French Toast, Good Wine, and Grace

John 2:1-11

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” 

And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to me and to you? My hour has not yet come.”  His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” 

Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.”  And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the person in charge of the banquet.” So they took it.  When the person in charge tasted the water that had become wine and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), that person called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.” 

Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee and revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him.

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I empathize with the groom from our story today. Let me tell you why. We had less than a year to plan our wedding, which was less than ideal for Katelyn. And between other weddings and moving off to seminary, we really only had one date that worked: June 11th, which was a Sunday.

But we had this great idea. We love breakfast, so we thought we would do a Sunday morning brunch for the reception, replete with mimosas, the Sunday paper, and the best brunch spread you’d ever seen. It was a great idea; the only problem was, we didn’t have any money. Katelyn was in her senior year at Valpo, working two jobs as her schedule allowed. I was doing an internship at a church in Milwaukee where I got paid $500 a month. That was hardly enough to pay for the drinks, let alone the food. And food really is the centerpiece of the reception. 

So we had the impossible challenge of finding a caterer who was good and affordable on our measly budget. After searching and searching, I found her: Judy Baker of Chesterfield, IN.  No website listed, just a landline phone number. When we met with her, Ms. Baker was well into her 80s and told us she had been catering weddings longer than Katelyn and I had been alive, combined. We told her what we were hoping for: brunch theme, eggs, potatoes, shrimp and grits, croissant sandwiches, French toast, and mimosas. 

Then we told her our situation: I was just a poor pastor-to-be, and we only had this much budgeted for the food. Without hesitation, Ms. Baker looked at me and said, “Corbin honey,” (that’s what she called me the entire time we planned this wedding") “that’ll be plenty. I’ll have no problem getting all of that. It’ll be a great Sunday brunch.”

Katelyn and I were elated. We couldn’t believe it—we had found the perfect person. We went about the rest of the planning, amazed that it was all coming together. Katelyn planned 90% of the details, but the one thing I put together was our newspaper. I wrote all these articles, and most important to everyone else was the menu: scrambled eggs, breakfast potatoes, southern-style shrimp and grits, build-your-own croissant sandwiches, delectable donuts (instead of wedding cake), and to top it all off, Ms. Baker’s famous French toast.

On the day of the wedding, it was brutally hot, but Ms. Baker had a team working at full force to get our Sunday brunch ready. At the start of the reception, people made their way to get their food while Katelyn and I said some hellos. Finally, we walked outside, jumped ahead of the line to get our food, and what we saw shocked us. 

This supposedly great brunch was nearly gone! Half the guests still needed to go through the line, and certainly more than half the food was gone! I got no eggs, the croissant sandwiches were picked over, I don’t recall any shrimp and grits, and worst of all, Ms. Baker’s famous French toast was nothing more than French toast sticks, straight out of the box from Gordon’s, accompanied by your own syrup cup like you’d get at Hardee’s. I was embarrassed, humiliated. It was a tragedy.

The food was supposed to be the centerpiece of this brunch. And now all of our friends, who were also planning weddings at the time, were gonna say, “Well, we don’t want to be like the Blackmons!” And to be clear, this wasn’t Ms. Baker’s fault. There is only so much a woman can do with not even $2,000 for all the food and tableware. On the day I was supposed to be the host, to show hospitality, I was found lacking.

The groom from our story today was also found lacking, not in food but, even worse, in wine. The very thing he needed most was gone all too early. Talk about a buzzkill. Now, this problem is much easier to preach about to Lutherans than, say, Baptists, who wouldn’t see that as a problem at all. But in Jesus' time, for a Jewish wedding reception to run out of wine was one of the worst failures that could happen. 

The wine wasn’t just for a good time, though, as the Psalmist tells us, it does gladden the heart. 

Wine was the centerpiece of hospitality; when there was plenty of wine, it was a sign of God’s blessing. The prophets of old spoke of a time when the vats would overflow and the mountains would drip with sweet wine. In fact, the coming of the Messiah would be marked by an abundance of wine. Conversely, when the vineyards didn’t bear fruit and there was no wine to drink, that meant God’s blessing had been removed. And if there was ever an occasion to not run out of wine, it was a wedding, because not only would you be lacking in hospitality, but you’d be lacking God’s blessing, too. And that’s a tragedy.

Somehow Mary, Jesus’ mother, learns of the problem, and she takes it upon herself to find a solution. Why she felt the need, we are not told. But I like to think that Mary really felt for the couple because they were having the reception she and Joseph likely never had. And the last thing she wanted was for it to be ruined by the lack of wine, and for this newly wedded couple to experience any of the social scrutiny that she undoubtedly did.

So Mary found Jesus, and why she thought he could, should, or would fix this problem we don’t really know. But she talked Jesus into it. So Jesus had the servants fill the huge stone jars that had gone empty with water. And sometime in between doing that and filling a cup for the steward, the water became 150 gallons of the best wine imaginable.

Which is absolutely ridiculous! Why would Jesus make an unfathomable amount of the best possible wine at a time when the guests were already shwammied! They had been partying for days by this point; they couldn’t even appreciate such deliciousness. And did they really need that much? Couldn’t Jesus have made just enough to last the rest of the reception? And then to top it all off, when the steward tasted the wine and thought the best had been saved for last, the groom got all the credit! Somehow from all of this, the disciples walk away having seen the glory of Jesus and believed in him.

We all can empathize with the groom because, at some time or another, we’ve all been found lacking the very thing we need. As a parent, your jars of patience and attention run dry. In your marriage, your vats of love and forgiveness go empty. Or just as a person in a world with such pain, your cup of concern for your neighbor gets poured out. 

You will need something, someone besides yourself, to fill you back up because, like the groom and his party, when left to do it all by yourself, the relationship, or the marriage, or your faith, will come to an early end. It is only by the grace of God that comes to us in Jesus that our once-empty jars will be filled back up, and we are given not just what we need but an abundance of the fruit of the Spirit: patience, peace, love, joy, kindness, faithfulness.

That’s what I love about this story. It reminds us that sometimes in this life, the grace we receive isn’t just enough to get us by. No, every once in a while, we experience the grace of God as an abundance of the best thing we’ve ever had, shared with the people we love most. And it’s not just about getting by; it’s about the overflow, the ridiculous generosity, and the joy of abundance—a glimpse of God’s kingdom breaking into our lives.

Where have you experienced God’s abundance in your life? Where has God’s overflowing grace surprised you, exceeded your expectations, or come just when you were sure you didn’t have enough? And how might you share that abundance with someone else— your spouse, your kids, a friend, a stranger—who's jars have all but dried up? And how might we, as Cross of Grace, share our abundance of welcome and hospitality with a community, a world lacking in both?

You’ll be happy to know no one went hungry at our reception. And I’d like to think the abundance of love and joy more than made up for the food’s quality. Months later I talked with one of my good friends about my wedding and told him how embarrassed I was about the food. He turned to me and said, “Are you kidding me? I loved it! French toast sticks are my favorite, and there were so many of them!”

Thanks be to God for French toast, good wine, and an abundance of grace. Amen.

Reckless Generosity

John 12:1-8 (NRSV)

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

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I wonder when the last time was you and I did something extravagant and wasteful – without apology, without guilt, without justifying it to our neighbors, our spouse, our kids, our Pastor, our selves. Maybe it was a vacation we needed and that we felt like we had earned… Maybe it was a gift for someone we love… Maybe it was spending more than seemed wise or responsible on something we wanted, rather than on something that was a real need – a new pair of shoes, a new car, a really great meal on date-night, perhaps.

We’ve all been there and done it, I suspect. And there’s nothing wrong with it. But, unless you’re lucky enough to live without a budget – or broken enough to live without a conscience, I guess – wasting money… spending extravagantly… using more than our fair share isn’t always easy; it doesn’t come without second thoughts; it doesn’t happen without regrets, on occasion, either.

And when Mary pours all of that perfume – a year’s salary worth of nard, some have said – onto the feet of Jesus, and then wipes them with her hair – Judas plays on all of that – those second thoughts, that good, old-fashioned guilt, and on those kinds of regrets when he asks – with all of us ulterior motives – “Why wasn’t this perfume sold for money that could be given to the poor?” “How can you be so wasteful?” “Isn’t there something better and more faithful you could have done with that abundance?”

And Jesus, knowing about Judas’ evil ways and selfish, ulterior motives, shuts him up and tells him to forget it: “Leave her alone. She bought [the perfume] so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You will always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me.”

“You will always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

Jesus knew something Mary had apparently picked up on, too: that his crucifixion wasn’t far off. That the time for his death was near. Mary wasn’t thinking about the budget. She was thinking about his burial. And she wanted to worship and honor and love him with this humble act of reverence and service.

“You will always have the poor with you,” Jesus says, “but you do not always have me.”

Now, I’m used to reading this bit from John’s Gospel and thinking that Jesus is simply praising Mary for the way she honors him with the sacrificial anointing of all that expensive perfume. Like Jesus is saying, “forget about the poor for a minute, they’re not going anywhere. I, on the other hand, am about to hit Jerusalem – where I’ll be crucified, killed and buried. I’ll take this anointing, this love, this honor, this worship, while I can get it. And maybe the rest of you will finally realize who I am and what I’m about to do, which Mary obviously understands.”

In other words … the poor could wait. This was Jesus’ last hurrah.

Well, something about that just didn’t sit well with me, this time around, and I may be taking a theological leap here – conflating two Gospel stories like I’m about to do.

But have you ever read – or do you remember – that parable Jesus tells in Matthew 25? The one where Jesus says, “…for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me?” And then he says, “…whenever you did – or did not – do these things to one of the least of these … you did – or did not – do these things to me.” Do you remember that?

And today he says, “You will always have the poor with you. But you do not always have me.”

“Whenever you did it to one of the least of these [fed the hungry, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, cared for the sick, visited the prisoner], you did it for me.”

What if, in receiving Mary’s anointing over dinner that night, Jesus isn’t drawing a distinction between himself and the poor, but he’s identifying with them because of it? What if Jesus is the poor we have with us and around us, even now? What if Jesus receives Mary’s faithful, loving, generous gift that night at dinner in humble, hopeful solidarity – as one with – the poor and the suffering?

“You will always have the poor with you. But you will not always have me.”

And what if we sacrificed – like Mary must have – to give more of our best… more of our abundance… more extravagantly… more recklessly to the people around us who need it most, because we recognize them as living and suffering and struggling in humble, hopeful solidarity with Jesus?

I think it could change the world.

I had a conversation with Linda Sevier and Mary Hubert about our Mission Sunday in May where we’ll collect money and bras – yes, bras, people! – for a ministry connected with the Women of the ELCA. This ministry collects and sends used bras – yes, used bras, people! – to women who are poor in other parts of the world with the goal of giving them opportunities in the second-hand clothing industry, and to save them from human trafficking. It sounds like a beautiful, worthwhile thing and I’m sure it is.

But used bras? A gently-worn shirt, sure. A pair of shoes you’ve out-grown, fine. But a used bra? What kind of a gift is that, really? What sort of sacrifice does that represent? Besides the fact that none of us wants me to handle your old bras, no matter how “gently used” they might be – we can do better … and these women – whoever they are – deserve better. So we will be collecting money and NEW bras, only, thank you very much. I hope you’ll play along when the time comes.

And the same goes for our “Groceries of Grace” food pantry. Let’s not give our leftovers – the last of what we can dust off from the back of the closet, for the “least of these.” I’d bet 300 denarii Martha wasn’t serving stale bread or expired figs or leftover fish that night when Jesus showed up for dinner. So let’s not pretend hungry people should take what they can get and be happy – even if humiliated – to receive our leftovers. Let’s honor them, like we would honor Jesus, if he showed up for help one day soon.

What if, in giving generously to the poor, we are giving generously to Jesus, himself? What if, when we sacrifice for the sake of another, we’re sacrificing for the sake of our God? What if we are honoring God when we honor the least among us? What if it’s not a waste at all when we give generously, abundantly, without fear, with nothing but love for those who are hungry or hurting or dying or despairing – in our midst and around the world?

And what if we gave that way to the Church – which is the body of Christ, after all – and which is doing the work of Christ, for the sake of the world? 

I recently read that – in order to make up for recent cuts in the new federal budget that would otherwise help poor and hungry people – every religious organization in the United States – something like 350,000 churches, mosques, and synagogues – would have to raise an extra $400,000 a year for 10 years. An extra $400,000 a year for 10 years to make up for federal budget cuts that would otherwise do that, just in our country. That’s a lot of nard. And I’m sadly realistic about the odds of that happening.

But what if we gave our offering to the church’s work in the world – to Cross of Grace, to places like Love, Inc. which we’ll hear about in a moment, to ministries like Bread for the World which you heard about if you were here during the Sunday school hour this morning – what if we gave to the poor with the same extravagant generosity that Mary showed – like it mattered; like it was first in our hearts; like it was of utmost priority and importance and devotion; like we were grateful for the opportunity and like LIFE depended on it – the new life promised to us all – rich and poor, faithful or not, saint and sinner, and everyone in between.

What if we gave like we were giving to Jesus himself? I think it could change the world – which has been God’s plan, in Jesus Christ, all along.

Amen