The Can Is Empty

Introduction – Just Add Water

I bought a can of dehydrated water the other day.

The label said, “Just add water.”

I stared at it for a while and thought, Now there’s an honest product — empty but hopeful.

A can of dehydrated water — an empty container promising to be full if you supply the one thing it doesn’t have.

And then it hit me: that’s the story of humanity.

Since Eden, we’ve been trying to refill what only God can supply.

We reach for wisdom without His Word, meaning without His presence, morality without His Spirit.

The can is empty, but we keep shaking it, hoping to hear a slosh of purpose inside.

You’ve seen that look before — on a tired face at the grocery line, on a scrolling teenager at midnight, maybe in your own mirror. We were created to overflow, and instead we leak.

But the Bible tells a different story. From the dust of creation to the dawn of redemption, it whispers a promise: the One who made us full is still willing to fill us again.

Today we’ll trace that story in three movements — the can in our hands, the crack in our side, and the Maker who refills us.

It’s the story of your life and mine.

---

I. The Can in Our Hands – Created Full

Before Adam ever tilled the soil or named an animal, God spoke a word over him:

> “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.” (Genesis 1:26)

That one sentence carries the weight of every human heartbeat.

We are not cosmic accidents or upgraded primates.

We are reflections of the divine imagination.

When Scripture says “image,” it means resemblance that shows up in real life.

We can think, choose, speak, create, love, and worship — small but true reflections of our Maker.

When Scripture says “likeness,” it means relationship: we were shaped for fellowship with the One whose breath animates us.

Reflectors of Glory

Picture a child standing in front of a mirror holding a flashlight.

When the beam hits the mirror, the light doubles — it bounces, fills the room, dances across the walls.

That’s humanity before the fall — a living mirror turned toward the Light.

But turn the mirror away and it stops shining.

Not because the light failed, but because the mirror turned.

The first thing God ever called “very good” was a person fully alive in His image.

That means your worth doesn’t come from your résumé, your appearance, or your performance.

It comes from the stamp of God on your soul.

If you ever doubt your value, remember: you bear the Artist’s signature.

Community in the Image

“Male and female He created them.”

Notice the plural: image and community arrive together.

God says “Let us make…” — the Trinity in conversation.

Humanity answers back as “them.”

We were built for connection — with God, with each other, and with the world we tend.

The image shows up most clearly in relationship.

That’s why isolation feels unnatural; it’s a violation of design.

Work as Worship

Right after the image comes a commission:

> “Let them have dominion over all the earth.” (Genesis 1:26)

Dominion isn’t domination; it’s stewardship.

It’s the farmer’s hands, the teacher’s words, the parent’s care, the craftsman’s detail — all done as acts of worship.

We were placed in a garden not to consume it but to cultivate it.

Work was never the curse; it was the calling.

The curse was what made it hard.

Every time you fix what’s broken, teach what’s true, clean what’s dirty, or heal what’s hurt, you’re echoing that first assignment: tend the garden.

So when someone says, “I’m just a nurse,” “I’m just a janitor,” “I’m just a mom,” you can answer, “You’re an image-bearer at work.”

A Moment of Reflection

Take a breath right here.

Think of one ordinary task in your week — answering emails, cooking dinner, mowing the yard.

Now whisper this: ‘This, too, is sacred when done in God’s image.’

That’s where the sermon’s first movement rests: we were made full — reflections of divine goodness, stewards of a generous world.

But if that’s true, why do we feel so empty?

---

II. The Crack in the Can – When Fullness Fell Silent

Genesis 3 opens with a sound most of us know too well — a question that twists what God said.

> “Did God actually say…?” (Genesis 3:1)

The serpent doesn’t come with horns and a pitchfork. He comes as a conversationalist.

Temptation rarely shouts; it whispers.

He plants doubt: Maybe God is holding out on you. Maybe you’d be happier if you decided what’s good for yourself.

And the woman saw that the fruit was “good for food… a delight to the eyes… desired to make one wise.”