There's a Hole in My Bucket

I preached this March 3, 2002 in Alice Millar Chapel.

I was among the first generation to grow up with Sesame Street. Big Bird, Bert & Ernie, the Count, Oscar the Grouch -- all great friends. Now, this was pre-Elmo, when Grover pretty much had the market cornered on adorable furry little monsters, and also before everyone could see Snuffleupagus. For some reason, I was deeply disturbed when I learned of that development!

Anyway, one of my favorite recurring skits was two country bumpkin-esque puppets by the names Liza and Henry singing a duet: “There’s a hole in my bucket.” As the folk song goes, Henry complains, as you might guess, that there is in fact, a hole in his bucket. Liza, evidently busy with the demands of her day, responds, essentially -- what do you want me to do about it! Fix it, you fool! It soon becomes clear that she is going to need to walk him through this process. It would probably be easier for her to do it herself. How do I fix it? With a stick. What if the stick is too big? Oh, for crying out loud, show some ingenuity -- cut it! With what? The understandable exasperation grows. A knife! What else!?! Well, what if it’s too dull? Then, sharpen it! With what? Do I have to tell you everything? With a stone! What if it’s too dry? Then wet it! Liza’s temper is flaring at this point, while we pretty much need to check for Henry’s pulse. Well, how do I get the water? With a bucket! But, Liza... there’s a hole in my bucket! And, Liza runs off into the sunset, clutching her head and screaming in sheer frustration.

Thankfully, I don’t think the woman at the well in today’s Gospel lesson had to contend with a hole in her bucket, but one never knows! Our lesson begins as we find an exhausted Jesus resting by Jacob’s well in the heat of the noon day sun. We later learn that his disciples have gone to gather provisions, leaving him alone. His solitude is interrupted as a Samaritan woman arrives, ready to draw a supply of water. Thirsty, he asks her for a drink. She is clearly caught off guard by his request. Jews simply did not mix and mingle with the people of Samaria. Perhaps she was a bit suspicious, maybe even frightened. What did he really want of her?

Out of the blue, Jesus responds: If you knew who I am, you’d be asking me for a drink, and I could and would offer you living water. And the woman doesn’t understand. All these years, not to mention commentaries later, and I’m not all that sure I understand. The woman chooses a very literal approach to her confusion -- you have no way to draw the water! Who exactly do you think you are? Are you telling me you’re better than our ancestors? That what you’ve got is better than what they’ve given us? Maybe she isn’t as confused as we initially thought. Maybe she does understand that Jesus isn’t necessarily talking about a cool and refreshing glass of H20.
And, indeed, Jesus suggests that the water she may draw from the impressive well of her impressive ancestors is only temporary -- a quick fix. Physical thirst always returns, and, quite frankly, always will. Jesus speaks of a spiritual well, where the proverbial pump is always primed. He speaks of water that will quench dry spirits, water that “... will become ... a spring of water gushing up to eternal life” in the parched souls of its recipients. The woman, likely tired of the tedious chore of drawing water on a daily basis, takes Jesus quite literally. From a very practical and tangible standpoint, she would very much like some of this water. Who among us wouldn’t! So often, we’re all about time saving gimmicks and that which is almost too good to be true -- not to mention the all consuming task of satisfying our insatiable hungers and thirsts.

Tom Hanks relatively recent movie Castaway tells the story of a survivor of a plane crash marooned on a deserted island. “Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink!” One day, he discovers coconuts. He rattles them, and can hear the liquid sloshing inside. He throws them against a rock. He pounds them against one another. He beats them with a stone, which separates into sharp pieces, a primitive knife. He works and works and works, and finally cuts through the green skin and the fibrous inner layer... the coconut splits open and the milk spills everywhere. He must be more patient, more gentle, more ingenious. Throughout the course of the movie, we see him collecting dew in the mornings, and storing rainwater in emptied coconuts. In a rather poignant comment toward the end of the movie, after he has made it back, he comments on the ice in his glass -- something he wouldn’t soon take for granted.

But, returning to our scripture... we have a rather abrupt shift. Jesus entreats the woman to go, and return with her husband. Where does this come from? There are those who suggest it might have something to do with the tradition prevalent in the Hebrew Bible, where by the well was quite the singles hotspot -- the best place by far to meet all the eligible young women of the day. You might recall the story of Jacob, for whom the well in the Gospel lesson is named. I tend to hold, however, with those who maintain Jesus was setting himself up -- a sort of deliberate means to an end, establishing the proper circumstances so that he might shine!

But, perhaps we are getting ahead of ourselves. We might imagine the woman averting her eyes, perhaps shuffling her feet in the dust: “I have no husband.” And, perhaps Jesus smiles gently as he affirms her response: “You are right in saying ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband.” Maybe that explains why she is at the well at the rather unconventional hour of high noon. With that many marriages and re-marriages, she is very likely living in sin. It would not do for her to be out and about with the respectable ladies of the village, now would it?

A discussion follows in which the woman acknowledges Jesus as the prophet he is. Worship places and practices are also considered. The conversation culminates as Jesus reveals to the woman that he is Christ, the Messiah. That’s certainly quite a bit to take in, quite a bit to process. In the mean time, the disciples return, somewhat taken aback that Jesus is lost in conversation with a woman, of all people. Never mind that she is a Samaritan. But, they keep their mouths shut. Perhaps they have learned by now there is nothing to be gained by challenging their teacher.

The woman hurries off, leaving her water jug behind. The wonderful news of living water bubbles and gurgles within. She is eager to share with others all Jesus has shared with her: “Come and see a man who has told me everything I have ever done!” This feeling of being known is particularly powerful. And, don’t we all, at least to an extent, desire to be known? I am not talking about notoriety and fame and world renown -- though, there may be those among us who aspire to such celebrity, and stand a good chance of attaining it! I’m not even talking about being recognized by the teller at the bank, or the cashier at the coffee shop. No, I am talking about being deeply known -- as perhaps only those closest to us know us. We are, all of us, stories aching to be told, songs longing to be sung. When we meet those people with whom we may share our stories, with whom we may sing along, it is a gift and a treasure.

How amazing, and certainly overwhelming, to be known all at once. How frightening! We all have skeletons in our closets -- those things we don’t want anyone to find out, those things even we ourselves deny. All Jesus does is look at this woman, listen to her hesitant response to a contrived question, and he knows all there is to know about her. But, what is more, he still accepts her. He doesn’t send her from his presence, with bitter chastisement. He doesn’t condemn her indiscretions. He sits with her, draping the bare bones of her past with a gauze of compassion. He shares with her the truth of who he is, who he will be for so many people.
The woman at the well is asked, in so many words, to believe a number of seemingly impossible things. I seem to recall Alice in Wonderland, or one of her colorful companions, saying something about the practice of thinking impossible thoughts -- sometimes as many as five or six before breakfast. Anyway, the woman is asked to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, and that he has access to living water -- whatever that might mean.

So too, Moses and the Israelites in this morning’s reading from the Hebrew Bible are called to stretch their beliefs just a bit... asked to embrace the improbable, if not impossible. The Israelites, having placed their confidence in Moses, are beginning to lose patience. They are tired, they are testy, and above all, they are thirsty. A drink of water seems a most reasonable request -- were it not for the fact that there wasn’t any water to be had! Moses implores them -- “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?” In a flash of ingratitude, they whine, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt? To kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?”

Now, I don’t think we ought to be too hard on these Israelites -- it has been a hard row to hoe. Questioning the presence of God, even in the face of all God’s gracious gifts, seems only human, only natural. All they want is a drink of water! Is that too much to ask, as they mercilessly taunt Moses: We’re thirsty! Are we there yet!?

Understandable or not, what did Moses do to deserve that kind of treatment? He’s doing the best that he can, isn’t he? He’s only following God, and he’s seems to be on a “need to know” basis -- apparently, there isn’t much he needs to know. Hurt, and probably a little bit frightened, Moses cries out to God, “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.” Maybe things are getting a little bit out of hand. Maybe it’s time for God to pull out all the stops -- or at least some of them. A few bells and whistles never hurt anyone.

God tells Moses to go on ahead of the people -- little surprise there. Don’t we expect that he will be told to press on? He is to take a few of the elders with him -- I wonder if this makes Moses uncomfortable at all? I mean, he is clearly not the most popular person at the moment. To be sent ahead with the key figures of the church? Are these folks with whom he really wants to be alone? God doesn’t really allow Moses the opportunity to give voice to such fears, if such fears are in fact present. God simply sets forth the plan. Moses is to take his staff with him. Not just any staff, mind you. This is the staff. If we go back several chapters, we see that God has turned this particular staff into a snake, in order to compel people to believe in God’s power, God’s presence. This staff was used to strike the Nile river, turning its waters into blood -- the fish died, there was no longer any drinking water -- rendering it useless for the Egyptians
Drinking water? We seem to have a theme this morning. This time, the staff is to be struck upon the rock at Horeb, where God has gone ahead. As Moses strikes the rock, waters will pour forth for the people to drink. So Moses strikes the rock, and the waters pour forth, and the thirst of the people is satisfied. We are told that Moses then names this place Massah and Meribah, “because the Israelites tested the Lord, saying ‘Is the Lord among us or not?’”

Water from a stone. Living water. “Is the Lord among us or not?” I think we know what the answer has to be. Yes. God is in our midst in our plenty and our want. In our accomplishments and our failures. In our friends and our enemies. God is in our midst not only in spite of who we are, but because of who we are.

Let’s visit once more with our friends Henry and Liza. Henry has a bit of a difficult situation, doesn’t he? To fix the hole in the bucket, he needs a stick; to size the stick, he needs a knife; to sharpen the knife, he needs a stone, which, by the way, needs to be wet. To wet the stone, he needs water, and to draw the water, he needs a bucket... but there’s a hole in his bucket!
I think, just maybe, we all have ‘holy’ buckets. But, just maybe, that’s the point. Every time we gather together to worship, we come seeking living water. We scoop it up -- we would fill our travel mugs and our coconuts with it if we could. But, all we have is the vessel that is our life, cracked as it may be. The living water, the love that escapes through the cracks, through the hole, touches those whose paths we cross, watering their way. And, just maybe, they will drink deeply as well.
Amen.