Lent 3 Year A
Sunday, 8 March 2026
Marion Chatterley, Vice Provost
The inability to discern what we crave seems to me to be equally true of our spiritual lives. We often don’t know what we need or what we are looking for.
The people of Israel camped at Rephidim, but there was no water to drink.
We live in a part of the world where access to clean water is a given. Scottish water is renowned for being soft, clean, drinkable and rarely in short supply.
And yet, we are regularly told that many of don’t drink enough. There are suggestions that we are in a state of mild dehydration much of the time. Scientists suggest that we should drink before we feel thirsty, not to assuage our thirst.
I guess there’s a reason that in more traditional workplaces, in care homes and hospital, a drinks trolley comes round at fixed times. Many workplaces had, perhaps still have, fixed break times when staff were expected to stop, have a drink and refresh themselves. Our culture of working flat out, eating lunch at our desks, catching breakfast on the go, none of that honours the need to ensure that we are hydrated, the need to care for our physical selves in order to ensure we function as well as we possibly can.
Water, that fundamental substance, is just there. And so we can rather take it for granted, forget that it is something we need to sustain both our minds and our bodies. And then we are reminded in this morning’s Gospel reading that Jesus offers us something more, offers us living water; all that we need to sustain our spiritual selves, to look after ourselves holistically.
I want to think a bit this morning about the ways that we thirst spiritually. To think about what it means to satisfy our thirst for the living water that is the source of all that we are and all that we have the potential to become.
One of the things that scientists tell us about our physical selves is that we are very bad at distinguishing between hunger and thirst. We often don’t know what we need; don’t know what we’re looking for. We scrabble around trying this and that, when what we probably needed was a glass of water. That inability to discern what we crave seems to me to be equally true of our spiritual lives. We often don’t know what we need or what we are looking for.
Let’s think about times when people feel desperate for some kind of comfort or support. Times when we face personal crisis; times when the global situation feels overwhelming. At those times, we, along with much of the population, seem to be more likely to turn to prayer – whatever that means for us and for them. I suspect those are also the times when we, and others, feel most unsure about how to pray; the times when we are more concerned about getting it right, whatever that might mean. The times when anxiety might get in the way. The situation can feel so important that we focus not on being in the presence of God, but on finding the right words or emotions or petitions.
For many people, they will find themselves drawn to a building like this, perhaps to light a candle or write something for the prayer tree. There can be something helpful about a physical action because that helps us to feel that we are doing something, particularly in situations when we have no idea what we might do. These are the times when people cry out to their God, whether or not they expect any kind of response, whether or not they are sure that there is a God.
Those situations are a bit like the desperate thirst we can experience that dominates everything. If you have been on a long hot walk and forgotten your water bottle, you may find yourself unable to think about much more than where to access water. Our physical selves take over, demand that we pay them attention. And in some situations our spiritual selves take over and demand that we pay them some attention.
But, of course, it’s good not to get into the state where water is an essential. It’s far better for us to pre-empt the overwhelming thirst – perhaps by remembering to pick up that water bottle.
You’re probably all much more disciplined than me, but I have several water bottles. Different shapes and sizes and colours. Each time I buy a new one I imagine that it’s the one I will remember to take out with me. Actually, what I need to do is to get into a habit of picking up my keys and my water bottle every time I go out. That way I won’t need to think about it, it will just be one of those things that I do.
Perhaps the spiritual equivalent of that is to find ways to include God, to pick up God, as we go about our lives. The water we need to sustain us physically can be transported in many ways. It also comes in a whole range of forms – straight from the tap; with some bubbles; in tea or coffee; perhaps flavoured. Similarly our connections with God come in a whole range of ways. There isn’t one way to pray. There isn’t a better or more correct way to pray. But we do need to do it. Prayer isn’t an optional extra, a go-to at those times when we are spiritually parched, it’s a fundamental to maintain our equilibrium, to keep us in a right relationship with God.
Experience would suggest that some kind of routine or regularity of practice serves us best. In the same way that keeping our fluid levels on an even keel serves us well, so keeping our spiritual nourishment on an even keel gives us a solid foundation for responding to whatever life throws at us. A baseline of prayer makes it easier to manage that personal crisis or response to a global emergency. We don’t begin by thinking about how or where or when. All that is in place and if it’s familiar should be easy to tap into. So it may then be about more; more of the same or more of something similar.
We might simply be talking about a change of focus. But we might also be talking about engaging with something new – a fresh flavour or expression that might just offer something different in a difficult and perhaps unfamiliar situation. Perhaps this would be a time to try praying with a poem or a painting. A time to try praying in the garden or while walking. A time to perhaps even try a different style of worship, to take a risk in the way that we approach God.
If we turn on the tap and nothing happens, we know that something has gone very wrong. We trust that water is available as and when we need to access it. We can also trust that God’s living water is available as and when we need to access it. We simply need to turn up and be, to turn on the prayer tap and be confident that God will do the rest.
