Tag: thirst

  • If You Can’t Kill Him, Spill Him

    05.15.11 | Comment?

    by Paul Darilek, Living Water International

    Jesus died thirsty.

    I don’t mean thirsty for us to know the Father or anything like that. I mean that Jesus’ mouth was uncomfortably dry. He talked about that on the cross more than he talked about the iron jammed into his wrists. 

    “I am thirsty” is the penultimate thing Jesus says on the cross, just before, “It is finished.” Whips, spit, thorns, jeers, jabs, nails, and in his dying breath, Jesus says, “I am thirsty.”

    So the question is this: If you could give him a drink, would you?

    If you could walk right by the steel scowl of Roman centurions, scale the cross, and give him a glass of cool water, a cup of comfort in his dying hour, would you?

    What if it cost you a little bit of comfort? Then would you? What would you give up for the opportunity for you to satiate his thirst? Two week’s salary? An extra pizza topping? How about a white mocha frappuccino? Too bad it doesn’t work that way.

    Or does it?

    Jesus had a very peculiar opinion about the matter. The way he sees it, we can see him thirsty and give him a drink. He said that’s what we’re doing — here and now — when we see the least of our brothers and sisters thirsty and give them a drink.

    It’s a strange way to think. The son of God does not distinguish between himself and a runny-nosed little kid in Africa. When we give a drink to one, we give a drink to the other. Is he just exaggerating to make a point? Or is he giving us a glimpse of what things look like through God’s eyes?

    Jesus’ way of seeing things pierces right through all of time and space and even death. Right now, and always at any time, and right here, and anywhere in any place, when we give a cup of water to the least of these we do the same for him. In Jesus’ peculiar way of seeing, he never died — he’s still running around in thirsty people’s bodies all over the world.

    Easter wasn’t ultimately about the resuscitation of a corpse two millennia ago, but the resurrection of a being still manifest in little bodies running around all over the planet. He’s as everywhere and eternal as hope that can’t stop spilling.

    So we simplify. We give up that white mocha frappuccino or that pizza topping, and we save and give and love and blog and spill hope. Because when we see Jesus running around in a runny-nosed little body and his mouth is uncomfortably dry, we can’t kill him. We couldn’t if we tried. So we spill him.