Living Water
First, we had too much water. Then, we didn’t have enough.
Because of a PRE (Predecessor Rain Event), the ground was already saturated when Hurricane Helene roared through Asheville, leading to catastrophic flooding, in addition to devastating wind damage. On Friday, September 27, the anticipated power outage was accompanied by the unexpected collapse of Asheville’s water system.
During the first post-Helene weekend, when all interstates were blocked and stores were closed, clean water was hard to come by. Most of us who have wells (which require electricity for the pump to function) had prepared our homes for the water outage by filling our tubs and stockpiling large bottles of water prior to the storm. The majority of residents who relied on water pumped into their homes by the city had taken no such precautions.
After interstate access from the south and the east was restored, tanker trucks filled with non-potable water (for flushing toilets) and tractor trailers loaded with pallets of bottled water finally arrived in Asheville. Cars and trucks and vans pulled into First Baptist Church of Asheville’s parking lot to drop off cases of bottled water. Cars and trucks and vans pulled into FBCA’s parking lot to pick up cases of bottled water. But folks needed more than clean drinking water.
During the second and third weeks post-Helene, a shower trailer provided by the Raleigh Baptist Association enabled FBCA to give our neighbors the chance to cleanse their weary bodies and wash their dirty clothes. Stationed in the shadow of our historic sanctuary, the shower trailer became holy ground.
“This is like a spa!”
The door to the women’s showers swung open. A woman with a towel wrapped around her wet hair stepped out into the sunlight with a broad smile on her freshly scrubbed face. “This is like a spa!” she announced.
Everyone waiting to take showers or do laundry laughed, but we all knew exactly what she meant. A cramped, fiberglass shower stall can indeed feel like a spa when your access to clean water has been doled out 16.9 ounces at a time.
Hurricane Helene proved to be a great equalizer. Residents from affluent neighborhoods chatted with folks with no fixed address as they waited for their turn to enter the trailer. Multiple languages could be heard in the circle of plastic chairs in the parking lot. The shower trailer functioned much like ancient wells did, becoming a gathering place for the community, a place where stories were shared, a place where basic needs were met.
During each shift I worked, I noted the unprompted praise uttered by freshly scrubbed guests. “I feel like 100 pounds fell off me.” “You almost forget what hot water feels like.” “Best ten minutes of my life!”
“Best ten minutes of my life!”
On the Sunday sandwiched between my two weeks of shower duty, I taught the Journey Class, my Bible study group at FBCA. A month earlier, I had volunteered to facilitate our study of the second chapter of Amy-Jill Levine’s new book The Gospel of John. I had been prepping for our discussion of “Nicodemus and the Samaritan Woman at the Well” when the world turned upside down.
When I resumed preparation for our storm-delayed discussion, I realized my perspective had shifted. Jesus’ familiar words about wind and water sounded strange in the wake of a hurricane. I found myself empathizing with Nicodemus and the Samaritan woman, who both struggled with Jesus’ metaphorical answers to their literal questions. What difference does living water make in a region afflicted first by too much water and then by too little?
I will never forget the young woman who stopped by the shower trailer during her search for a new tent. She had heard a rumor that we were giving tents away; I encouraged her to check with the YMCA next door. “I lost everything I owned in the flood,” she said as she walked away. “I’m sorry,” I called after her. “I’m glad you’re okay.” She stopped walking and looked back over her shoulder at me. “I was in the river. Someone pulled me out.”
Christ, have mercy.
“I was in the river. Someone pulled me out.”
“I wonder how our lives would change if with each glass of water or cup of coffee, we thought about people who thirst, or Jesus who thirsts,” Amy-Jill Levine muses in her book. “Every swallow becomes a blessing. When that occurs, we are feeling the effects not of caffeine, but of living water.”*
I wonder how our lives would change if with each shower or load of laundry, we thought about people who lack clean water to carry out these basic tasks. A month after Hurricane Helene’s apocalyptic assault on Asheville, the majority of residents still lack clean, running water for drinking, showering, and washing. Ashevillians are not alone. Around the world, 2 billion people lack access to clean drinking water.
How can you be a conduit for living water?
*Amy-Jill Levine, The Gospel of John: A Beginner’s Guide to the Way, the Truth, and the Life, Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2024: 34.
