At the beginning of Lent, in search of something to fast from, I asked myself the question, “What’s something that is no longer serving me?” It was a softer way of urging me to take a harsh look at my patterns and what I was filling my time and space with. Rather than try to shame myself out of certain behaviors or reliances, I wanted to use this season to take a deeper look into the places in my life where I was digging out my own cistern rather than drinking from the Living

Today, our scripture calls the worshiping community to celebration and then offers a pause as a reminder from God (a voice not expected and in other Biblical translations, not known) pulls the community to remember the mighty acts of God’s salvation: answering their cries, rescuing them from bondage, and leading them safely through the wilderness. Listening to this voice redirects their worship from a regular liturgical celebration to a response to God’s gracious acts toward

I’ve grown to see Lent as an awakening. Not the gentle stirring kind, but the kind that calls you out of sleep. It is a season when we allow God to shake us out of numbness. It’s an invitation to be honest about injustice, suffering, and the places where fear and control shape us more than love does. Lent is an invitation to listen again to God’s beckoning voice. Psalm 81 is an invitation to awakening. It begins in joyful song, but then the tone shifts.

It’s interesting to imagine Jesus sitting by the well that day, thirsty and without a bucket to draw water. He may have been waiting for a kind stranger to come along, confronting the very real feeling of thirst. When you’re parched, it’s hard to think straight; your mouth feels dry, making it difficult to speak. This aspect of the story is significant: Jesus was thirsty. While we often contemplate Jesus’s divinity—being God incarnate—it's important to remember that he had a