It was hot, even in the shade. I still had a long distance to walk, when I noticed the sign, “Springhouse Well.” I hadn’t seen an artesian well for years; maybe since my childhood. The sign reminded me of a visit to my aunt’s house in rural Alabama. My dad had taken me to an artesian well on her property, where the water bubbled up into a small pool. I remember cupping my hands and drinking the coldest, most refreshing water I had ever tasted.
That memory made me even thirstier, so I quickened my steps. I had to find the well. I could see the springhouse, small and quaint, across the parking lot. Water, refreshing and cold, was just what I needed on a scorching hot day like this one. The door squeaked on its hinges as I opened it. I peered inside. The well was capped. I looked around for a hand-pump or faucet, but none was in sight. No water…only a sign to mark the place where people had once drank. Disappointed, I stepped back outside. The springhouse was beautiful, but beauty wasn’t going to refresh me or satisfy my thirst. I left the springhouse, as thirsty as I had come.
Our modern culture craves fresh, living water. God has lavishly supplied a crystal clear riverhead in the heart of the Church. Still, our culture desperately attempts to quench their thirst from religious mud puddles. Could part of the problem be that the riverhead is dammed up and diverted so it does not flow out of the Church? You cannot answer for the Church at large, but you can answer for yourself. Is living water flowing out of you?
Taken from my new book "Pentecost Lost". copyright 2011 Patricia Holland
No comments:
Post a Comment