living water

The Beauty of Cana’s Living Water

 

In so many paintings depicting the Wedding at Cana story, the astonishing lavishness of what Jesus provides is diminished ~ especially when set side-by-side with the portrayal of what the wedding hosts provide. We miss seeing the heart of this story ~ that through Jesus, the abundance of divine glory comes into a world colored by human scarcity. For he is the true ‘host’ even if, at first, his abundant gifts seem hidden. Peter Koenig’s larger painting, of which this is only a portion, captures all this beautifully. Here, we see another section of it, which obviously depicts the Cana theme.

As we have previously noticed, Koenig’s painting is profoundly biblical while not being literal. For he is faithful to John’s highly symbolic and mystical, rather than literal, approach. And so, though we see the stone water jars mentioned by John, we find Jesus and his mother portrayed in a more contemporary setting, complete with a modern-looking table and wine glasses. Once again, we need to ‘read’ the symbolic imagery to grasp the fuller significance of what both John’s Gospel and Peter Koenig’s painting offer to us.

The center of Koenig’s larger painting portrays a vision of the New Jerusalem, the city of God, coming down from heaven (for a more complete view, see the prior post, below). This image follows what we find described in the Book of Revelation. This New Jerusalem becomes God’s dwelling place among God’s people. And at its center is the enthroned Lamb, with his ‘bride’ the Church at his side. From the Lamb’s side comes the water of life, pouring into the fallen but being redeemed world. The cleansing and purifying water of life fills the jars, as well as provides the context for Baptism. And as Peter Koenig mystically portrays, this water then becomes the very good wine which is served at the wedding feast.

Revelation also speaks of the marriage supper of the Lamb, where saints and martyrs join him in the heavenly realm. Koenig portrays the company of these holy ones standing before and around the throne, apparently bearing gifts. If you look closely, you will see that they are carrying the instruments of their martyrdom, while one of them leads what surely represents a colosseum lion. In several places in the painting, we see what Revelation refers to as the tree of life standing near them and near the gushing living water. For those who have died to the powers of this world are alive to the power of the next.

Among so many paintings representing the Cana story, this may be among the most faithful to what John wants us to see, and to believe. And John’s Cana story, like the whole of his Gospel, is about the wedding of the human and the divine, in Jesus.

 

This detail of Peter Koenig’s larger painting is reproduced here with the artist’s kind permission. This and other examples of his religious artwork can be seen by visiting the website of his parish church, where much of it is displayed (click here).  This post is based on my homily for Sunday, January 20, 2019, which can be accessed by clicking here.  Other homilies of mine may be accessed by clicking here. The Revised Common Lectionary, which specifies the readings for Sundays and other Holy Days, can be accessed by clicking here.

The Deep Well of Living Water

Art_Tissot_Samaritan Woman by the Well_Best

The middle of the day brings with it contrasts – both literally and figuratively. When the bright sun shines directly overhead, distinct shadows form around us, leaving sharp lines between light and dark. We often feel most-alive at mid-day, when we’re involved with projects or work. But at noontime, we can also be distracted by cares and concerns, bigger than we can handle by ourselves. Milder than in some places, the noonday sun in Samaria can be demanding, causing people to seek shade where it might be found. Even livestock move to the shadows under low tree branches until the respite of early evening. Though relief might come from cool water, a walk to the well is usually postponed until the daytime heat has passed. Especially if one plans on carrying jars heavy with water back the house.

In spite of this, and in fact because of it, she comes to the well at mid-day. This way, she can mostly count on no one being here. Back in ancient days, Jacob’s well was covered by a large rock. It was so large, it could only be lifted by several people working together. Therefore, no one could come alone, and take more than his or her fair share from the depths below. One could only satisfy a need for water in the presence of others, who would help lift the heavy stone cover. The Samaritan woman is glad it’s different now, for she can come alone to draw from this deep well.

On one noonday visit, under the hot sun, she finds an unexpected stranger by the well. He appears tired, and asks for a drink. She does not yet see how this moment connects with a larger pattern. He thirsts, just as he will thirst again on another hot noonday. Both now and then, he thirsts as he does the work of his Father. Paradoxically, just as will happen on that later hot afternoon, he thirsts while at the same offering living water to those who need it.

He seems to know more about her than she could ever have guessed. And his statements are provocative. Slowly, she discerns that he is saying something like this: “You have come here in the safety of noonday. For you assume no one else will be around, when you raise water from the depths of Jacob’s well. Yet, you have a deep well within you. How far into the depths of your inner well, are you willing to go with me?”

 

This posting is based on my sermon for Lent 3, Sunday March 19, which can be accessed by clicking here. In my sermon, I quote the David Whyte poem, “The Well of Grief.”  The image above is another one by the gifted James Tissot, and reflects an intentionally faithful, late 19th century, perception of what the study of archaeology tells us about ancient biblical sites.