Acts 2:1-13 · The Holy Spirit Comes at Pentecost
Water Won't Quench The Fire
Acts 2:1-13
Sermon
by William G. Carter
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An unusual piece of mail arrived at the office the other day. Inside the envelope was a colorful brochure, a response card, and a prepaid business reply envelope. A computer-generated cover letter was addressed to First Presbyterian Church.

"Dear First," it began, "have you ever found yourself in deep spiritual need? Are you hungry for meaning in your life? Would you like to free yourself from earthly constrictions and reach for the light of perfect bliss? If so, Mr. Church, then you and the whole Church family can try a new audiocassette program titled The Higher Being. It is yours to audition free for the next thirty days. If these tapes convince you that you can find perfect fulfillment, you can keep them for only $39.95, $20.00 off the regular price. If you don't find Infinite Peace through these tapes, return them and owe nothing. VISA and MasterCard accepted."

Every church office receives more than its share of spiritual junk mail. Somebody is always trying to sell the newest Bible study programs, the most successful prayer manual, or the latest design of plastic communion cups. These days there are hundreds of opportunities for church people to buy religious merchandise. Christian marketing firms have baptized materialism in an effort to make a buck. Yet this slick brochure stood out from all the rest. Was it an innocent marketing mix-up or a wrong address on someone's database? It struck me as something far more devilish. Whoever was selling those tapes was peddling fulfillment, freedom, meaning, and peace. The church has always claimed these things are not for sale.

Perhaps it is a symptom of our age to think we can fill a spiritual vacuum by listening to one more tape, reading one more book, or giving our money to one more guru. A young woman told me about dropping by a health food store not long ago. I don't know why she was there; most of the foods she eats are not very healthy. But there she was, among the racks of herbal teas and natural fibers. After thumbing through some compact disks of Celtic harp music, she spotted a book section marked "spirituality." That looked interesting, until she read the titles of the books. There were books about esoteric crystals and secret pyramids. One book offered tips on getting in touch with past lives. Another suggested ways to interpret dreams. There wasn't a Bible to be seen. There were no books on prayer or studies on the Sermon on the Mount. A sales clerk said, "Have you found what you're looking for?"

"Not exactly," she replied.

"Well, we're proud of our section on spirituality," the clerk said. "We do our best to keep up with the latest ideas."

That seems to describe the current fad for spirituality. Here in America, people are perpetually hungry for something new. With all of the current talk about spirituality in our culture, the church is in an awkward position. The church keeps offering the same old thing, and his name is Jesus Christ.

In the text we heard today, Jesus says, "Let anyone who is thirsty come to me." There is nothing new or novel about his words. He simply invites people to come and drink, to taste and see if he can truly quench their thirsts.

As Raymond Brown notes in his commentary on John, it is ironic that Jesus issues his invitation on the Feast of Tabernacles. The Feast of Tabernacles, or Succoth, took place in late September or early October. It began as a harvest festival, but by the time of the prophet Zechariah, the feast had become an occasion to pray for rain. The feast was so important, said the prophet, that if a family did not go to Jerusalem for the Feast of Tabernacles, God would not send any rain upon them in the coming year (Zechariah 14:17). To symbolize the "living waters" which God would provide, during every day of the seven-day feast the priest would lead a procession down the hill from the Temple to the fountain of Gihon. He would fill a golden pitcher with water. Then the procession would turn around and climb the hill to the altar, where the priest would pour the water through a silver funnel into the ground.1

On the seventh and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus pointed to himself and said, "If anyone is thirsty, let them come to me and drink." These are radical words, for Jesus strips away all the trappings of tradition. He judges every religious practice that does not point to him. Beyond the rituals, the holy days, and the temple liturgies, Jesus points to himself as the One who satisfies our deepest craving. The Gospel of John claims the one human desire is to know God, to taste God, for that is the essence of life. If the primary human craving is a thirst for God, it will not be quenched through cassette tapes on human potential or self-fulfillment seminars. The heart of Christian spirituality is taking in Jesus Christ through faith. He is the source of our life and strength.

In The Silver Chair, one of C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia, there is a scene where a young girl named Jill meets Aslan the Lion. Jill is "dreadfully thirsty," and she sees a stream bright as glass. Beside it lay the Lion, the Christ figure, who says, "If you're thirsty, you may drink." Jill stands frozen in fear. The Lion asks her, "Are you not thirsty?"

"I'm dying of thirst," said Jill.

"Then drink," said the Lion.

"May I -- could I -- would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill.

The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.

The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.

"Will you promise not to do anything to me, if I do come?" said Jill.

"I make no promise," said the Lion.

Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.

"Do you eat girls?" she said.

"I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.

"I daren't come and drink," said Jill.

"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.

"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then."

"There is no other stream," said the Lion.

It never occurred to Jill to disbelieve the Lion -- no one who had seen his stern face could do that -- and her mind suddenly made itself up. It was the worst thing she ever had to do, but she went forward to the stream, knelt down, and began scooping up water in her hand. It was the coldest, most refreshing water she had ever tasted. You didn't need to drink much of it, for it quenched your thirst at once.2

The promise of the gospel is that we have access to a water like this as we believe in Jesus Christ. As we trust him with our lives, we participate in the very life of the Eternal One. That is the meaning of the phrase "eternal life." According to the Gospel of John, eternal life is not merely a dwelling place in heaven where we go when we die; it is a quality of life that we can claim here and now. This is the life of God himself, the very Breath of creation. We can call it living water. Or we can call it the Holy Spirit. Whatever we call it, it is a gift of life, given to us through faith, and it cannot be defeated by death.

Even so, this does not mean that Christian spirituality is merely a weekly return to the heavenly watering trough. For the person who is "in Christ," life is meant to be expressed and shared. Perhaps that is the reason for a delightful ambiguity within our text. Jesus says, "Within him shall flow rivers of living water." But it is not clear whom he is talking about. Is Jesus saying, in effect, that a river runs through him? Perhaps. As he says elsewhere in this gospel, "The water that I will give will become a spring of water gushing up to eternal life" (John 4:14). Maybe that is why the writer of the Gospel of John focuses our gaze on a particular event that happened at the cross. A soldier pierced the body of Jesus with a spear and "water came out from his side" (John 19:34-35). From within the crucified and glorified Lord, there flows the water of life.

Yet the passage could also be translated as it appears in the New Revised Standard Version: "Out of the believer's heart shall flow rivers of living water." There is no punctuation in Greek text, so we are left to ponder what Jesus is talking about. Does living water come from Jesus? Yes, it does. Does living water flow from within the believer's heart? Yes, it can. For this is the clearest expression of the mystery of Christian spirituality: We drink our life from Jesus, and the living water spills out of us to others. We cannot hoard Christ or keep him to ourselves. If we truly take him in through faith, the promise is that he will flow through us to others. His risen life infuses our lives. Through us, his life extends into the life of the world.

After Hugh Kerr retired from a distinguished teaching career at Princeton Theological Seminary, he moved to a small apartment in a retirement community. To pass the time, he continued to write articles and read books. He also volunteered to deliver mail. One day he was delivering letters in the health care clinic attached to the community. A black woman attendant was playing "Amazing Grace" on the piano in the social room. She did not seem to be a schooled musician for the notes, rhythms, and variations were very much her own. She played in a kind of broken ragtime, a bit slow and deliberate. Now and then she punctuated the words of the hymn with her own phrase, "Praise God, Praise God."

Hugh noticed how nurses, volunteers, and maintenance people passed by detached and uninterested. Few seemed to notice there was something within that woman that was spilling over into the room, a river of life, a means of grace and truth. Hugh stood and listened for a few minutes. Then he caught the piano player's eye, and said a quiet "thank you." In that moment, in that woman, he said, "I discerned the presence of Christ."3

Ever since Easter, the word is out that Jesus Christ is alive. If he draws near to us, his presence is not immediately obvious. Yet every now and then, God lifts the veil, giving us a glimpse of Christ in the gentle word or generous gift, in the compassionate deed or the joyful song. Jesus Christ is alive; and as his first order of business, he comes to fill us with life. His gracious, abundant life promises to spill into every parched, weary heart, until the day when even a dying world will be raised from the dead. That is the intent of Christ's living water, promised in Easter and sealed in the fire of Pentecost. And water won't quench the fire.


1. Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John I-XII (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1966), pp. 326-327.

2. C. S. Lewis, The Silver Chair (New York: HarperCollins Publishers Limited, Collier Books, 1970), pp. 15-18. Used by permission.

3. Hugh T. Kerr, "Discerning the Presence," Theology Today 44.3 (October 1987), p. 305.

CSS Publishing Company, Water Will Not Quench the Fire, by William G. Carter