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relaxing. But when even the tiniest drop of water splashed onto my lips, it tasted bitter. Some of the minerals extracted from the sea are used to make tranquilizers, which may explain why, after a few minutes of floating, everyone is laughing.
    I find a bench near the Park Service office on Masada and sit down to admire the view while I wait for the rest of my group. That’s when I notice a small outdoor sink with a water faucet. Where in the world does the water come from now that Herod’s cisterns have dried up? Masada is on top of a mountain in the middle of the wilderness. How can there be a sink with fresh water way up here? I also notice that the faucet leaks—one tiny, sluggish drop every few seconds.
    I’m still pondering the out-of-place sink when an interesting thing happens. Three frail brown birds fly over to land on a bare patch of ground a few yards away from me. Birds? They look as out of place as the sink. How can birds survive in such a desolate, treeless place? This isn’t my backyard at home with lush foliage and feeders and a birdbath. There aren’t any trees for miles and miles in any direction. Talk about a barren existence!
    I sit very still, watching. The birds eye me nervously, as if to see if I’m going to harm them. Then one of them flutters up to perch on the water faucet. The bird pokes its beak into the hole and captures that one precious drop of water, thenflies away. A second bird and then the third do the same. I can’t imagine such a stingy, drop-by-drop subsistence.
    Thirst is one of those consistent themes in Scripture that I often overlook—until a trip to Israel and a few hours beneath the desert sun remind me why water is such an important metaphor in the Bible. One of Israel’s first complaints after liberation from slavery in Egypt was thirst. God showed His love and His commitment to a relationship with His people by providing an ample supply of water—from a rock! In the desert! Even after settling down in the Promised Land, the people remained aware of the preciousness of water and their need for God to provide rain. In a land without faucets, the Israelites had to return to their local wells and cisterns every day to replenish their supplies. “Give us this day our daily . . .” water.

Cistern
    My grandmother used to say, “You never miss the water till the well runs dry,” but rarely in my suburban existence have I lacked water. I live near a seemingly endless supply of it in Lake Michigan. I can take a leisurely shower and runthe sprinkler to water my parched lawn. Water flows, filtered and chilled, from my refrigerator door whenever I want it. Yet my monthly water bill is half the cost of my cell phone bill and Internet fees—modern life’s necessities. Maybe we should use a new metaphor with the younger generation to get their attention, explaining that a life without God leaves us as helpless and disconnected as a life without Internet or cell phone service.
    Thirst is a symptom of need, the body’s way of telling me to take action. If I don’t listen, I end up dehydrated and all sorts of bad things can happen, including loss of consciousness and death. Spiritual dryness is also a symptom: Something is wrong! Take action! I’m drying up! I need God. My soul’s longing for God is as never-ending as my physical need for water. And spiritual dehydration leads to spiritual death. David recognized the parallels when he wrote, “As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God” (Psalm 42:1–2). David isn’t thirsting for a glitzy ritual at the Temple or an inspiring weekend retreat, but for a deep, abiding relationship with his Father.
    Why do I often ignore my spiritual thirst, forgetting my soul’s most basic requirement? Instead, when my weekly church services seem dry and my daily devotions don’t satisfy, I blame it on the style of worship music or the new Bible translation I’m