
Thirsty for conversation, for community, for the din of a lived in house, a family.
This silence, the uninterrupted space gnaws at my eardrums.
I am thirsty for friendship, for the sense of belonging, for someone to notice me, for their face to change, awash with the delight of seeing me, as they extend a hand,
I am thirsty for my name to be said in a familiar way.
I am thirsty to be with you again.
And so, Jesus says,
I thirst
in all the ways you thirst.
My body feels the ache of thirst your body feels.
But this thirst, professes incarnation.
It marks me as human even in the midst of a death where the divine will intervene.
This death, this thirst, my thirst, a divine thirst gifted humankind,
this is so you too might know the gift of water…
of cool clean water
washing down a parched throat,
washing away the weary dust of this journey towards justice.
This thirst is so you too might know the gift of a caress,
of fingertips running across lips,
of fleshly hills and crevices being celebrated,
of mingled breaths,
of encircling arms.
This thirst
is so you too might know the gift of a full table,
of friends and family,
of being fed by presence,
of abundant recognition,
of being familiar,
the nourishment of deep conversation, that rests within and restores.
This is for you.
Jesus says,
I thirst,
so you
may drink.
Amen.