There are these faith-moments in which I can recall being in the presence of the Holy. God steps into time, and time stops... The Spirit invades the heart, and the heart stops, but beats all the harder. I'm drowning, but I'm breathing. Times when the Lord comes down, and the earth melts...
The experience of God. The infiltrating of the Spirit. An encounter with Jesus Himself.
That freshman spring break trip, Thursday night, worship after the speaker. We sang out this song together, written by Chase Carlisle, a college acquaintance of mine: "Holy God, wash over us with swells of mercy, a cleansing flood. Healing Water, bring life again, freeing hearts from the chains of sin..."
All went black and all went bright. My voice faltered and my hands raised. Tears fell down and my gaze turned upward. I could not have told you then why the lyrics spoke to me so deeply, why the melody stripped me bare and clothed me new in a room full of people. But somehow, and for some reason beyond my control, I felt like I was standing, breathing, washed in the very Spirit of God-- known deeply, loved purely, forgiven endlessly.
Even now, as I recount the instance, I still marvel at it. But, I think I finally have an explanation for my response. And it comes from the story of the woman at the well.
John chapter 4. Jesus is traveling. But he takes a less-traveled route-- goes out of his way, to meet up with a woman who comes alone to draw water from Jacob's well at noonday. It is no accident. It is a pursuit. He asks the woman for a drink... and in doing so, makes this statement: I view you as someone I am not afraid to touch. He offers to give her living water. That's give-- not barter, trade, force, demand. But give. The woman realizes during the course of the conversation that Jesus is there to offer her something better than what she came to get for herself.
But Jesus does something strange. He says to her, "bring back your husband," knowing that she does not have one. In fact, knowing that she has had five husbands, and is now living with a man she is not married to. Just as the woman was leaning in, Jesus digs deep into the flesh and touches the most painful nerve. The nerve of her thirst. The thirst she has sought to satisfy her entire life, but has not been able to quench. When Jesus touches the nerve, he exposes the raw and painful truth:
Life will leave you thirsty.
But Jesus does not just drag up the pain. He also reveals himself to her... "I AM HE." The Messiah. The Truth-giver. The thirst-quencher. And the woman, all alone at the well, stops. in. her. tracks. She sets the water jug down-- the thing that represents her ongoing thirst. In realizing that her life has left her very thirsty indeed, she chooses to embrace the reality of who Jesus is and what he is offering her.
I imagine that the earth melted around her. Somehow, and for some reason beyond her control, she found herself standing, breathing, washed in the very Spirit of God-- known deeply, loved purely, forgiven endlessly.
When I studied this story recently, I thought of that Thursday night in Georgia. At the age of only 18, life had left me thirsty. So thirsty. I had tried in vain to quench my own thirst by gratifying the desires of the flesh. I still try in vain... But that night, to the voices of the Shachner sisters singing, in a room filled with worshiping hearts, Jesus went out of his way to meet me. To reveal himself to me.
I could feel my thirst like never before, and as soon as I felt it, Healing Water washed over me. With swells of mercy. A cleansing flood. Life welled up within me, and my heart was freed from the chains of sin.
As a campus minster, I see thirsty lives all around me. Young people just like myself, who are seeking the thing that will quench the deep-nerve, soul-thirst. Trying to figure out what is good, what is right, what is healing, what is satisfying. And THIS is what I rest in, rejoice in, hope in everyday: Jesus pursues. Jesus encounters. Jesus reveals. Jesus quenches.
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