Greetings my friends,
This is Mark Gladman,
Also known as Brother Frederick James,
Your friendly neighbourhood monk in docks.
Welcoming you to day 12 of our Lent 2026 series,
In the Wilderness,
Still Held,
As we walk through John's Gospel towards Easter.
Today,
Let's take a moment as we start to settle our bodies,
To allow our breathing to slow.
There's nowhere else you need to be,
Just right here,
Right now.
May God open our ears,
Our minds and our hearts to what God might have for us today.
Today,
We enter a scene from the fourth chapter of John's Gospel,
A story often called,
The Woman at the Well.
But before anything's spoken,
Before theology unfolds,
Notice that John tells us the hour,
It is noon.
The sun is high,
The light is unavoidable and the shadows have nowhere to hide.
Very few people come to draw water at midday,
Most arrive in the cool of morning or the gentleness of evening.
Midday is the hour of exposure,
And yet it is precisely here that Jesus chooses to sit,
Waiting,
Not in a synagogue or a place of religious safety,
Not even under the shade of a tree,
But beside an ordinary well in the full brightness of day.
And you might imagine the woman approaching slowly,
Perhaps accustomed to avoiding eyes,
Accustomed to walking alone,
And then unexpectedly,
She is seen.
And the first words of Jesus to her aren't about her life,
Aren't about her past,
Not about her choices.
He begins somewhere more fundamental than that.
He speaks of thirst.
How primal.
He says to her,
Give me a drink,
A profoundly human opening.
The relationship here,
Way before it was teacher and listener,
Or Jew and Samaritan,
Or Satan sinner,
Or man and woman,
There's a shared need,
A shared vulnerability,
A shared thirst.
We often imagine that spiritual growth begins with correcting ourselves or improving ourselves,
Becoming someone more acceptable.
But this encounter suggests something quieter and far more compassionate,
That God meets us first at the level of our longing.
Not the level of our performance or adequacy,
But our longing.
So let yourself gently consider this today.
Your thirst,
Whatever it happens to be,
Is not a failure.
It's a doorway.
The very places in you that feel unfinished,
The desires you sometimes hide,
The ache you can't quite name,
These things aren't obstacles to God.
Very often,
They are where God is already waiting in the sheer noon of the day.
For lots of reasons,
Many of us learn to numb our deep longings.
We distract ourselves,
Stay busy,
Keep life at a manageable surface,
Because to feel our thirst can seem too revealing,
Too risky,
Too exposing,
Like stepping out into the noonday sun.
But the wilderness,
Whether the outer or the inner wilderness,
Has a way of clarifying things.
When distractions fall quiet,
We begin to recognize what we truly hunger for.
Not what we've been told to want,
Not what keeps others comfortable,
But what's real,
What's alive within us.
So for the next few moments,
Rest beside this well.
Nothing to fix,
Nothing to explain,
Just notice.
Gently ask within,
What am I truly longing for beneath the surface?
Take your time,
Let the question open slowly,
Like water rising from deep ground.
What am I truly longing for beneath the surface?
Perhaps what you notice is connection,
Or rest,
Or to be known without pretending.
Perhaps you're thirsty for meaning,
Or for freedom,
For a steadier sense of God's presence.
Whatever has emerged,
Don't judge it,
Just simply acknowledge,
Yes,
This too is in me.
And now you might ask,
Where do I sometimes settle for lesser waters?
Where do I drink from sources that briefly soothe,
But never truly satisfy?
And again,
No criticism,
Just honest seeing,
Honest self-recognition with no shame.
And finally,
Very gently,
Can I allow my thirst to lead me toward God,
Rather than away?
By trusting that the one who met a woman at the well in the heat of the day isn't frightened of what is most real in you.
It's important to notice something in this gospel,
That Jesus doesn't recoil from her thirst,
He expands it.
He speaks of living water,
A spring that doesn't run dry.
Again and again in the spiritual life,
What begins as lack becomes the very place of encounter.
And the saints understood this deeply.
Saint Augustine wrote,
You have made us for yourself,
O Lord,
And our heart is restless until it rests in you.
So restlessness then isn't saying that something's wrong with you,
It's saying that there's evidence that something sacred is calling you deeper.
So if today you feel longing,
Or you sense an ache,
If parts of your life feel exposed in the exactly where transformation begins,
Right beside the well,
Right at midday,
Right where Christ is already seated,
Waiting without urgency,
Without accusation,
Simply ready to meet you.
And as we close,
Let yourself hear this quiet invitation.
Let yourself acknowledge what you're thirsty for.
You don't have to carry it alone,
You don't have to hide it.
Bringing your longing into the light,
Discovering that the light is gentler than you feared.
Stay for one more slow breath,
Inhale,
And exhale,
And trust that every honest thirst can become a path towards the living water that's already seeking you.
And as you go gently into your day,
May grace,
Peace,
And love go with you and remain with you today and always.
Amen.
Peace be with you,
My friend.
Until tomorrow.
Bye for now.
