Today, for a Good Friday service, we were exploring the last seven sayings of Jesus from the cross. I was assigned the fifth saying, “I thirst,” and asked to speak for five minutes on it.
At first, I wondered how on earth I was going to talk for five minutes about just two words. But within half an hour of starting to research, I was wondering how I’d ever manage to cut it down! In the end, I had three reflections I could have given and picked the one that felt right in the moment.
But it felt a shame to let what I’d learnt stay with me, so I decided it was worth sharing here too – a Good Friday blog post for a small but profound saying.
“I thirst.”
Two words that are so simple, yet hold within them raw vulnerability. On the verge of death, with cracked lips and a parched throat, Jesus calls for something to drink.
This moment is recorded in John’s gospel, and John is always keen for his readers to see Jesus as the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy. He points us back to Psalm 69: “They put gall in my food and gave me vinegar for my thirst.”
There are so many layers here.
On one level, this is a cry of human suffering, a physical need. It reminds us that Jesus truly experienced pain. He didn’t float above it all with supernatural detachment. He felt it. He thirsted.
But this moment also shows us Jesus’ obedience. He knew the Scriptures. He knew what was foretold. He knew what he had come to do. Even in agony, Jesus continues to fulfill the mission he has embraced, right to the end.
I found myself wrestling with the tension between those two ideas. If Jesus only said “I thirst” to fulfill Scripture, does that somehow make the suffering feel staged, less real? Or if this was simply a cry of pain, does that mean the fulfillment was accidental?
But I think the beauty of this moment is that both are true. Jesus doesn’t perform suffering – he lives it. And in living it, he shows us a love that is both deeply human and divinely faithful. His obedience doesn’t lessen the pain. And the pain doesn’t dilute his purpose.
There was also a third layer I began to explore.
Last night, during our Maundy Thursday Watch in the Garden, the leader invited us to imagine something different as we read the account of Jesus in Gethsemane. She said: What if, rather than just imagining Jesus ministering to us, we imagined ourselves ministering to him?
That thought stayed with me.
Because when I returned to the cross and heard “I thirst,” I remembered those words from Jesus earlier in his ministry: “Whatever you do for the least of these, you do for me.”
The cry of thirst didn’t end on the cross. It echoes through time.
It’s there in the parched throats of those without clean water. In those in refugee camps, hospitals, war zones. In those denied dignity, care, or even their basic needs. The voice of the crucified Christ still speaks: “I thirst.”
And maybe part of our calling – as his followers – is to listen. To respond. To quench that thirst where we can. To minister to Jesus, hidden in the brokenness of our world.
So today, as we hear the cry “I thirst,” where do we see Christ still thirsting in our world, and how might we respond?
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