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 were also invited. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” She said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”
Now, standing there were six stone water jars for the rites of Jewish purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to the servants, “fill them up with water.” So they filled them up to the brim. Then he told them to draw some out and take it to the chief steward, so they took it. When the chief steward tasted the water that had become wine and did not know where it had come from (though the servants who drew the water knew), he called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first and the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have saved 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.
You know it’s a popular moment or miracle in the life of Jesus when it becomes a meme on the internet. Jesus may or may not have known it way back when, but this is how you know you’ve made it big in the 21st Century.
Anyway, he wasn’t at the grocery store, of course. He was with his mother and his disciples, enjoying himself at a wedding reception, in a place called Cana, where apparently, they knew how to party – so much so, that they ran out of wine. And, even though he tells his mom the time isn’t right when she expects him to do something about it, the time apparently comes, because Jesus goes ahead and does what it seems Mary thought he would or could or should do something about, right from the start.
(We really don’t know if Mary even had a miracle in mind. If she was anything like my mother, she was the one who drained the last bottle or jar or wineskin, her glass was empty, and she needed a refill. So, maybe Mary just thought Jesus could make a run down to the nearest vineyard and pick up a few more bottles, or jars, or wineskins of Merlot.)
Whatever the case, Jesus responds, however reluctantly, by taking some pretty hefty jars of water and turning them into some pretty hefty jars of fine wine – to the surprise and delight of his disciples, his mother, the caterer, and the groom, himself, I imagine – even if none of them know exactly what in the world had happened. And John sums it all up, by saying, “Jesus did this, the first of his signs in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory. And his disciples believed in him.”
You get the impression that, when Jesus tells his mom that his time had not yet come, that Jesus wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to do what he did. And it makes me wonder why. And even though he did end up performing that miracle, I can’t help but wonder, not only why, but why the wait, and what took him so long to pull it off, anyway.
Because, Jesus had gone his whole life, up until this point – as far as our Gospels tell it – without doing much of anything that would identify him as the Son of God. As far as we can tell, other than impressing some folks in the Temple as a middle-schooler, Jesus went all the way from the manger as a baby, to the Jordan River as a grown man, to this wedding in Cana of Galilee, without giving anyone any good reason to see him as any more or better or different than that carpenter’s kid next door. So what was the hold up? What took him so long? Why the wait, I wonder?
Which is just what I’ve struggled to stop wondering about a lot, lately. So soon after Christmas and into another new year that feels a lot like – too much like – the last couple of years, I just keep thinking and wondering about signs – and miracles, really – that could change the state of things for some people and places – for a world, really – that could use a miracle, right about now.
I watch the news and I think about the unsettling fear that continues to have its way with anyone who’s paying attention to North Korea’s missile tests or to the escalating tension between Russia and Ukraine these days. I want God to “judge between the nations” and “arbitrate for the peoples.” I want God to “to beat swords into ploughshares” and “turn spears into pruning hooks”; for people to put down their swords and their guns and to stop learning and teaching war any longer – all miracles the prophet Isaiah promised an awfully long time ago. And it would be nice to see some of that “vindication” Isaiah was talking about this morning, too.
(It doesn’t seem like too much to ask after all this time, but it feels like we’ve run out of wine, and that Jesus is still waiting for his hour to come.)
And forget about turning water into wine, really. That’s nothing compared to what I’d really like to see. That’s nothing compared to what so many need right now. Let’s see the poor get rich. Let’s see the hungry eat their fill. Let’s see the blind regain their sight, the deaf hear, the lame walk. Let’s see some binding up of the broken-hearted. Let’s see some justice roll down like water on this Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday, finally. Or make it wine, if that’s your thing, Jesus. I’ll take what I can get if these promises and prophecies would just pan out somehow.
(But again, it feels like the wine’s run out – that so many are thirsty – and that Jesus is just waiting.)
And the truth is, it’s a lot more personal and closer to home than that, isn’t it? Let’s see the chemo work, for Christa and Beverly and Beth Ann. Let’s see Dick get back on his feet again. Let’s put a stop to the substance abuse and the depression, the job loss and the suicide that’s hurting so many of those we know and care about. Let’s see a cure for COVID-19. Let’s put a stop to the physical, emotional, financial, cultural, global tragedy of this pandemic, for God’s sake. Let’s see all of this mourning and suffering and struggling and death, even, become joy and comfort and new life, for crying out loud.
(Life these days doesn’t feel like a party and we’re out of more than wine, Jesus – we’re out of patience and answers and strength and faith a lot of the time, too, if you want to know the truth.)
And all of this makes me frustrated and angry and sad. It makes me skeptical, and cynical, and scared, too. But it reminds me, again, about why Jesus might have been reluctant to reveal his glory that day at the wedding, in the first place.
Because, as much as we’d like to see those kinds of miracles whenever we’d like to see those kinds of miracles, I think we’re called to remind ourselves that if we could demand them, or see them at will, or have them doled out at our command – than they wouldn’t really be miracles, would they?
So I think we’re called to remember that Jesus was about so much more than magic tricks and that these kinds of miracles – the water-into-wine kind of miracles, I mean – are nothing compared to what Jesus really showed up to reveal.
See, I’m convinced Jesus didn’t want people following him just for the show, or for the quick fix, or for the chance to get some face-time with a super hero, either. He didn’t want people following him or having faith only when the good wine was flowing freely. Jesus knew that life in the world wasn’t always going to be a party and he wanted us to trust that there was, and that there would be, and that there is good wine yet to come; that God’s grace is always enough and that it would never – ever – run dry, no matter how empty our glasses may seem, or how much more we long for on this side of eternity.
There’s no way it was a coincidence that the miracle in Cana happened “on the third day,” as the story goes. Because that points to the real miracle of God, in Jesus, which is the heavy lifting of his death and resurrection – that Easter miracle of miracles that shines light into darkness; that changes trial into triumph; that comforts the lost; that gives hope to the despairing, and that brings new life from all manner of the struggle and sadness and death that surround us.
Our place in this Gospel story may not be with the bridegroom and the wedding guests that day in Cana – the ones who benefit from the miracle. We may not be able to connect with Mary, either – the mother of Jesus, who requests more wine and gets just exactly what she asks for. And our place certainly isn’t to stand in the shoes of Jesus and work God’s kind of magic in the world, according to our will.
So I think our common ground with this story must be to do the work of the servants who were working and the disciples who were invited to wedding that day – the ones who drew out the new wine, the ones who refilled the empty glasses for those who were thirsty, the ones who surely had a taste of it themselves, just to see if what they were hearing was true.
Like those servants, you and I are called to look for and dole out the goodness of God’s abundance wherever and whenever we can find it; to pour out the grace that God brings whenever we receive it. And like those disciples, we’re to look for that glory, whenever it’s revealed in the world as we know it, and to believe it when we see it … because we do see it … in the love and kindness and generosity of others; in this water; in the bread and wine at this table; in the forgiveness of sins and in the promise of life, everlasting.
So, like everyone at the party – when our glasses or our hearts or our hopes or our lives, even, seem empty – no matter what – we’re invited to remember and to believe and to live like the good wine of God’s love is always on the way.
Amen
