A day without water tapped into the best of us

In a crisis, community seeps through our walls.

Imogen Ball

Imogen is a writer, mum, and priest on a new housing development in the South-West of England.

On a doorstep a man hands a bottle of water to another man.

Recently on our housing development we experienced a surprising addition to our lives. Due to a pretty major error, a main water pipe was hit by a digger… this resulted in 24 hours of no running water for our entire estate and the local school while the pipe was repaired.

24 hours is a long time. In our house, water consumption over that time looks something like this:

1 dishwasher cycle
1-2 clothes wash cycles
2 loads of dish washing up
2 boys in a bath
2 showers
10-15 toilet trips
various hand washing, plant watering, child play etc.
4-6 bowls of boiled pasta/rice
8-10 cold water drinks
20+ cups of tea

Let me tell you, 24 unexpected hours without water was a challenge. But it also got me thinking.

It got me thinking about privilege. In the UK, access to clean water is not a daily conscious consideration, it is assumed. We assume that we will have water when we turn on the kitchen tap, when we flush the toilet, and when we run a bath. We assume that the water out of the taps will be clean and safe. This is not the case for everyone. Around the world, one in four people do not have access to safe drinking water. Access to water is a universal human right, but in reality access to water shows our privilege.

It also got me thinking about simplicity. Lent is a time for reflection and often in the Christian tradition it is a time for fasting. In previous years, I have fasted from multiple things: coffee, chocolate, Instagram, and this year Vinted and meat. But I have never fasted from clean, running water. There were many household chores and to-do list items that I simply couldn’t do because we didn’t have water. As with other fasting attempts, I hope that this unexpected space led me to prayer. There was a temporary, reflective simplicity to the absence of water.

And it got me thinking about community. Crises bring out the worst and best in humanity. Though I could tell you a couple of horror stories, instead let me tell you about the heroes. Tessa, Tom, Marjay, Sarah, Vineeth, Megan, Danny. These heroes went out of their way to buy and distribute water across the development, to monitor and communicate updates from the water company, to offer support with boilers. Several houses had bottled water piled outside their homes for anyone who had run out. We had multiple unexpected water deliveries and neighbours checking in. Our community thrived as we struggled without water. In a crisis, community seeps through our insulated walls and isolated lives. In a crisis, community swells and surges showing that there is indeed good in this world.

I’m glad we’ve got our water back. But I’m also glad for all the thinking.

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Explainer

Creed

Easter

14 February 2024

4 min read

Identifying as human has deadly implications

The incarnation and an execution impacts humanity.

Barnabas Aspray

Barnabas Aspray is Assistant Professor of Systematic Theology at St Mary’s Seminary and University.

Head and shoulders image of a man with closed eyes, on his forehead is an ashen cross.

Josh Applegate on Unsplash.

Christmas makes no sense without Easter.

In Jesus of Nazareth, the Creator himself entered his creation to live among us. This is what Christians call the Incarnation. But why? What was the point of this identification with humanity? You might have expected these sorts of answers: he came to found the Christian religion, to teach us how to live and to gather a community of followers. These are true enough but look inside any church building or read any part of the New Testament, and you’ll find that another thing is the focus, something that makes Jesus different to any other founder of a religion. He came to die.

Jesus’ death is the climax of all four gospel stories. It is evident that the point of the narrative is there. The rest of the Bible’s New Testament spends more time describing the machinations that led to Jesus’ death than outlining what he taught. Does that mean it doesn’t matter what Jesus taught? Of course not: Jesus’ teachings matter tremendously to Christians. But his death matters still more.

No doubt you knew that. The first thing anyone learns about Christianity is its symbol, the cross on which Jesus was executed. One of the cruellest forms of capital punishment that has ever been legal, those executed on the cross were called ‘crucified’ – a word which still has its shuddering power even today. Crucifixion was a death reserved for the lowest of the low: common thieves, runaway slaves, rebels, and lawbreakers. Yet this particular death was the ultimate goal of Jesus’ life.

Why? What’s it all about? For Christians, Jesus’ crucifixion strikes at the very root of all that is wrong with the world. To understand it, first we have to understand what Christians believe about that.

If you fall into a pit you can’t climb out of, then lack of information is not your problem. Nor does it matter how many other people are in the pit with you: nobody down there can pull you or themselves out.

Everyone agrees the world in its current state is, to put it mildly, less than ideal. Most put it down to a lack of education, or to the stubborn foolishness of a few isolated individuals.

If you believe that people behave badly because they are ill-informed, then you might think the solution is to teach people what is right. You will put great faith in education: give people the information they need and they will change their ways.

Alternatively, if you believe ‘other’ people are the problem, you can focus your attention on opposing them, imprisoning them, or stripping them of power somehow. But Christians believe that the root of the problem is far deeper, such that these efforts only scratch the surface and will never be effective in the long run.

Christians believe that the whole of humanity has been damaged, cut off from its relationship to what matters by a primordial catastrophe that we call ‘the Fall’. Human beings are not simply ignorant, and the problem does not lie in lack of information, or education. The problem lies in our will, the part of us that chooses what is wrong even when we know full-well that it is wrong. And the problem is not just some people ‘over there’, conveniently set apart from me. Every single human being has been impacted. Including you. And me. Every one of us is part of the problem, which is why no one of us, however smart or well-informed we are, can be the solution. If you fall into a pit you can’t climb out of, then lack of information is not your problem. Nor does it matter how many other people are in the pit with you: nobody down there can pull you or themselves out. You need someone outside the pit who can reach down and grab hold of you.

That is why Christianity is more than a moral programme for self-improvement, or a set of spiritual practices comparable to those of other religions. According to Christians, the human race does not need another set of rules about how to live, or a formula to cultivate mindfulness and inner peace. We need a saviour: someone who does not share our fallen condition, but who can reach down and lift us to safety.

How far down did Jesus have to go? All the way to the bottom, which means death. Even the worst kind of death.

How did Jesus’ death save us? Christians have various theories about that. You may have heard the most common which uses law court imagery: we were guilty and sentenced capital punishment, but Jesus was punished instead so we don’t have to. Some people love this theory and live by it; others find it morally problematic and offensive. But the point is not the theory: the point is the reality to which it points. One way or another, by dying Jesus reconnected us to God and restored the broken relationship.

But it’s stranger still than that, because Jesus’ death is not the end. It was only the preliminary to something far more wonderful and transformative, a sign of a promise beyond our wildest hopes. By dying, Jesus defeated death itself and came back to life. If Christmas makes no sense without the cross, then the cross makes no sense without the resurrection. But more on that in my next article.