Come to the Waters: From the Spring to the River

Every human soul knows thirst. A deep, aching kind of thirst that can’t be quenched by water, success, money, or even relationships. It’s a longing for something more—something real. Something eternal.

In the season of Lent, we are invited to face this thirst head-on. It’s a time of repentance, yes—but also of renewal. A time when we examine the places we’ve wandered, the things we’ve reached for that never truly satisfied, and the lies we’ve believed about where life can be found.

It is in this spiritual landscape that the voice of God breaks through, calling gently but clearly:

“Come, everyone who is thirsty, come to the water…” Isaiah 55:1

This is not a command. It’s a summons. A divine invitation to anyone weary of spiritual dehydration and parched by the false promises of the world. And it doesn’t matter who you are, where you’ve been, or how far you've drifted—God’s words reach across the wilderness of our wandering: Come.

But this invitation isn’t merely about personal comfort. It’s not just about your inner peace or quiet times. It’s about stepping into the very movement of God’s renewing love—a love that begins as a spring and rushes outward as a river.

The metaphor that undergirds Isaiah 55 is the metaphor of water—of being filled, refreshed, and transformed. And that metaphor will guide us through this reflection. We will begin at the spring, where God meets us personally, and end at the river, where we are carried by His Spirit into the world for the sake of others.

Because in the end, Lent is not only about surrendering sin—it’s about stepping into the abundant, renewing, and resurrecting flow of God's life.

The Spring: Where the Journey Begins
Imagine a spring. Not a manufactured fountain, but a natural one—tucked into a hillside, untouched, bubbling up from deep within the earth. Its waters are cool, clear, and sweet. You kneel and drink. It's not a rush—it’s a whisper. Personal. Sacred.

This is where many of us meet God for the first time.

The spring represents the private, inward life with God. The quiet intimacy of prayer, the gentle rhythm of Scripture, the moments of awe when you realize God is not just a concept but a Presence. A Person.

This kind of faith is deeply important. It sustains us through dry seasons. It teaches us to return to God daily, to depend on Him for nourishment and strength. It becomes a holy habit—drinking from the living water.

“Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again. But whoever drinks from the water that I will give him will never get thirsty again. In fact, the water I will give him will become a well of water springing up in him for eternal life.” John 4:13–14

Jesus' conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well is not just a story of transformation—it is a theology of living water. He doesn't just offer satisfaction; He promises a spring within us.

And yet… there’s a temptation.

The temptation is to settle there. To treat the spring as the end of the journey instead of the beginning. To guard it, bottle it, protect it from the “impurities” of the world. We become spiritual collectors instead of participants in the divine flow.

We build fences—literal and theological—around our spiritual springs. We define boundaries, decide who’s in and who’s out, and begin to believe that our personal experience is the pinnacle of faith.

But Isaiah 55 will not let us stay there. The prophet declares a bigger vision, a broader mercy, a God whose ways are not our ways and whose invitation reaches far beyond our private experiences.

The spring was never meant to be a destination. It was meant to become a river.

From Spring to River: God’s Intended Flow
Water doesn’t stay still unless it’s blocked. A spring, if left uncontained, begins to flow. It becomes a stream. And eventually, it can become a river.

This is the heart of Isaiah 55. God’s invitation to drink is not just about satisfaction—it’s about transformation. The goal is not merely to quench our thirst, but to be caught up in the movement of God’s mercy.

“Why do you spend silver on what is not food, and your wages on what does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and you will enjoy the choicest of foods.” Isaiah 55:2

God asks a piercing question: Why do we chase what never satisfies?

We are a people of misplaced desires. We pour our time, our money, our energy into things that offer a moment of pleasure but leave us emptier than before. Whether it’s consumerism, achievement, approval, or even religious performance—we are constantly tempted to fill our souls with saltwater substitutes.

But God offers something radically different: grace. Not a cheap, sentiment-driven grace, but a grace that costs us nothing and changes everything.

“Come, buy wine and milk without silver and without cost!” Isaiah 55:1

This grace is nourishing like milk. It’s celebratory like wine. It’s sustaining like water. And it’s offered freely.

Yet grace always invites us into more. Into motion. Into movement.

The image of nations being drawn to Israel (Isaiah 55:5) hints at the global reach of God’s love. What begins as a personal call expands into a communal mission. The spring overflows. The river runs.

The River's Invitation to Transformation
We often like our faith to be manageable—predictable, controlled, compartmentalized. But the river doesn’t work that way. Rivers meander. They swell. They overflow banks. They sweep away debris.

And the river of God’s love? It transforms everything in its path.

Isaiah continues: “Seek the Lord while He may be found; call to Him while He is near. Let the wicked one abandon his way and the sinful one his thoughts; let him return to the Lord, so He may have compassion on him, and to our God, for He will freely forgive.” Isaiah 55:6–7

This is a call to action. God’s grace demands a response. We are not simply invited to believe—we are invited to seek. To return. To abandon lesser things in order to embrace the fullness of life in God.

And here, the metaphor of the river expands. This is no gentle brook. This is not just a refreshing stream. This is a flood of mercy. A powerful, healing current that calls us out of isolation and into restoration.

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, and your ways are not My ways.” This is the Lord’s declaration. “For as heaven is higher than earth, so My ways are higher than your ways, and My thoughts than your thoughts.” Isaiah 55:8–9

This passage often gets quoted in times of confusion or suffering—but here it functions as a direct commentary on grace. Why would God welcome the wicked? Why forgive freely? Why offer wine and milk at no cost?

Because His ways are not ours. His mercy defies human logic.

Paul echoes this in 1 Corinthians 1:25: “God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.”

To enter the river of God’s love is to abandon our need for control. It is to surrender our logic, our merit-based mindset, and our spiritual self-sufficiency. The river teaches us to float—not to strive.

And this river has a destination.

Revelation 22:1–2 paints a glorious picture: “Then he showed me the river of the water of life, clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the city’s main street. The tree of life was on each side of the river, bearing twelve kinds of fruit... and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.”

From Isaiah to Revelation, the river runs.

It begins in the heart of God and flows through the pages of Scripture, carrying with it the healing, reconciling power of the Kingdom. And if we’re willing to step in, it will carry us too.

Obstacles to Entering the River
Despite the beauty of this vision, many of us hesitate at the banks.

Why?

Because the river is wild. It cannot be contained. And that scares us.

We like things that we can define. Systems we can manage. Religion we can regulate. But the river doesn’t respect our boundaries. It flows where it will. It welcomes people we wouldn’t. It carries us where we didn’t plan to go.

And so, we try to control it.

We judge others' experiences. We criticize other traditions. We set theological traps and create denominational walls. We label and divide. We trade the fluidity of faith for the rigidity of frameworks.

But the Spirit cannot be caged.

Jesus faced this too. The Pharisees were more comfortable with rules than with rivers. They wanted clarity, not mystery. Power, not presence. And yet, Jesus kept inviting people into the flow: tax collectors, fishermen, prostitutes, children, the unclean, the overlooked.

“The wind blows where it pleases, and you hear its sound, but you don't know where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” John 3:8

If we are to truly come to the waters, we must let go of the illusion of control. We must move from the safety of the spring to the unpredictability of the river—and trust that God is in the current.

Four Practices to Step into the River
How do we do this? How do we actually live in the flow of God’s presence?

Here are four spiritual practices rooted in Isaiah 55 and the wider biblical story. Each one helps us move from spiritual survival to abundant life.

1. Establish Rhythms of Presence
Like stepping into a river, walking with God requires intention. You don't just accidentally float downstream—you choose to enter.

• Begin each day with silence.
• Breathe deeply and pray: “Lord, I step into Your flow today. Shape me.”
• Read Scripture not as a task, but as immersion. Let it read you.

You were never meant to visit God's presence. You were meant to live in it.

2. Release the Need to Control
The river is wide—and so is God’s grace. Let go of the urge to police how others worship or walk with Him.

• When you encounter a different expression of faith (more emotional, more contemplative, more charismatic, more liturgical), resist judgment.
• Instead ask: “What might God be teaching me through this?”

You can’t enjoy the water if you're standing on the banks yelling at swimmers. Let grace be grace—for everyone.

3. Float When You’re Weary
Sometimes, the most spiritual thing you can do is rest.

• Keep Sabbath. One day a week to stop achieving.
• On difficult days, let your prayer be your breath: “Be still and know…”

Rest is not laziness—it’s trust. Floating is faith in motion.

4. Notice the Beauty
The river isn’t just powerful—it’s beautiful. Wonder nourishes the soul.

• Each day, name one “river moment”—a moment of peace, awe, joy, or unexpected grace.
• Keep a gratitude journal. Let wonder reshape your perspective.

Soft hearts float better. Wonder keeps the soul buoyant.

The River Is Already Running
Isaiah 55 ends with a call and a challenge: “Seek the Lord while He may be found; call to Him while He is near… return to the Lord, so He may have compassion… for He will freely forgive.”

The spring is good. Drink deeply. Be refreshed.

But don't stop there.

Let the water flow. Let it become a river. Let the mercy of God sweep you up into His movement of renewal. The Kingdom of God is not a reservoir—it’s a river. It’s not a place we hoard grace—it’s a current we join.

In this river, we don’t just receive life—we become instruments of life. We forgive. We heal. We love radically. We practice justice, offer hospitality, speak truth, and live humbly.

Because the river is not an escape. It’s engagement.

It doesn’t carry us away from the world. It carries us into the world—into the broken, the beautiful, the messy, and the mysterious.

So come to the waters.

Let go of the fences. Let go of the need to control. Rest in the flow of grace. Participate in the renewal of all things.

“For from Him and through Him and to Him are all things. To Him be the glory forever. Amen.” Romans 11:36

Because in the end, the goal was never just personal refreshment.

The goal is resurrection life—here and now. And the river is already running.