An Encounter With Grace

When the water ran out A story about thirst, racism, and the grace that breaks through 5 min read There's a story Tex Sample tells about himself at 18 — that stretch between high school and college when you think you know more than you do. He had a laboring job in Texas, working behind oil drilling teams. His job was simple: go out in a truck with another man, pull up the pipes left behind, haul them back for reuse. The other man was Jim — older, black, experienced. But this was the middle of last century, before the civil rights movement, when racism and segregation still had their grip. So 18-year-old Tex, white and naive, was the boss. Jim, wiser and more knowing, was subservient. One morning they got to the truck and discovered the tin can that held their drinking water wasn't there. Tex, arrogant in his ignorance, shrugged it off. "No worries. We'll find a shop on the way and buy some water." Jim didn't say anything. He walked around to the back of the station, found an old tin can, shook out the rust and rubbish, rinsed it out, and filled it with tepid tap water. He put it in the truck at his feet, held it steady, and stared ahead in silence. Off they went. The first job was early, but the sun was already coming up hot. After an hour of lugging pipes, they were both sweating hard. Back in the truck, Tex watched — thirsty, but still arrogant enough to think he'd find a shop soon. He watched with mild amusement as Jim blew back the little slick of oil and the flecks of rust floating on the water, took a deep drink, and carefully set the tin back at his feet. Still staring ahead. They didn't come across a store. Two more jobs that morning. The temperature climbed. The sun beat down. By the end of the third job, Tex was in serious trouble. His head pounded. His vision blurred. He'd stopped sweating despite the heat. Dehydration. Sunstroke. He watched Jim pick up the tin can again, blow back the oil and rust, take a deep drink, and set it back down. Inside Tex, something was breaking. He was desperate for water. But the racism he'd grown up with held him in place. He couldn't comprehend drinking from the same cup — let alone a rusted tin can — as a black man. He couldn't imagine asking a black man for help. It was always supposed to be the other way around. But his need for water was stronger than the walls he'd been taught to build. Vulnerable, broken, stuttering, he turned to Jim. "Uh, Jim — could I, would you mind if I had a drink from your tin can?" "No, sir. Here you are, boss." Jim handed him the can. Tex looked into it — a couple of inches of water, the oil slick, the flecks of rust. Water had never looked so beautiful. He blew back the oil and the rust and took a deep drink. It never tasted so sweet. And in that moment, Tex was aware of God's presence. The tin can felt like a chalice. The water felt like communion. Grace. Something profound had happened. He had shared the water of a black man. Something he'd never done before. Something he couldn't have imagined doing. They found a store later. Bought more water, some food. They sat down together under a tree and ate. Broke bread together. Shared a meal. Something that would never happen in ordinary life. But it broke into Tex's world — this racist world he'd lived in. He was always ashamed of that racism. As his life went on, he pushed it away. He became part of the civil rights movement. But in that moment, God's grace broke in. He experienced the grace of God and a relationship with another person who was very different. It was grace and wonder. The baptism of Jesus This week we read from Matthew's story of Jesus' baptism. He comes down from Galilee to the Jordan River, near Jerusalem, where John is baptizing people. Jesus goes down with the crowds, identifying with ordinary people. Going down to the river to pray. To be cleansed and renewed. To receive the baptism of repentance and forgiveness of sins. To identify with everyone, with the world in which he lived. John says to him, "It is me who should be baptized by you, not you by me." Jesus says, "Let's do it this way. Fulfill all righteousness." So John baptizes Jesus. As he comes up, there's this beautiful moment. The Spirit of God descends on Jesus. He experiences the power of God's Spirit in him. And there's a voice from heaven: "This is my own dear son, my beloved, with whom I am well pleased. Listen to him." A deep affirmation of God's way. Of what John has been proclaiming. Of what Jesus will deliver in a deeper, more profound way. The story moves on. Jesus is taken into the wilderness for 40 days, tempted, and then begins his ministry. The story Matthew describes is of one who embraces the outcast. Who brings together the broken, the sick, the vulnerable, the impoverished, the poor, the lost — into this reign of God. A reign of love and grace. Of justice and peace. He brings together anyone who will listen. People hang off his words because there's hope and grace in them. In him they experience this deep and profound love and way of God. He heals the sick. Opens the eyes of those who are blind. Gives speech to those who are mute and hearing to the deaf. Helps the world to see and hear and proclaim this grace and way of God. He proclaims a way of love and forgiveness and reconciliation. He is opposed to violence of any kind and shuns it, recognizing that the only way forward is love and forgiveness. Being reconciled to each other. The way we need This way that he proclaims is the way for our world. We look back at the Bondi shooting a few weeks ago. The desperate stories that fill our news of domestic violence. The death of people in their homes. Wars that ravage and kill people and destroy communities and tear nations apart. The violence that proliferates in our society. We need a way of love. A way of reconciliation and peace. We need a way that's different. This way of Jesus. This way that Tex discovered. That in a world where the barriers are so strong and profound between black and white, God's grace can bring them down. That in our own brokenness and helplessness and powerlessness, we reach out and see the humanity of another. And barriers fall down. Bridges are built. That's what we need in our world. A world of hope, of love, of peace, of reconciliation. This is the way of Jesus. This is what this story of baptism leads us into. Being baptized into his love, into his life, into his hope, into the dream of God. Peace for everyone. Enough food, enough shelter, enough love, enough belonging, enough life for all. For each person, for all creatures, for the earth itself. This is our prayer for our world. May this be a reality for us as this new year unfolds. Amen. Based on a sermon by an unknown speaker