When the Water Gives Birth: John 3:5 

Jesus answered, ‘Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit.

Reflection

The water used for baptism looks gentle. It is clear and still, poured with care and received with hope. Yet, in the early Church, it was known as the water of dying and of rebirth. To enter it was to surrender the old self and rise into a new life in Christ. While we often view baptism as a quiet, clean ritual, the water of faith reminds us of both chaos and creation. It carries the memory of the flood and the promise of renewal. 

At the moment of baptism, the water touches our skin, and we are joined not only to Christ but to one another. We are not baptised alone. Baptismal water has touched generations before us, carrying their prayers, tears, and hopes through time. 

And this water does not stop at the doors of our own congregations. It moves beyond our histories, touching churches that begin in the same grace. This is the quiet truth the global church sought to articulate in the World Council of Churches’ document Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry. Together, we confess that there is “one baptism,” not as a demand but as a recognition of a unity that runs deeper than our divisions. The water has always known a current that carries us further than we can walk on our own. 

Yet faith can sometimes grow still under the weight of habit. We may forget the radical nature of our washing. Perhaps the Spirit is calling us today to let the water move again, to allow what has settled to be stirred, and to let grace find its way through us into the life of the world. 

Baptism is not an ending. It is the beginning of a life that learns to live with openness, mercy, and courage. The water that once covered us has not lost its voice. It still calls us to be made new.

Prayer

God of living water,
You call us through death into life.
You wash away what is past
and invite us to begin again in Your grace.
Keep our faith from growing still.
Let Your Spirit move within us
so that what is cold may be warmed,
what is closed may be opened,
and what is weary may be renewed.
Amen.

Psalm 127
If the Lord does not build the house,
in vain do its builders labour;
if the Lord does not watch over the city,
in vain does the watchman keep vigil.

In vain is your earlier rising,
your going later to rest,
you who toil for the bread you eat,
when he pours gifts on his beloved while they slumber.

Yes, children are a gift from the Lord,
a blessing, the fruit of the womb.
Indeed the sons and daughters of youth
are like arrows in the hand of a warrior.

O the happiness of those 
who have filled his quiver with these arrows!
They will have no cause for shame
when they dispute with their foes in the gateways.

Reflection
Challenged by the fact that I’m not really a fan of the Psalms (except the 23rd), yet attracted by the ‘quiverful of arrows’, I chose to write about Psalm 127.  I drafted, edited, and laid awake at night wondering why I couldn’t finish the work. After looking at other translations, Hebrew, and commentaries (some Jewish), the mist cleared.

Apparently it’s notoriously difficult to translate Hebrew, not least because so many words have a number of different meanings. So I decided to pick two themes that many writers accept are present in the Psalm. These are:

a)    going your own way is not a good thing;
b)    having a big family (especially boys) while you’re young is a good thing.

Being with the Lord is a good thing. Recognising that the Lord is with you is, perhaps, a better way to put it. Wherever you are; whatever you’re doing.  Remember the manna in the wilderness – alluded to in verse 2.  Daily bread for one day – see also the Lord’s Prayer. After a long time in the Christian life I’ve realised that consciously accepting (or not) this offered daily bread inevitably shows in how I live that day. So, once you’re really awake each day, say, “Good morning, God. Here we go again!” 

Having a quiverful probably made sense 3,500 years ago. The growing lads could help you build, and protect and support you.  The Revd Mr. Quiverful in Anthony Trollope’s Barchester Towers is a poor clergyman with fourteen children. But the alleged advantages of a large family are not for him (at least, not at the beginning of the story). Life’s a long struggle. So it has been for many since time began. Struggle is also well-known to those who experience miscarriage, abortion, adoption, or childlessness (voluntary or not).

Each of us needs that daily bread in order to cope with life, and to help others do likewise.

Prayer
O Lord.
thank you for being there for us every day.
Bless me,
and the individuals I know
who strive to fight the good fight – 
or have given up –
and give me wisdom to build, protect, and provide
whenever and wherever you can.
Amen

Exodus 15: 22-27

Then Moses ordered Israel to set out from the Red Sea, and they went into the wilderness of Shur. They went for three days in the wilderness and found no water.  When they came to Marah, they could not drink the water of Marah because it was bitter. That is why it was called Marah.  And the people complained against Moses, saying, ‘What shall we drink?’  He cried out to the Lord; and the Lord showed him a piece of wood; he threw it into the water, and the water became sweet. There the Lord made for them a statute and an ordinance and there he put them to the test.  He said, ‘If you will listen carefully to the voice of the Lord your God, and do what is right in his sight, and give heed to his commandments and keep all his statutes, I will not bring upon you any of the diseases that I brought upon the Egyptians; for I am the Lord who heals you.’ Then they came to Elim, where there were twelve springs of water and seventy palm trees; and they camped there by the water.

Reflection

There is a well-known experiment in psychology. If one person stands on a busy street corner and points up at the sky, most people will just walk past, ignoring them. But if five or more people stop and point at the same spot, something changes. The crowd stops. Everyone lifts their heads to see what is there. We are designed to look where others look. We are wired to share our focus.

I thought of this while reading the story of Marah. When the Israelites arrived at the spring, thousands of eyes were fixed on the same thing: the water. And when that water turned out to be bitter, their shared gaze turned into shared panic. One person’s disappointment quickly became a nation’s despair. Fear, like a contagious gaze, spread through the crowd until the only sound was a chorus of grumbling.

This is the vulnerability of community. We can easily amplify each other’s bitterness. When we stand together looking only at our problems, our collective thirst feels unbearable.

But the story does not end with the crowd’s despair. God directed Moses’ eyes to a simple piece of wood. When he threw it into the water, the bitterness turned sweet. The miracle was not just that the nature of the water changed, but that the community could drink together. They moved from a shared complaint to a shared miracle.

We often think we can walk through our deserts alone, but we cannot. We need community not just to share resources, but to direct our gaze. When I am too tired to see God’s grace, I need you to point it out for me. When your vision is clouded by tears, you need me to help you see the wood that can heal the waters.

Perhaps this is why we are called to walk together. Not just to survive the thirst, but to help one another see where the hope lies.

Prayer

God of Life,
heal the bitterness within and among us.
Turn our shared thirst into compassion,
our complaints into trust,
and our community into a well of Your living grace.
Amen.

Exodus 14: 21-22
Then Moses stretched out his hand over the sea. The Lord drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night, and turned the sea into dry land; and the waters were divided.  The Israelites went into the sea on dry ground, the waters forming a wall for them on their right and on their left.

Reflection
My grandmother used to tell me about the hardest season of her life. My grandfather passed away suddenly before he turned forty, leaving her with four young children and a mountain of debt. Overnight, she became both mother and father, carrying a weight she never expected to bear. She said there were nights she wanted to give up, when the future felt like a wall she could not climb. Yet somehow, life went on. Looking back, she could not explain how, only that a way opened where there seemed to be none. I think of her when I read about the Israelites standing at the edge of the Red Sea.

Behind them was Pharaoh’s army. Before them was the sea. What looked like the end became the beginning of something new. The waters moved, and a path appeared. What had been a barrier became a road. God did not remove the sea but made a way through it. The same Spirit who moved over the waters at creation was moving again, opening a path where none existed.

The story of the Red Sea is not only about escape but about trust. It reminds us that even when all we see is deep water and fear, the Holy One is still working. Faith is not knowing how the waters will part but believing that they can.

There are moments in life when the way ahead feels closed. We stand between what we have lost and what has not yet come, unsure how to move forward. Yet even there, the Presence is near. God breathes across the waters of our fear and opens paths we never expect. Grace is already at work, creating a way toward freedom.

So when life feels closed in and every way seems blocked, remember the story of the sea. The One who once divided the waters still opens paths today. God does not erase the deep but uses it to offer a passage of life.

Prayer
Gracious God,
when the way ahead feels closed, 
remind us to trust Your presence.
When fear rises like deep water, 
steady our hearts with Your peace.
Breathe courage into our stillness, 
and open what we cannot open on our own.
Let grace become the path beneath our feet, 
until we walk again in freedom and light.
Amen.

Tuesday, 26 May 2026
The Waters before the Word

You make springs gush forth in the valleys;
    they flow between the hills,
giving drink to every wild animal;
    the wild asses quench their thirst.
By the streams the birds of the air have their habitation;
    they sing among the branches.
From your lofty abode you water the mountains;
    the earth is satisfied with the fruit of your work.

Reflection

This is the first of twelve reflections that follow the journey of water through Scripture. These are not lessons in doctrine, but meditations that move with the flow of water, tracing its path through creation, promise, and renewal.

Since coming to the United Kingdom from South Korea, I have come to know rain more closely than before. It falls often here, and it stays long enough to make me pause. Many days I simply watch it through the window and let its steady rhythm quiet my thoughts.

As I watch the rain, I remember something that interested me when I was a child. It was the water cycle. I learned that water does not disappear. It only changes its form. The rain outside my window today may have risen from the sea long ago or drifted as mist over a faraway mountain. The same water continues its long journey and returns.

Water carries a kind of history. It connects what came before with what is here now. While water returns again and again, we are often quick to forget. We forget the rain that once refreshed us. We forget the quiet prayers that were answered. We forget the mercy that reached us at the right time. We move through our days as if we are thirsty again, unaware of the wells that already sustained us.

Nothing is wasted with God. The water that once nourished the earth still nourishes it today. The grace that once restored us still moves toward us. It reaches us even when our hearts are slow to remember.

To remember is to be renewed. When we remember grace, gratitude begins to rise again. When we remember mercy, our hearts soften. When we remember God, life returns in us.

Perhaps this is why water returns. It does not return because it remembers. It returns so that we may remember.

Prayer

Lord, You remember what we forget.
When our hearts grow dry, let Your mercy flow again.
Slow us down to see Your grace in the quiet.
Let our hearts learn to remember
Your goodness, Your patience, Your love that never ends.
And when the day is done,
let our hearts rest in You.
Amen.

Psalm 126  

When the Lord delivered Zion from bondage,
It seemed like a dream.
Then was our mouth filled with laughter,
on our lips there were songs.

The heathens themselves said: “What marvels
the Lord worked for them!”
What marvels the Lord worked for us!
Indeed we were glad.

Deliver us, O Lord, from our bondage
as streams in dry land.
Those who are sowing in tears
will sing when they reap.

They go out, they go out, full of tears,
carrying seed for the sowing:
they come back, they come back, full of song,
carrying their sheaves.

Reflection

For the joy of a dream come true, there is nothing to beat Psalm 126.  It is sung by a community that has something to celebrate.  Since the late 19th century, “Bringing in the sheaves” has been one of the most popular Gospel songs, ensuring that Psalm 126 is firmly rooted in our evangelical repertoire.  It is grounded too in Jewish liturgical tradition, recited after every family meal on the eve of the Sabbath to bless God for his sustenance.  And on high days and holidays, this is the psalm of choice.

The first two verses set the tone for what follows.  The singers relive the joy and excitement of a memory from their earlier history, a formative memory which had become embedded in their consciousness, which shaped their identity as worshippers of God.  They look back with gladness to God for what they see as an astounding act of liberation:  their exile in Babylon was brought to an end; and that memory resonates with another foundational account: God’s deliverance from Egypt.  It is in God’s nature to deliver his people from bondage.

What then about the present?  How does all this affect the continuing struggles of actual human life?  The challenge is there in the last two verses of the psalm and we can take it to ourselves.  Despite God’s intervention in the past, life is hard, that’s clear.  Vivid pictures of farming life remind us that there is drought and harvests fail.   But that song of pure joy fires a confident prayer that God who has liberated us from bondage will do so again in the future.  For God is steadfast, God can be relied upon.  And if we remain constant, either as individuals or communities, despite the challenges that face us, we may be assured that one day there will be a rich harvest.

 Prayer

Gracious God,
we remember with gladness
how you have made known to us your power to save.
You give our troubled minds comfort and rest,
You reawaken hope and give us joy.
May we be servants of your peace
Which brings all life together.
Through Jesus Christ, your son, our saviour,
Amen.

St Mark 23:41-44 

Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents.  Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.” 

Reflection 

I wonder where our listening, learning, praying, speaking and doing finds rest. We are human beings after all – not human doings.  

Just do it! A slogan well known enough to, probably, not need a reference.  And our churches do ‘just do it’! Foodbanks, debt counselling, community meals, messy church; you name it, there will be many churches across JPIT’s denominations who do it, with passion and care. We are great at social action. 

But what about social justice? What if it’s not as simple as just doing it, when communities and individuals face political and practical barriers to justice?? What about loving others as we love ourselves?  

There are many ‘great’ people who have effected change, like Martin Luther King Jr and Mother Theresa. You might know of many others. Often, remembering times of great social change, we look past all those supporting and accompanying them, and only remember the figurehead. But in our reading, a poor, unnamed widow is still immortalised by Jesus’ comments about the quality, rather than the quantity, of her actions.  

To be a justice seeker means to embody justice – to live justice – day to day,  by seeking to love my neighbour as I love myself, by volunteering, by praying for others and by using my emotional bandwidth wisely as I accompany my siblings in justice work. Starting from what we have and being confident in the gifts God is developing within us enables us to be justice seekers, seeing famous ‘living saints’ as fellow be-ings, not simply as do-ers. 

Alex Clare-Young adds: Thanks for joining us on our journey of seeking justice through our listening, praying, speaking, acting and being. Are you inspired to take up God’s call to peace and justice with us? Join the Constituency Action Network to be a part of working for justice locally and nationally. Follow JPIT’s newsletter to discover more ways to listen, pray, speak, act and live for peace and justice. 

Prayer 

God our Creator, 
let us feel the breath of the Holy Spirit 
moving through our justice work. 
When we witness others working for justice
and feel we could not match them, challenge us. 
Open us to the little movements in our lives 
that are already there, 
that lead us to the big movements 
of a justice-seeking life. 
Be present with us as we work for a just world, 
by the power of your just love. Amen