We who live in Washington DC live in the midst of background radiation. I don’t mean that literally but figuratively to refer to the stresses of being ever on the watch for terrorist acts, political fallout and economic catastrophe. Of course, this is not just the case for DC but in a smaller world increasingly interdependent, most of us slog through a day of noise and radiation. It is not unusual to feel like someone has torn the bark off you.
What I don’t quite comprehend is why persons who are weary and beat up and despairing from the turmoil around them do not take advantage of resources. Can you imagine a thirsty marathon runner passing by a table of paper cups filled with water? Not likely. And yet, people will unpack themselves off metro cars, walk out of the labyrinth of office politics and world politics only to enter their residence alone and–drum roll–turn on the television or computer and feed upon more news that deepens the stress levels.
Here’s what else I don’t get: how people who know where some water is don’t offer it. I’ll cut to the chase here–most of us know that on the Cross of Shame, Jesus cried out, “I thirst.” The Roman soldiers took a sponge of vinegar and gave him a swig. How’s that for cruelty? But you already knew the world was cruel. Jesus in turn, prayed, Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.
On a corner in the Empire is an intimate congregation of inclusion and peace. A stream runs through it. Come and drink. And if you have drunk from this stream, then tell someone where they can slake their thirst. You’re thirsty. We have water. ~See you Sunday