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.

Baptized by Wildfires

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts about John, whether he might be the Messiah, John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water. One who is more powerful than I is coming. I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

After all the people were baptized and after Jesus himself was baptized and praying, the heaven opened and the spirit descended upon him in bodily form, like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the beloved. With you I am well pleased.”

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It’s hard to wonder about “unquenchable fire” this morning without being mindful of what’s been burning in California all week – the houses and habitats, the landscape and livelihood, the lives of so many people and so much of God’s beautiful creation.

And I’ve spent a fair amount of time the last few days watching those rescue workers and firefighting aircraft douse those relentless flames with gallon after gallon after gallon after gallon of water and fire retardant, as people pray for some relief and some reprieve from the destruction of those wildfires – all of which is pretty hard to fathom, here in the frozen, cold, snow and ice of our Midwestern winter.

And I saw one story, in particular, about it all, that got my attention. A guy named Miro Freed, who used to work for the Forest Service as a Firefighter in California, but doesn’t any more, was able to save his home somewhere up in the highlands, or mountains, of Sierra Madre, from burning to dust like so many of the homes and businesses of his friends, family, and neighbors along the California coast. And he told a reporter how he did it.

Over the last five years, Freed has been doing what he called “fuel reduction” and creating what he called “defensible space,” around his home. From what I gathered, this means he got rid of certain kinds of plants and trees from around his house so that, should a fire come, they wouldn’t serve as kindling and fuel that would help to burn the structures on his property. Hence what he called, “fuel reduction.”

He also described literally raising up trees and bushes – the ones that remained a distance from his house – to a higher elevation from the land and plants beneath his on the mountain, so that, as a wildfire climbed up the hillside there would be less of a chance that it could reach – or that the flames would jump – to the plants and foliage and structures on his land. I imagine this “defensible space” amounts to a significantly vacant span of emptiness, for lack of a better description.

Of course, they also showed him soaking down all of the above – the trees, bushes, and foliage around his house – with a garden hose to keep the flames at bay, too.

And all of that guy’s pro-active, pre-emptive, thoughtful preparation helped remind me to think differently about John the Baptist – and all of his words and warnings down by the river on the day of Jesus’ baptism.

See, John always sounds so angry, doesn’t he? And he often gets portrayed that way, with all of his talk about winnowing forks and threshing floors; about burning chaff and unquenchable fires, I mean. (John, why are you mad … when you could be glad?)

Well, maybe John isn’t so mad, after all. Or angry, or as fire-and-brimstone as Christians have so often made him out to be. And, even more, maybe that’s not the way we’re supposed to imagine or receive the Jesus John was promising and pointing toward, either.

Teachers of religion – Christianity and otherwise – are so good at painting pictures of God as a finger-pointing, fire-wielding, people-punishing, power monger who gathers up the good and disregards the bad with no more than the brush of a hand. And custodians of Christianity have taken it upon themselves to do the same, by deciding and declaring – on behalf of Jesus – whoever or whatever doesn’t fit into what they believe to be Christian, or Christ-like, or whatever.

You know what I mean … whether it’s women being worthy of preaching the good news; LGBTQ folks being able to love who and how they were created to love; gate-keeping who can join a church, who’s ready for baptism, who’s allowed at the communion table, who’s forgivable, loveable, acceptable, worthy.

This is not how it’s supposed to be and I don’t believe this is what God wants us to hear when we read John’s warning about the coming of Jesus today. I don’t know what God’s “threshing floor” is supposed to look like, exactly – but I don’t believe that “chaff” has to be a metaphor for people. I believe “chaff” to God is the stuff in our lives that we might wish to be rid of, ourselves, if we could be honest and faithful about what hurts, harms, and keeps us from living our best lives as God’s children.

See, I wonder if John the Baptist was more like that guy in California – the former Firefighter – who’s just offering some practical, holy advice about how to live a life of faith that’s less likely to be consumed or disrupted or destroyed by the hard stuff that comes our way in this world?

What if John is talking about “fuel reduction,” too – getting rid of those things in our midst, close to our hearts and close to our homes, that threaten to consume us or others? What if he’s talking about creating “defensible spaces” between us and all of that which we know isn’t good, or righteous, or healthy, or holy for anybody?

And what if John is painting a picture of a God, in Jesus, who helps us, with great care and compassion, to remove the chaff from our lives that distracts us from God’s love, that keeps us from living well – anything that tempts us not to give or serve or love ourselves and our neighbor, just the same?

What if John is pointing to Jesus, the Messiah, as the one who invites and who helps people like you and me to leave behind the things that hold us captive, that keep us bound, that separate us from the fullness of life God intends for us all as God’s beloved children, with whom God is well-pleased?

And the variety of things that hold us captive are many – and as varied as the circumstances in the lives of those of us here. We are held captive by our fear of the unknown. We are held hostage by our grief. We are bound by the burden of the grudges we carry.

We’re captive, too, by systems of oppression that harm us all in the long run – but that do more damage to some than others. We are beholden to our greed, our jealousy, our hypocrisy, our intolerance, our privilege, our comfort, our self-interest, and our reluctance to repent and change, any number of those things enough of the time.

Some of us are trapped by a long, painful history of bad theology that has convinced us that we – or others – are unworthy of the divine love and mercy all of us long for.

Whatever the case, it’s all chaff, chaff, and more chaff. It harms us. It hurts our neighbor. It destroys community. It blunts our faith. And God knows it. And it deserves to be set ablaze by God’s Holy Spirit or doused and drowned by the waters of Holy Baptism.

I think that’s what John was offering, because I believe that’s what Jesus showed up to do – and does, still … not out of anger or for the sake of fear, but out of love and for the sake of hope – for us and for the whole wide world.

And that is the gift of baptism. It’s the hope of baptism for those who’ve already received it and it’s the promise of the sacrament, for those who are curious. It’s an invitation to let the love of God burn away whatever keeps you afraid or feeling less than or unloved or unworthy of God’s favor. It’s the promise of a grace so big that it drowns out and washes away whatever sin and brokenness the world pretends can separate you from the God who calls and considers you “Beloved,” already and always.

It is water and Word that means to bless your life on this side of heaven, just as much as whatever awaits you on the other side of life as we know it. And it’s the good news of a grace that will change us and transform the world when we receive and share it, fully, as God intends.

Amen.