On this Stewardship Sunday, I would like to speak about generosity as something more than money: as water offered to the thirsty, as care offered when we are vulnerable, and as the way Christ continues to meet us in one another. To begin, I will tell you an old Russian fairy tale, and you can listen for the parallels with today’s reading from the Gospel of Matthew, where the King says to his subjects, “Whenever you give or do something for others — say, give them a drink of water — you do it for me.” (Matthew 25:40)

Once upon a time, a king becomes gravely ill, and the only remedy that can heal him is the magical Living Water. His three sons set out to find it — to save his life and thereby, of course, to become his successor — and they must travel “across the sea” to do so. The first two sons embark on the quest. They are strong and clever, and as they hurry on, they continually meet people who ask for help: for bread, for guidance, for a drink of water. But because they are so focused on their goal, each prince says, “I cannot stop; my quest is more important.” Yet the more they hurry, the darker and more confusing the path becomes, and neither reaches the Living Water.

The youngest son, however, travels differently. He pauses when someone is thirsty, shares what little bread he has with someone who is hungry, helps a child who has lost her way, and every time he stops to help, the road ahead becomes a little clearer. One day he arrives at a well, where he meets a woman sitting beside it. She says, “Because you have given water, you will find the water that gives life,” and shows him the path his brothers could not see. And so he finds the Living Water and brings it to his father.

When was the last time you literally felt revived by a drink of water? After the kind of summer we have just had, I am sure many of us can recall such a moment. Even in more typical temperatures, in triathlon racing I always look eagerly for every water station! And at a couple of such aid stations, I have discovered more help than I expected: a hose to cool off with, or a knowledgeable volunteer who suggested an effective stretch for my back. These little touches made a huge difference in my ability to finish the race in a healthy state.

Well, a body has its own honesty, and it signals what it needs. Physical discomfort — thirst, hunger, pain — is a sign that something essential requires attention, and we usually honour it. Why then, when we feel psychological thirst — when we are lonely, discouraged, or directionless — do we imagine we must solve things on our own?

In fairy tales, the hero’s quest is always distant, arduous, and remote. One must leave comfort behind and venture into the unknown to find an epiphany, enlightenment, and renewal. This mythology resonates because life demands effort and difficult choices. As such, the theme of “living water” — an elixir of life obtained only through courage, purity of motive, or spiritual insight — is archetypal. In Greek mythology, Hebe feeds ambrosia to the gods to maintain their immortality; in the Bhagavad Gita, such a nectar is called amrita; in Buddhist tradition, Bodhisattvas gather “sweet dew”; and in Anishinaabe, Navajo, and Yoruba teachings, water from sacred sources restores harmony in the world. Even Alexander the Great is said to have searched for such a spring. Clearly, even the strongest and most successful among us have believed that somewhere, far away, there is a supernatural source of healing and restoration.

The paradox in all such tales is that this source of life is never found through brilliance, speed, determination, or conquest, but through slowing down, noticing others, and acting with compassion. It is equally paradoxical that the most powerful person in the kingdom is revived not by his own strength or a dramatic event, but by something as intimate and humble as a drink of water. This image of a king who admits he needs help is what connects the fairy tale to the gospel we read today. The message is about our duty to serve others, but the vehicle of the message is the king’s own need.

History gives us a few images of this kind of kingship. For example, George VI, during the Blitz, stayed in London through the bombings and endured rationing like ordinary citizens. He thanked the firefighters amid smoking ruins, and even joined in rooftop fire-watching. His kingship, into which he came quite unexpectedly, was marked not by privilege but by shared danger. And in his 1939 broadcast, he asked the nation to pray with him because he did not know what the future would bring. The fact that he never pretended to be invulnerable makes him one of the most highly regarded kings of the modern era, and it echoes today’s Gospel, where the King admits that he needs help.

The list of human needs in Matthew’s gospel encompasses much more than thirst. Yet water — lacking, finding, giving it — is a highly evocative image, so I will stay with it. Long before Jesus, wells had been places of revelation in the Scriptures of his people. In at least ten major biblical scenes, wells are places where love stories begin, truth is spoken, and promises are made — where the divine draws close. And so Jesus meets the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well (John 4), just as the youngest son in the fairy tale meets a woman at a well who directs him toward the living water. Jesus says to the woman, “Give me a drink,” and then offers her far more: “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I give will never thirst.”

Similarly, at the Festival of Booths, which recalls the Israelites’ time in the desert, Jesus cries out, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink. Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water” (John 7:37-38). These statements point to spiritual life, but they are not abstractions. They are spoken by one who will one day hang on the cross and say, with heartbreaking simplicity, “I thirst.” Matthew does not preserve this detail, found in John’s Gospel (19:28), but it echoes the words in today’s parable, “I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink” (Matthew 25:35). The King who receives water is the man who cries out in thirst on the cross. His sovereignty is revealed not through splendour but through vulnerability.

Thirst is real, water is real, and care is real. And when Jesus tells us that what we do for others, we do for him, he means it more literally than we may assume. Every life we touch is a life infused with Christ’s presence. So we do not serve “for his sake”, or merely out of obedience, or as symbolic gestures, but to have an actual encounter with the living Christ. To use another saying of Jesus from this same Gospel: “Whoever welcomes a child in my name welcomes me” (Matthew 18:5). And toward the end of his life, Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?” (Matthew 20:22), meaning, “Will you share my life, responsibility, and compassion as you take up the same work?”

Like the princes in the fairy tale, sometimes we imagine we have a grand quest — some noble purpose “across the sea.” And at other times, most of us feel heroic simply driving over to the church in November! But Jesus models the one and only quest to which we are all called: “to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God” (Micah 6:8) — that is, to care for others and to accept help ourselves. 

That is why stewardship is not optional. It is one of the ways we become living vessels of the water of life. Your gift matters because it keeps our ministries not only running but flourishing. It allows us to plan with courage rather than anxiety, to expand what we offer rather than tighten our belts, and to imagine new ways of serving our neighbours. When we commit to giving more, we step more fully into this ongoing story. As we consider our pledges for the coming year, I invite you to think of them not as paying bills but as filling the well from which so many others will drink. And even a modest increase makes us like the youngest son in the fairy tale — kind, attentive, perceptive, willing to pause and serve.

The fairy tales, the scriptures, and our own lives converge on one truth: compassion clears the road and reawakens life. Generosity shapes us into people who recognize Christ in others. And Christ is the King who once said, with vulnerable humanity, “I thirst,” and who continues to say, “When you gave water to one of the least of these, you gave it to me.” May our lives answer him with generosity that never runs dry.

Questions to consider

1. Where do you feel “thirst” in your own life — for connection, meaning, rest, or spiritual renewal? How has the parish helped you meet that thirst?
2. Where do you see thirst around you — in our church, our neighbourhood, or the wider world? 
3. Think about your baptismal promises to seek and serve Christ in all persons. How might increasing your financial giving next year help this parish keep those promises?
4. Micah’s call — to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly — becomes tangible through the ministries the parish is able to support. Which ministries matter most to you? How might your giving strengthen them?
5. Reflect on a time when someone “gave you a drink” — offered care, kindness, or support. How might your stewardship be a way of passing forward that grace? What level of giving feels faithful, generous, and joyful for you?