Some churches wear their history like a feathered cape — with the past thrown lightly over the shoulders of the present. The past is color, context, and dramatic flair.
Some churches wear their history like a shroud — with the past draped heavily over the face of the present. The past is silencing, secretive, and corpse-like.
The cape-wearing churches tell stories with many actors, who have many foibles.
The shroud-wearing churches tell stories where one person is to blame.
The cape-wearing churches tell stories that happen all over the place — the sanctuary, but also the retreat setting, the party at so and so’s house, the time we went to Capitol Hill, the homeless shelter, stories told with gusto.
The shroud-wearing churches tell stories that happen in the room where Session meets, or in the parking lot afterward, stories told in whispers.
The cape-wearing churches sometimes organize events by email, or Facebook, and plans can change at the last moment.
The shroud-wearing churches stick to their administrative manual, which is thick.
The cape-wearing churches are a pain to keep clean, what with the play-doh and streamers.
The shroud-wearing churches are clean, if you don’t mind the slight smell of stagnation.
The text is John 4:5-42, the story of Jesus’ encounter with a woman at the well in Sychar.
Thirst is real, and water is a justice issue. When Jesus spoke with the woman at the well, he implicitly challenged every cultural assumption about who is worthy of his time and conversation. But this shift has been slow to percolate through the cultural layers of church and society. Rev. Ruth Everhart considers the Samaritan woman’s story in tandem with her own, because gender still shapes a woman’s world. How did living water trickle through the layers of an oppressive church system and the horror of rape at gunpoint? Because the living water is still available, and still ever-fresh. (Year A, Lent 3)