I step out of the house a few minutes before 2 pm, hoping I’ll have enough time to do my errands before my 3:00 appointment. I’m not feeling especially thirsty and it’s not until I’m hit with the 95-degree heat that I remember that I won’t be having any water until I get home (it’s against the law to eat, drink, or smoke in public during Ramadan).
I walk about ten minutes to the mobile phone store to pay my bill. The guard at the door hands me a number and I stand outside in the blazing sun with about ten other customers who arrived there before me. I stand as close to the building as I can, trying to keep my face out of the midday sun. The fifteen-minute wait feels longer, and one of the men in front of me is arguing about someone who went in out of turn. Finally, my number is called, and I go into the air-conditioned store to pay my phone bill. It takes longer than I expected but I don’t mind standing in the cool air. I finish my other errands in the neighborhood and get lost trying to find the office of the foot specialist I’m visiting, but still manage to arrive at the clinic twenty minutes before the doctor does.
The doctor’s office is air-conditioned, too, so I don’t mind the wait there. As I sit and wait, I start to think about the fact that I’m thirsty. Perhaps if it wasn’t Ramadan, I wouldn’t have thought about it. But the very fact that I couldn’t drink in public made me conscientious of my thirst.
My appointment ends and I head toward home. I stop at the grocery store on the way. It’s not a good time for it – it’s only a few hours before iftar and the small store is packed. But I only need a few things, so I brave the crowd and get most of what I’m looking for. For the second time in one afternoon I hear a man ahead of me arguing about the line. I remember that not only is everyone hungry and thirsty – many are suffering nicotine withdrawals (smoking is not allowed during daylight hours).
It’s on the walk home that the thirst really sets in. I’ve been out for over two hours and have walked close to four miles in the dry heat. Dozens of others are out walking as I am. I think: How thirsty the Muslims all around me must be! How thirsty their souls must be for hope and eternal security that they spend a month of days facing physical thirst.
Jesus met people in their thirst. In John 4 He has an encounter with a woman at a well, there to draw her daily water. He offers her living water. A few chapters later, he’s at the Festival of Tabernacles in Jerusalem on the last and most important day of the feast. People have been celebrating for days and have had their fill of food and wine. But He knows that even their religious celebrations wouldn’t bring depth of satisfaction. “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink,” Jesus tells the crowd (John 7:37). This invitation to have their thirst quenched leads some to think He’s a prophet. Others insist He’s the Messiah. Still others determine to see his end. When the temple guards are interrogated by the religious authorities as to why they didn’t stop Jesus, they say in amazement, “No one ever spoke the way this man does” (7:46). They had tasted of the living water and didn’t want to turn off the tap.
As soon as I walked through the door of my apartment, I am drawn to get a glass, but I remember first to take off my shoes and wash my hands after the few hours out. I then pour myself a glass of cold water and sit down to enjoy it fully. One glass is not enough, so I have another – grateful to drink deeply without restriction.
Today, join me in praying that Muslims around the world will recognize – even in the midst of their evening feasting – that there is only One who can provide Living Water to quench their deep thirst.