Two years ago we had a serious drought. Crops were parched and people were feeling the same. One day the skies finally broke open, and I stood in the garage with my two kids. “What are we doing?” my son asked. “We’re watching it rain,” I answered. We breathed deeply, smelling dead stuff coming back to life.


Our world seems parched lately. It’s thirsty for something. Some hope. Some love. Constant advertising assures me that there is something for the drought in my soul. But to our deepest thirst, it all tastes like sand in our mouths. This is why I love going to church. We show up in community – our dry and thirsty selves – and hear the Gospel. We hear Jesus tell the woman at the well she’ll never thirst again and that there is living water for our parched souls. Do you smell that? It’s the smell of dead stuff coming back to life. It’s the sweet aroma of Christ’s perfect sacrifice for us.


Every once in a while my son asks me, “Why do we go to church?” I suppose I could answer it this way: “I go to watch it rain.”