In this Lenten series, Last Words, we are doing a deep dive into the final teachings of Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew 25. These are not casual remarks. They are words that reveal what matters most in the kingdom of God. Jesus is speaking about the inheritance of the Kingdom and how those who meet the needs of the vulnerable in practical ways will be the ones who receive the Kingdom – and those who ignore the needs of the vulnerable inherit an alternate ending. 

Today, we narrow in on one simple sentence: “I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink.”

It sounds so ordinary, so small, so trivial, so easy. A cup of water. While water seems basic, it is necessary and life-giving. 

In the ancient world, water was not a convenience, it was survival. In first-century Palestine, access to clean water meant the difference between life and death. This is still an unfortunate reality in places of our world today. In the first century, hospitality laws were strong because survival depended on mutual care. To refuse someone water in a dry climate was not just rude, it was dangerous as it threatened the well-being of one’s guest.

When Jesus says, “I was thirsty,” he is speaking about real bodies, real deprivation, real urgency. We also know that thirst is not only physical. There is thirst for dignity. Thirst for belonging. Thirst for justice. Thirst for peace in a violent and divided world.

In Matthew 25, Jesus does something unsettling. He identifies himself not with the powerful, not with the comfortable, not with those who already have full cups, but with “the least of these.” The thirsty one is Jesus. That alone stretches us. 

Then we turn to Romans 12:18–21, and things stretch even further. Paul writes to the church in Rome: “If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all…If your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink…Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” This is radical!

Paul is writing to a small, vulnerable Christian community living in the heart of the Roman Empire. Rome was not neutral ground. It was the center of imperial power, a system that enforced peace through domination, crucifixion, and fear.

The early Christians had no political power. They were misunderstood and sometimes persecuted.

Paul does not tell them to withdraw into safety. He does not tell them to retaliate. He does not tell them to “win.” He says: feed your enemies and give them something to drink.

That line comes directly from Proverbs 25. In Hebrew wisdom tradition, giving food or water to your enemy was not weakness, it was a refusal to let hatred define you. It was a radical act of moral resistance.

Paul says feeding our enemies and giving them something to drink will “Heap burning coals on their heads!” Whew! That’s pretty intense! But this was not an act of revenge, but a metaphor that displays the practical application of Jesus’ call to love God, love our neighbor and to love our enemies. In the ancient world, fire symbolized purification and conviction. In other words, kindness has the power to awaken conscience. Goodness exposes evil by refusing to mirror it. This is not passive faith. It is courageous faith. This is revolutionary discipleship. Our enemies expect us to utilize the same, or more extreme force, in retaliation to their actions – but Jesus and Paul call us towards love and goodness.

Here’s where Matthew 25 and Romans 12 meet. In Matthew 25, Jesus says we meet him in the thirsty stranger. In Romans 12, Paul says we give water not just to friends, but also to enemies. Put them together, and the call becomes clear: Our faith becomes real when we quench thirst beyond our comfort zones.

It is one thing to give water to someone who thinks like us, votes like us, worships like us. It is another thing to extend goodness toward someone who has hurt us. Or dismissed us. Or represents a system we oppose.

But this is where our United Methodist theology helps anchor us. John Wesley taught that holiness is not just personal, it is social. We do not grow in faith alone. Grace transforms both hearts and systems. Personal piety and social justice belong together.

We have a reputation as the water bottle church. When we hand out water bottles at the Barr Street Farmers Market every summer, we are not just being nice. We are participating in what Wesley would call works of mercy, those tangible expressions of grace.

But here’s the deeper question: Are we only offering water to those who feel safe? Or are we becoming people who refuse to let division dictate our compassion?

Romans 12:18 says, “If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” Let’s notice what Paul does there. He is realistic. “If it is possible.” Not every conflict resolves. Not every relationship heals. There are times we must shake the dust from our sandals and move on. So Paul says as far as it depends on you. We cannot control the other person’s thirst. But we can control whether we withhold water.

Then comes the line that feels almost impossible: “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

As United Methodists, we promise in our baptismal vows: To resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.

Notice the object of resistance: Evil. Injustice. Oppression. Not people.

We resist systems that crush dignity. We resist policies that harm the vulnerable. We resist ideologies that dehumanize. But we do not surrender to hatred of human beings.

That distinction matters. Because in polarized times, it is very easy to blur the line. We tell ourselves we are fighting injustice. But sometimes we are just nurturing contempt. It’s much easier to belittle, demean, and call our perceived enemies names.

This is where the wisdom of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. becomes essential. One of the Kingian principles of nonviolence says: Attack forces of evil, not persons doing evil.

Dr. King understood something deeply essential to our Christian faith: People are often shaped by systems. Fear distorts judgment. Power corrupts imagination. Sin entangles. But no one is beyond the reach of grace.

King did not ignore injustice. He confronted it boldly, whether segregation, racist laws, or economic exploitation. But he refused to dehumanize those upholding those systems.

He believed the goal of nonviolence was not the humiliation of the opponent, but the creation of the beloved community.

And that is straight out of Romans 12. “Do not be overcome by evil.” Here is the danger: When we fight dehumanization with dehumanization, evil wins twice.

The Roman Empire overcame enemies with force. Scripture calls us to overcomes enemies with a cup of water. The cross itself is God’s refusal to retaliate. This is not naïve idealism. It is costly discipleship. So, what might this look like for us?

First, we continue to meet real, physical thirst. Support clean water initiatives. Advocate for equitable infrastructure. Show up this summer and hand out water bottles with joy. When we hand someone a bottle of water, we are saying: You matter. 

Second, and this may be harder: practice enemy-directed grace. Romans 12 does not ask us to pretend enemies don’t exist. Paul is not naïve. He knows harm is real. He knows injustice wounds real bodies. But he insists that evil does not get the last word in shaping who we become.

Here is where the gospel presses even deeper: When we look into the face of an enemy, we are not looking at a monster. We are looking at someone who is deeply and radically loved by Jesus. Someone for whom Christ died. Someone bearing the image of God, even if that image feels distorted. Someone who is, in ways we may not understand, our brother. Our sister.

This does not excuse harm. It does not erase accountability. It does not mean we stop resisting evil and injustice. As United Methodists, we are committed to renouncing evil and resisting injustice, oppression, and racism in whatever form they appear. We don’t stop that work. But viewing even our enemies as someone Jesus loves does mean we refuse to deny their humanity.

In Matthew 25, Jesus says, “When you did it to the least of these, you did it to me.” What if that includes the people we would rather avoid? What if Christ stands not only with those who suffer under injustice, but also with those trapped in systems of fear, misinformation, or hatred?

If Wesley was right that grace is always going before us, then even our enemies are already being pursued by God. If that is true, then when we give water, literal or metaphorical, we are cooperating with grace already at work.

To serve an enemy is to say: I will not reduce you to your worst action or opinion. I will not let the loudest division define your worth. I will not deny that you, too, are someone Christ loves.

That is not weakness. That is resurrection power. That is countercultural. That is radical. That is the opposite of what we see at the highest levels of leadership in our world today. As followers of Jesus, we recognize that evil thrives on dehumanization. The kingdom of this world thrives on recognition.

When we see our enemies as brothers and sisters, however estranged, we are not surrendering justice. We are anchoring justice in love. That is the only kind of justice that leads to peace.

We must refuse to dehumanize. Maybe it looks like refusing to mock someone online. Maybe it looks like listening before reacting. Maybe it looks like praying for someone whose worldview feels threatening. Maybe it looks like supporting policies that ensure even those we disagree with have access to healthcare, housing, clean water, and safety.

Matthew 25 whispers to us: The thirsty person might be Christ…and our enemy might be too. When we give water, we are not endorsing harm. We are embodying the kingdom. The kingdom looks like mercy, not domination; justice rooted in love, not vengeance.

Lent is a season of examining our thirst. Are we thirsty for being right? Or are we thirsty for righteousness? Are we thirsty for winning? Or are we thirsty for wholeness?

Jesus is still saying, “I was thirsty.” May we be a church that notices. May we be a church that gives. May we be a church that refuses to let hatred dry up our compassion. Because when we give water, even to an enemy, we are not just quenching thirst. We are participating in the life of Christ.

Throughout the season of Lent, I’ll be sharing my Sunday messages on this blog. You can view the full service on the First Wayne Street UMC YouTube page.

Today is the first Sunday of the season of Lent. Lent is a season of reflection, repentance, and renewal. For forty days, we walk with Jesus toward the cross. We slow down. We tell the truth about ourselves. We examine our lives. We return to God. And each Sunday is intended to be a day of celebration, like a mini-Easter! 

Historically, Lent has been marked by fasting. Fasting is not about spiritual performance. It is not about proving how disciplined we are. Fasting is about making space. We give something up so that we can become more aware of our dependence on God, aware of our habits, aware of the needs around us. 

When we feel hunger during a fast, it reminds us that we are not self-sufficient. We rely on daily bread. We rely on grace. It might even awaken us to another kind of hunger.

Because Lent is not only reflection. It is not only repentance. It is not only renewal. Lent is also a call to action.

Before Jesus went to the cross, He gave words that reveal what truly matters. In Matthew 25:31–46, Jesus pulls back the curtain on the Kingdom and tells us what discipleship looks like when it is real.

He says: “I was hungry and you gave me food.”

Later in the passage, we find the key verse that grounds our whole Lenten series: “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these, who are members of my family, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:40)

This Lent, we are asking: What if every act of mercy is an act of worship? What if every gesture of compassion draws us closer to the heart of God? What if feeding someone isn’t just charity, but communion?

Let’s look at what Jesus does here. He does not say, “I was powerful.” He does not say, “I was impressive.” He does not say, “I was morally superior.”

He says, “I was hungry.” Jesus identifies Himself with physical hunger. That means hunger is not abstract. It is not theoretical. It is not someone else’s issue. Hunger is where Christ locates Himself. 

And hunger is real. It is real in our world. It is real in our nation. It is real in our community.

Children go to bed without enough food. Seniors stretch medication because groceries and medication cost too much. Parents skip meals so their kids can eat.

But there is also spiritual hunger. People hunger for hope. They hunger for dignity. They hunger to be seen. They hunger to matter.

And Jesus says that when we respond to that hunger, when we feed, when we nourish, when we care, we are responding to Jesus.

Serving the least matters because it is where we meet Christ.

Let’s be honest about something. In these United States, we often have polarizing conversations about which political party cares most, or the least, about the vulnerable. We debate platforms. We argue policies. We draw lines. 

But Jesus does not ask which party we belong to. He asks whether we fed Him.

Hunger was never intended to be a political matter. It is a faith matter. A spiritual matter. A Kingdom matter.

Jesus invites us to be the ones who respond to the needs of the most vulnerable around us. Not to post about it. Not to argue about it. Not to assign responsibility to someone else. Not to blame the party who presents legislation that cuts funding to food assistance programs. Jesus invites us to respond.

If we want to inherit the Kingdom, if we want to live inside the reality of Matthew 25, then we must be the ones who feed the hungry.

Not because it wins elections. Not because it proves moral superiority. But because it reveals whether Christ truly reigns in our hearts.

When allegiance to party replaces allegiance to Christ, we have drifted. When protecting power matters more than protecting people, we have lost our way.

The Kingdom of God is not built on domination. It is revealed in bread shared, dignity restored, and hunger relieved.

In our Wesleyan, United Methodist tradition, we call this personal and social holiness, where we commit to loving God and loving neighbor in concrete, embodied ways. We do not separate piety from mercy. We do not separate worship from justice. Feeding the hungry is not a side ministry of the church. It is central to discipleship.

While Jesus states that those who feed the hungry will inherit the Kingdom, this is not about earning salvation. It is about revealing discipleship. Jesus makes it clear: true faith shows up in tangible love. Love that moves. Love that gives. Love that feeds.

Serving the least matters because it aligns our hearts with God’s heart. Throughout Scripture, God consistently sides with the vulnerable. When we serve the hungry, we step into the flow of God’s own compassion.

It dismantles our illusion of separation. When we serve someone who is hungry, we realize how interconnected we are. Their need is not distant. It touches our lives. It changes us.

It forms us spiritually. Generosity reshapes our souls. Compassion softens our hearts. Action deepens our faith. In feeding others, we are fed. In giving bread, we receive grace. We are not called to admire compassion. We are called to practice it.

So here is one concrete way we can respond right now:

Our Food Cart Ministry: Next week, bring at least one item. A can of soup. Peanut butter. Cereal. Pasta. Don’t bring the can that’s been sitting in the back of your pantry since you moved into your home 25 years ago. Bring something you would eat. 

One item may feel small, but collectively, it becomes abundance. It becomes bread in someone’s hands. It becomes Christ present in our community. These gifts will support our partnership with Associated Churches and the East Wayne Street Center. 

What if fasting from one luxury this week allowed us to purchase one extra item for someone else? 

When we give to the East Wayne Street Center, we are not outsourcing compassion, we are participating in it.

While this collection will help address physical hunger, we all might be hungering for something. Lent asks us to consider: What are we hungry for?

Comfort? Control? Convenience? Or righteousness? Justice? Compassion?

When we fast, we retrain our appetites.
When we serve, we redirect our desires.

Instead of consuming more, we begin giving more.
Instead of ignoring hunger, we begin responding to it.

This is what it means to live out Matthew 25. 

Imagine standing before Christ at the end of all things. And He says, “I was hungry.” And you realize: That person at the food pantry, that person standing on the corner, that neighbor quietly struggling…that was Him.

The beauty of this passage is not fear. It is invitation. Christ is not hiding from us. Christ is revealing where He can be found. He is found in bread lines. He is found in food carts. He is found in acts of mercy.

Every time we feed someone, we step closer to the heart of God.

So this week: Bring one item and take one step. Because love expressed through action is what matters most.

Lent is a season of reflection, repentance, and renewal, but it is also a call to action. When we feed the hungry, when we embody compassion, when we practice mercy, we are not just helping someone else. We are worshiping.

Jesus said, “I was hungry.”  May we be the kind of people and church that answers, “Lord, here’s some food!”