One who loved God and tried to find his way ever deeper into the mystery of God encountered a monk along the road (you know, perhaps, that some monks carry a bowl, because they live by begging, that is, people place food in the bowls which they take to their monastery to share), and he wrote:

At dawn I walked with a monk on his way to the monastery. "We do the same work," I told him. "We suffer the same." He gave me a bowl. And I saw:
THE SOUL HAS THIS SHAPE. [Rumi]

THE SOUL HAS THIS SHAPE. The shape of the baptismal font, or of a communion cup waiting to receive Christ. And that’s why we are here, why we seek baptism, why we long for communion. It’s the shape of our soul—an emptiness longing to be filled with God. Religion itself may be described as ideas and ancient ways shaped into a great hollowness—a beggar’s bowl whose only purpose is to be filled with God. And if our souls and/or our religion are not filled the Spirit of the Living God, then, unfortunately, they will be filled with other things, things that cannot satisfy, but may instead create much pain and suffering. That’s how religion gets to be such a problem on earth. Humanity fills the emptiness with resentments, hostilities, and ancient traditions, and then acts as though such things, in and of themselves, equaled God.

The archetype of that religious problem is seen in our gospel story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman. Jews and Samaritans believed in the same God, but worshipped God differently, and for that reason, coupled with a bitter political history, they hated each other. Each side was full of well-rehearsed reasons why the other side should be despised. That’s why the Samaritan woman at the well was shocked that the Jewish man Jesus would even speak to her, let alone ask for a drink of water.

In his conversation with the Samaritan woman, Jesus invites her to test the idea that it’s not the traditions and habits of religion that give life, but instead the presence of the Spirit and truth of the living God. If she only knew who it was who spoke with her, and what he had to offer, she would be full of God, not arguments about religion.

I found a cartoon this week that captures another moment of religious encounter. Two guys with brief cases are standing on a door step. One obviously has just rang the bell, the other obviously is just ready to leave the house. They are squared off, facing each other. The label on the bell-ringer’s brief case says, "Jehovah’s Witness". The label on the householder’s briefcase says, "Amway." The Amway guy has a toothy salesman’s smile. The Jehovah’s Witness fellow looks anxious. The caption under the cartoon says, "When worlds collide." The rest is left up to our imagination, but it doesn’t take much imagination to see what’s going to happen. There is going to be either icy silence, or there is going to be one hot argument.

We can fill in the blanks because we know this kind of situation from life experience. The news these days is full of the carnage perpetrated by religious zealots. Yet before we judge others in their religions, think: How often have we ourselves become hostile when the doorbell rang and it was a Jehovah’s Witness or a Mormon or some other religious hustler standing there? And how many of us have wished to destroy their spiritual outlook with brilliant arguments, proving beyond all doubt that their religion is wrong and ours is right? But is this enemy-making impulse from God? I don’t think so.

The God I see in Jesus Christ doesn’t want to have enemies, or go looking to make enemies! And I believe that the bitter problems caused by religion in our world do not come from God, but rather from people who are too full of burned-out traditions and ancient resentments and even exalted ideas about God, but not full of the holy, loving spirit of the living God. Maybe we get that way because religion and God are such deep concerns, we feel moved to protect them—as though the Holy One needs protecting! Thus ideas about God become more important to people than God himself.

Consider the case of the Apostle Paul. Formerly completely filled with the judgmental zeal of religion, and its enmity-making power--he was in fact, the prime persecutor of the early Christian movement—in one shattering experience of the Living Christ, St. Paul came to know religion as an matter of spiritual emptiness and God-filling. Since we have been justified by faith, he wrote in Romans 5, we have peace with God. And how did he know that? Because though we are complete sinners, God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. When the Holy Spirit fills us up with Christ, Paul found out from experience, we have no room left for enmity in our souls or our religion and no need to judge anyone for anything. For enemies have to do with fear, but perfect love casts out fear. Filled with Christ, Paul at last found friendship with God.

Given the huge religious problem of centuries of hatred, the Samaritan woman and her village must have already sensed something beyond mere religion in the presence of Christ at the well and in their village. For they came to believe in Him, this One who met them without fear, and without so much as a hint of arrogance, judgment, or attack. He was not their enemy, but their friend; no, he was even their Savior! Having experienced him, they knew that the peace he embodied was all they wanted and all they needed. The emptiness of their souls and of their religion of enmity, was filled at last with the deep peace of the love of God.

That this is what they saw is born out by a final searing truth: even on the Cross Christ saw no enemies even though enemies killed him: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," his perfect love cried as he died. By this he is shown to be a friend to the world. He is the reason why we are here, why we seek baptism, why we long for communion. He’s the one great enough to fill this emptiness we are, and this hollow, beggars bowl we call religion. Amen.