Volume 6, number 4
February 25, 2002
In
Exodus 17, the Israelites berate Moses because they have no water
to drink. The Lord tells Moses to strike a rock and the water
flows, proof of God's presence. In John 4, Jesus offers the water
of life to a Samaritan woman. The following meditation is based
on these readings for the Lenten season.
The rain this year is a blessing,
says Sharaf, an agricultural extension worker from Hebron, West
Bank.
Palestinian farmers this year joined Sharaf in rejoicing at the
steady rains that fell during late December and January.
Palestinians around Hebron contend with water shortages on a daily
basis. Not only has rainfall been well below average the past
couple of years, but much of the water resources are confiscated
by Israeli occupation authorities for use in Jewish-only settlements
(colonies) built in violation of international law.
While Hebron residents can expect running water only a few days
per month, the Israeli settlements (typically built on land expropriated
from Palestinian farmers) enjoy green gardens, sometimes even
swimming pools.
Water is a precious resource, the source of life. It is not surprising,
therefore, that in Lent, the time when we grapple with the mystery
of life arising out of death, the lectionary compilers chose scriptural
texts in which water is a central theme.
"Is the Lord among us or not?" the Israelites, parched
for water in the desert, complain to Moses. Following the Lord's
commands, Moses strikes a rock at Horeb and water gushes out.
The springs thus created are then called Massah and Meribah, names
derived from the Hebrew verbs for "testing" and "finding
fault." In the midst of physical thirst, in the midst of
doubt and questioning, God provides.
Jesus' encounter with the Samaritan woman at Jacob's Well in present-day
Nablus provides a fitting complement to the Exodus narrative.
Having surprised the Samaritan woman by transgressing religious
boundaries and asking for a drink, Jesus astonishes her still
more, declaring that he can provide her with living water. Everyone
who drinks of the well water will be thirsty again, he tells her,
but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never
be thirsty.
Palestinians are thirsting for water: water for drinking, for
agriculture, for cooking, for cleaning. Life in the West Bank
and Gaza Strip can be a parched wilderness, with the staples for
sustaining life in short supply. When Israel turns off the tap,
Palestinians must rely on water they have stored in roof-top tanks;
if these run out, they have no choice but to buy water at highly
inflated prices from Israeli settlements, settlements that benefit
from water confiscated from West Bank aquifers. The rains this
winter are testimony that God does provide, but unfortunately
God does not guarantee that his creatures share his bounty equitably.
Israelis and Palestinians are also thirsting spiritually. By imposing
a violent occupation regime on over 3 million Palestinians, Israel
may gain territory, but the price it pays is a parched soul. House
demolitions, arbitrary roadblocks and checkpoints that constrict
Palestinian movement, the crippling of the Palestinian economy,
not to mention the killings and maimings of thousands of Palestinians-one
can't carry out these acts and not be left with a desiccated spirit.
Too many Palestinians, meanwhile, burn with the hatred and bitterness
stoked by 35 years of occupation. Both Palestinians and Israelis
need God's living water, the water that puts out burning desires
for retribution and dampens the inflamed conviction that violence
can achieve security, peace or freedom.
During Lent, we are sharply reminded how thirsty we are. Not only
Israelis and Palestinians, but all of humanity is left thirsty
and dry by the injustice that surrounds us like an endless wilderness.
We can only live sustained by hope and thanksgiving for the living
water that God alone provides.
May the day come quickly when the thirst of all is quenched at
the springs of God's living waters.
-Alain Epp Weaver
The writer, from
Bluffton, Ohio, is co-representative for Mennonite Central Committee
Palestine in Jerusalem.
One shudders to think about
what would have happened to Shakespeare's reputation had he cast
an aspiring Mennonite couple for the famous balcony scene in Romeo
and Juliet.
The lightness of verbal expression would have been weighted with
earnest jargon. The sense of keening romance, so powerfully evident
in the text, would have been simplified by thoughts of, "Shouldn't
I really be saying more with less?" And the image of a perhaps-less-than-completely-nimble
Mennonite lad scrambling toward his distant beloved might have
provided an answer to the question, "What's so amazing about
grace?"
It was thus with considerable relief that I rejected the idea
of re-writing the aforementioned love scene in plain-spoken Mennonite
lingo. The Bard's best work, like the fairest flowers, already
has enough fertilizer.
However, I did take seriously the call, from the leaders of the
newly-christened Mennonite Church Canada, to send a greeting on
behalf of the institution where I hope to continue to work even
after the following sonnet is published.
With apologies to Shakespeare, and to everyone else within a three-planet
radius, I humbly submit this tribute to North America's newest
denomination. Poetically speaking, I'm well aware that I have
lots to be humble about!
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