God Shows Up - A sermon for the third month of COVID

Three months ago I began preparing a sermon to share with my church community on the story of the Samaritan Woman at the Well. The sermon that I wrote was on vulnerability, imperfection, and the power of radical acceptance. (You can read it here.)

I reflected on how, “Like the woman at the well we thirst for recognition and acceptance, but approach the world with our defenses up, expecting, and often receiving judgement for who we are or what we have done or failed to do.” I considered how, “In her interaction with Jesus, the woman at the well experiences the uniqueness of being seen and known for all of who she is.” and I asked “Where do we encounter and create spaces of radical acceptance? How do we see Jesus reflected in the waters of acceptance we receive and offer to others?” 

I was excited - this was my first sermon at Stirling.. I spent a long time reflecting on the scripture, imagining the character of the Samaritan women, reflecting on themes, praying, journaling, writing, and practicing. 

I was nervous - while I lead worship a few times a year at Stirling, I always worry about my habit to speak fast and slur words, I practiced A LOT - hoping that I would be able to speak slowly on Sunday morning. I was ready to share my reflection with you - my faith community. It felt honest, true, maybe even somewhat profound. 

And then the global pandemic changed our whole reality. A decision to cancel church was communicated via email the Saturday afternoon before I was to preach. Instead of gathering at Stirling, Young adults went for a walk at Lakeview Park that Sunday morning, followed by a potluck. I shared my reflection with this small group, anticipating that I would be able to share it with the whole congregation at a later point. 

But none of us realized just how much our reality would change over the next two months. This informal Sunday morning gathering in March was the last time I’ve interacted with a group of more than 5 people IN PERSON - not mediated through a computer screen or a phone line. It was the last time I entered someone else’s home. For me, and I imagine for many of you, the first few weeks of the pandemic were filled with anxiety, grief, and crisis management as we restructured work arrangements. And then as the lock down continued, attempts to celebrate Holy Week and Easter in isolation from our faith community, friends and family. 

Somewhere in those weeks I lost sense of how and where I connected with God. Engaging in virtual worship time on my own on Sunday mornings brought me to tears. While church members, pastors and staff shared messages of lament, of hope, of compassion, I sat in tears at my piano. Faith for me has always been a social exercise - I see God best in the faces of others, I feel God in hugs and handshakes, I sense God in shared bread, I hear God as we gather to sing together, I follow God in caring for others and for the world with others. God is manifest most for me in the community of believers gathered for worship. That, for me, is where God shows up. 

So when I reflected on my Sermon from two months ago in anticipation of preaching this Sunday, it didn’t seem relevant any more .  It was inauthentic to this moment in time, it seemed written for a naive moment before our current reality. My sermon was written for a time when I had the capacity to challenge myself to examine vulnerabilities and radical acceptance, and could therefore also feel somewhat authentic in challenging others. It was written for times when people gathered together at the wells of our lives and the solitary journey of the Samaritan woman spoke to me of community ostracization, of shame. I had imagined the Samaritan woman full of spunk, snarky comebacks and defensive challenges - this sermon was written for a time when a casual interaction with a demanding stranger seemed like an irritation, a space for snarky comebacks and defensive challenges,  not a time when a causal interaction with anyone can be a public health danger or a miraculous gift, the unexpected potential for genuine, not screen moderated, human interaction (while keeping proper social distancing of course).  That sermon was not written the time we are currently in. 

But what was the message from the story of the Samaritan Woman for this time? How was God speaking through this story in our current reality? How could I imagine authentically sharing  a sermon with my church community when I felt so distant from the spaces where I experience God most naturally? 

In this space of questing and uncertainty, I stumbled across the poem from Carol Penner (used as the call to worship this week), entitled God chooses face-time: 

We’re always calling God.
Where are you God?
Why don’t you pick up?
The phone rings and rings,
echoing in that heavenly chamber.
We check the number,
this has got to be right.
Finally God’s answering machine clicks in.
We hear God’s voice,
“Why are you calling me?
I’m standing right beside you.”

And I re-imagined the Samaritan woman. I picture her on her solitary journey to the well, preparing to fill her bucket with essentials for her day of tasks ahead. I pictured me, as I turn the tap on each morning to fill the kettle for my daily dose of caffeine, or my partner going to the grocery store each week to pick up our essential food items, or my sister as she feeds the sourdough starter for our bi-weekly loaf of bread, I pictured so many of us as we take a few deep breaths before tackling our emails, homeschooling, never ending laundry and dishes, etc. 

And I pictured her surprised to find Jesus there - right in the midst of her daily chores.

Jesus surprises her, surprises us, with a request to enter into those daily tasks. “Hey there” he interrupts as I fill the kettle “mind pouring me a glass?” 

From their conversion, it is apparent the Samaritan woman was not expecting to encounter Jesus.  A Jewish man asking her for water - not something she would anticipate on a regular day.Then she discovers that he speaks in riddles and has insight into her life - she imagines him to be a prophet, “wow! What an opportunity to ask the big questions of faith and worship!.” And by the end of their conversation, Jesus declares himself to be the long awaited Messiah. Someone so unexpected to show up while she is getting water for her laundry that she can’t quite believe it and has to ask her community for verification. “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?”  Excitement, hope, disbelief that God would show up here, to her. 

In the person of Jesus, our Samaritan woman encounters God in an unexpected place, while going about her solitary chores. She isn’t at one of the spaces where she might expect to find God - at the temple in Jerusalem or the mountain top where her community has worshiped God for generations. She isn’t even a person to whom one might expect God to show up - not  prophetes or priest, not even a Jew -one of God’s chosen people. Just an ordinary woman, a Samaritan, drawing water from a well. 

And yet God shows up. 

The bible is full of stories of God showing up when unlooked for - God shows up in a burning bush to a shepherd following a lost sheep, to a traveler in his talking donkey, to a widow in her yeast and flour that never run out, to Daniel and his friends in fiery furnaces and lion pits. God shows up as a poor baby in manger instead of at the royal palace in Jerusalem,  Jesus shows up late to Laserus’ sickbed, Jesus shows up to the woman at the well. 

Jesus shows up, offers living water and announces that God is to be found everywhere: “God is spirit, to be worshipped in spirit and truth.” God does not wait for us in Jerusalem or in the pulpit, but comes among us as messiah, as deliverer, to offer living water that will always quench our thirst. 

Just as Jesus shows up for the Samaritan woman as she goes about the daily task of drawing water from the well, God shows up in our daily tasks: boiling the kettle for tea, starting the laundry, cleaning the bathroom, doing the dishes, watering the plants. God shows up in the loneliness of starting a work day alone in my basement, of gathering virtually with friends from the isolation of my living room, of worshiping with my church community by following a link in an email. 

I admit, I, like the Samaritan woman, can’t quite believe it. “God cannot really be here, can she?” In my messy house that needs a better housekeeping routine? Next to me as I adjust my posture at my rickety work-from-home desk? In the craziness of never ending childcare messes? In the daily commute for essential workers? In the uneasiness as things continue to change and shift? 

But God is in all these spaces, offering living water, providing the space for refreshment. 

God is not waiting for us to gather at church, or elsewhere, to be present. God is not sitting by their computer screen or telephone, waiting for us to initiate the zoom meeting or phone call. God, in spirit and in truth, is standing here with us. In the everyday challenges of navigating the pandemic lockdown, in moments of social isolation and physical distancing, in moments of exhaustion, moments of despair. And also in those moments of hope, the beauty of spring days, budding flowers, porch visits, zoom gatherings, and the hope that someday we will gather with our larger community in person again. 

God shows up.