The Seven Last Words of Jesus from the Cross - Part 5: The Fifth Word

“I am thirsty.” (John 19:28)

Last Friday, when I went to Mass, the priest began his homily with these words: “We have come to the point of Lent when we are sick of Lent.” Everyone laughed, but truly, he was right. Just the day before, I had taken a little trip with my husband to the Florida Keys. We had a delicious lunch by the water, and at the end, I would have given anything for a piece of Key lime pie. And yet, I did not order it because I had given up desserts for Lent. I told my husband: “I cannot wait for Lent to be over.”

My longing for that dessert was a small reminder of how easily our appetites can rule us. The fifth sentence from the Cross “I am thirsty” (John 19:28) was in reparation for the sin of gluttony. But Jesus’ reparation for this sin began long before the Cross. It began in a stable when Mary and Joseph were rejected because there was no room at any inn. On that night, they did not have the luxury of a comfortable bed or a hot plate of food. Our Lord had to be born among barn animals because everyone turned their backs on Him. He also began His public life fasting for forty days. He gave up food to prepare Himself for what He would need to endure for the love of humanity. And finally, at the Cross, “He lets fall from His lips the shortest of the seven cries from the Cross and the one which expresses the keenest of all human sufferings in reparation for those who have had their fill: ‘I thirst.’”(1).

Jesus’ fifth word refers to more than a simple need to drink liquid. We all have these ‘little thirsts’—the cravings for a dessert, a cold drink on a hot day, or the end of a long fast. But when Jesus utters His fifth word from the Cross, we encounter a thirst that goes infinitely deeper than the physical. When Jesus cries out, “I thirst,” He isn’t just asking for a drink, He is expressing a parched longing for us.

Most saints tell us that His real thirst is for our souls. He thirsts for our salvation. St. Thomas Aquinas is one of many saints that has written about this. He tells us that Jesus’ thirst expresses His “ardent desire for the salvation of the human race” (2). Mother Teresa also had the words “I thirst” written in every one of the Missionaries of Charity’s chapels. She understood that Jesus doesn’t just thirst for water. He thirsts for us. He thirsts for our love. He thirsts for us to give our lives to Him. He thirsts for us to place Him first, above every other thing. He thirsts for us to make Him our priority. He thirsts for us to dedicate our time to serving His kingdom. There is so much that we can do for the love of Christ, and we are constantly turning our backs to Him. We are always finding excuses, and Jesus always comes last. He gave His life for us, and yet He is left thirsting for us to give Him just a fraction of our time. He thirsts to be loved by the very people He died to save.

My longing for a Key lime pie was a minor discomfort, a ‘thirst’ that will be easily quenched come Easter Sunday. But when Jesus utters His fifth word, He is bridging the gap between our physical cravings and our eternal needs. As the Son of Man, His throat is literally parched from the sun and the loss of blood. But as the Son of God, He is echoing the cry of every soul that has ever felt empty.

This reminds me of another story of thirst—one with much higher stakes. In the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus found in the Book of Luke (Luke 16:19-25), the wealthy man, “who feasted sumptuously every day,” finds himself in the agony of Hades because his gluttony had blinded him to the needs of others. He spent his life quenching every physical thirst, only to find himself eternally parched. His only request? “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue.” In life, he had thirsted only for the world—for the ‘Key Lime Pies’ of his day. In eternity, he realized too late that his soul was actually parched for the mercy he had refused to show Lazarus. He is the sobering reminder of what happens when we let our appetites become our gods.

As I enter into Holy Week, instead of counting down the days until I can finally have that piece of Key lime pie, I will stop and listen to Jesus’ cry from the cross. Every time I say ‘no’ to a dessert, I will remember who I’m sacrificing for. I will use the remaining days until Easter Sunday to quench His thirst with my prayers, my time, and my devotion. Lent isn’t just about waiting for the fast to end. It’s about retraining our hearts to thirst for Jesus more than we thirst for the world. If we conquer our gluttony, we make room for His Grace.

Copyright © 2026 Christy Romero. All rights reserved. If you thought of someone while reading this, bless them by sharing it with them.

1. Fulton J. Sheen, “The Seven Capital Sins,” (New York: Alba House, 2001), pg 53.
2. St. Thomas Aquinas, “Lectura super Ioannem” (Commentary on the Gospel of John).