The May rains were not enough and the dry spell lingered all summer, cows drank down ponds, crops failed, dust coated everything. Around 3:30am, Uncle Clellon would whisper, “Honey, get up.” We skipped coffee. I slid into the truck’s passenger seat and closed my eyes as we rode to ‘the other place’, then down into the bottomland. The night before we had laid out the pipes. In the predawn darkness, we checked the connections, slid the intake pipe into the creek, primed the pump, started the tractor, and waited for the system to pressure up. A sprinkler head’s song is a beautiful thing, tic-tic-tic-tic-trrrrt, and when every member of the irrigation choir joined the rain song; it felt almost holy. If some sprinklers failed or pointed away from the crops, you had to navigate the dark wet field looking for the misaligned connection. That mental problem solving demanded an alertness that made it harder to fall back asleep. But, if we managed to create “rain”, we could stretch out a blanket and nap until the bird’s morning songs woke us up.  The starlings rejoiced to make the fields their bird baths and the robins hunted worms in the fresh mud. Uncle Clellon poured us creamy sugary coffee from a thermos and offered ham biscuits insulated with newspaper. 

Seeing the mist rising over the bottomland, you might be inspired to write, “Oh God, you visit the earth and make it abundant, you provide the streams, full of water. You provide people with grain. Drenching the earth’s furrows, leveling its ridges, you soften it with rain showers; you bless its growth. You crown the year’s harvest with your goodness; your paths overflow with rich food. Even the desert pastures drip with rain, and the hills are dressed in pure joy. The meadowlands are covered with flocks, the valleys decked out in grain—the songbirds shout for joy; the meadows break out in song!”

 If you go to Israel, the mountain rains drain into the Sea of Galilee and the Jordan River watershed. For thousands of years, farmers have dug irrigation ditches and used water wheels to nourish citrus trees and fields of vegetables. Even with irrigation, when the rains came the Psalmist surely sang a song of thanksgiving for food and of wonder for the created order. 

Our science is better now, we know that you can’t really stand at the edge of the earth; there are no gateways for morning sun to pass through, and yet as we learn more, we must not forget to sing for joy,  to marvel at the wonder of our universe, the amazing insights of a paleontologist’s discovery, the majesty of a sunrise, the sound of a bee pollinating as it buzzes along, or the smell of fresh bread.

When the ground was saturated to my uncle’s satisfaction, we slid on our muck boots and began the muddy work of disassembling the irrigation system starting with the six-foot sprinkler shafts, then the joints, and finally we carried the 30-foot sections of aluminum pipe carefully to the wagons, or if we were lucky, just a few hundred yards down the same field. Somehow Uncle Clellon never got as muddy as I did. On hotter days, I walked to Glen creek’s deepest blue hole and washed away that mud and filth.

It was exhausting work. The normal farm chores did not go away because we were trying to replicate the rain that God usually sent. I am not a scientist, and things like global climate change are complex and costly. The United Nations estimates the cost of global climate change mitigation at $160 billion per year. (unep.org/news-and-stories/press-release/impacts-accelerate-adapting-climate-change) Despite the complexity and cost, we as people of faith, we are called to care for this creation God has entrusted to us. We must be personally responsible and advocate for the planet and those directly impacted by climate changes.  

Maybe climate stewardship or perhaps all real stewardship begins with reverence- with us capturing a sense of the sacred that God has woven into the creation. When we hear the Creator in the meadowlark’s song, feel the Spirit in every cooling breeze and see Christ in every loaf of bread, we become aware that we are made to be stewards not consumers. There is holiness all around us; the world is a sanctuary if our eyes are open and our soul’s attuned to the silent praise.

God of Zion National Park, Zenith, Tennessee, and Zimbabwe, to you even silence is praise. We will keep our promises we have made to You. You listen to prayer—and all living things come to you. When wrongdoings become too much for us, You forgive our sins. How happy is the one You draw close, the one who lives in Your courtyards! We are filled full by the goodness of Your house, by the holiness of Your temple. In righteousness You answer us, by Your awesome deeds.  God of our salvation— You establish the mountains by Your strength; You are dressed in raw power. You calm the roaring seas; calm the roaring waves, calm the noise of the nations. Those who dwell on the far edge stand in awe of Your acts. You make the gateways of morning and evening sing for joy. You visit the earth and make it abundant, enriching it. You provide the streams. You provide people with grain… the hills are dressed in pure joy. The meadowlands are covered with flocks, the valleys decked out in grain—they shout for joy; they break out in song!.

I wonder if we are too insulated from creation to find our deepest praise, too mediated from wilderness to know its healing powers, too isolated from our food to savor the miracle of life, too prepackaged “to taste and see that the Lord is good” ? (Psalm 34) Even though we know that water is essential for life, when was the last time we thanked God for water? We do not have to spend much time thinking about water. Most of us safely assume that crystal clear, pure, and inexpensive water is only a twist of a knob away. We can drink, bathe, put out a fire, water a lawn, or wash our clothes without much thought about water. We do not have to walk down to the creek, drop a bucket down a well, or worry over dysentery. It’s so easy for us to take water for granted, despite how fundamental it is to life. We may be spiritually poorer for our physical convenience, although I am not suggesting going backward, but maybe we could abide in the moment, maybe just listening for the rush from the spigot and offering our silent praise for life giving water.   My mother, who grew up drawing water from a well, often said “That is good water” or “nothing is better than a good cup of water.”  Such awareness is a kind of prayer!

Water is a basic human need. Waters’ subtle foundational power makes it a powerful metaphor for our spiritual lives. 

Our baptismal liturgy stirs up Biblical images of water that can nourish our parched souls. “When nothing existed but chaos, God you swept across the dark waters and brought forth light. When you saw your people as slaves in Egypt, you led them to freedom through the red sea. Their children you brought through the Jordan River to the land which you promised. And so, we sing to the Lord, all the earth. We tell of God’s mercy each day. In the fullness of time, you sent Jesus, nurtured in the water of Mary’s womb. Jesus was baptized by John and anointed by God’s Spirit. God calls all who follow Jesus to share in Christ’s baptism. Declare Christ’s works to the nations, God’s glory among all the people. We ask God to pour out your Holy Spirit and bless the gift of water and all who receives it, to wash away our sin and clothe us in righteousness throughout our lives. 

David wrote that the Lord is my shepherd. I lack nothing. God lets me rest in grassy meadows and leads me to peaceful waters; the Lord keeps me alive.” Jesus is Living Water that becomes a spring of water within our souls that bubbles up into eternal life. (John 4)

Isaiah sang, “Oh, you that are thirsty- come to the water”. (Isaiah 55) You who feel dried out, dead, and cranky, come drink of the Living Water.  You who are burning inside with rage, come let the healing waters soothe the fire. You who are feeling the icky grit of sin clinging tight, come to the forgiving waters. You who are feeling tossed by the roaring sea, come to the One who calms our storms with hope. You who are weary come rest abiding by Love’s peace-giving waters. You who need a new word, a new hope, a new day, remember your baptism. Remember, the one who renews us by water and the spirit and be thankful.   Remember, our Creator, who gave us the gift of water- when you raise a glass, shower, or water your garden: praise the giver and gift of water. And nourished, sustained and renewed by water- remember to care for God’s creation.  Amen.