John 2: 1–11
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May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be
acceptable in thy sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer.
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This morning, Saint John is facing a challenge. And it’s no
less challenging for all that it’s unspoken. His colleague,
Luke the Physician, proclaimed the birth of Jesus to the world with
an impressive display of angels wheeling about the night skies over
Bethlehem singing, “Glory to God in the highest – and on
earth peace to those whom he loves.” That was a tough act
to follow, but Matthew sustained our interest with a dramatic story of
three exotic kings from the East outwitting wicked Herod as they brought
regal gifts to the new–born king. And last week it was
Luke again, telling us the story of Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan
River, complete with a dove fluttering down from the heavens as a
voice declared, “This is my Son, my Beloved, in whom I am well
pleased.” So this morning we have to wonder, “How
is John going to continue the story? How can he possibly
sustain the high drama of the stories we’ve already
heard?” Well, not to give anything away, but at first
John’s story doesn’t look too promising.
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Years ago, on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, the group I was travelling
with visited Nazareth in Galilee, the small town where Jesus is said
to have grown up. It is still a small town, and a backwater town
at that. And as our Israeli guide pointed out contemptuously, it
is an Arab town – and the disgust with which he said
that word “Arab” spoke volumes to me about the ongoing
conflicts between Arabs and Israelis all over that ancient
land. But it wasn’t any different in Jesus’
day. In his day, all anyone had to say was that Nazareth lay in
Gentile territory – and the disparaging effect was the
same. At any rate, as we travelled through Nazareth, our guide
pointed out the trash on the sides of the road and the general
run–down appearance of its buildings – as if the
town’s run–down appearance proved his point – that
he and all other Israelis were superior to all Arab residents.
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Well, Cana in Galilee lay eight miles north of Nazareth. And it
was even smaller, even more ‘country’, than Nazareth ever
thought of being. Yet, early on in his ministry, Jesus and his
newly minted disciples go to that village to help celebrate a
wedding. Nathaniel, one of his new disciples, came from
Cana. Maybe the bridegroom had been a childhood friend. Or
maybe, since Mary, Jesus’ mother, seems to feel at home in the
family’s kitchen, she was the reason for them being there. But
we don’t find any of them putting the place down, fretting that
it’s small and dilapidated. In fact, John seems to use
the ordinariness of the place, the ordinariness of the occasion to prove
his point. For in that backwater village, eight miles away from
Nowhere, Jesus performs the first of his extraordinary signs –
showing that he really is Emmanuel, God with us – no matter
how ordinary we are, no matter how impoverished our
circumstances.
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In those days it was Jewish custom for weddings to last for a full
week – a full week of feasting and dancing and drinking. So
no wedding was a small one. Every last one of them was supposed to
be a large–scale affair. And everyone in the community was
invited. Moreover, the entire tab, the entire responsibility for
the celebration rested on the bridegroom’s shoulders. If
the musicians didn’t show up or the food was of poor quality or
the wine ran out – he was the one who would never hear the end of
it. And at this wedding the wine was running out before the
celebration was half over.
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Maybe it was Mary’s compassion for the groom that prompted her
to mention this to Jesus. Or maybe, if she was somehow related
to the groom’s mother or father, she was feeling somehow
responsible for the party. In any event, when she realized the
problem, Mary went to Jesus. Only at first, John tells us, Jesus
puts her off.
“No, Mother,” he tells her. “It’s not my
time. Not yet.”
But Mary knows her son and tells the servants, “Do whatever he
tells you to do.” And what follows astounds everyone who
sees it. In the kitchen Jesus notices six large stone jars, the
kind used to store water for purification. “Fill
them,” he tells the servants. “Fill them all with
water.”
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Now, those tall stone jars were huge. Any one of them would have
held thirty to forty gallons of water. And if, by some miracle,
that water was suddenly transformed into wine – well, it would
be enough to keep any party going for days and days. But for
Jesus, that wasn’t enough. Jesus tells the servants to
fill all six of those jars with water. Not just one of
the jars, but all six. Now we are talking about upwards of 200
gallons of water. And, of course, when the wine steward
samples it, it isn’t water at all. It is some of the finest
wine he has ever tasted. And I can’t help noticing — If
his story began a bit quietly, John has now made up for it with a
spectacular conclusion.
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But the curious thing about this story is its hiddenness. Not only
did Jesus perform this miracle in Cana of Galilee, a small village deep
in Gentile territory . . . the actual
miracle wasn’t even witnessed by most of the people at that
wedding reception. In fact, only the servants in the kitchen and
a few of Jesus’ disciples even realized what had just
happened. So what is going on here? Well, several things.
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First of all, humility and modesty seem to lie deep at the heart of
Jesus’ character. He’s not some flashy magician
performing magic tricks up on a stage — with a dramatic flourish
of his satin cape as he draws all eyes to himself. He’s a
servant leader who does things quietly, even secretly, behind
the scenes – and always for the benefit of others.
That’s just who he is.
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But what about the extravagance? Why provide 200 gallons of
wine when thirty or forty would have been enough? Well, one look
at Jesus’ life gives us the answer to that question.
Wherever he went, Jesus of Nazareth celebrated people.¹ He
celebrated them getting married. He celebrated them being healed
of disease or deformity. He celebrated them being included when
all their lives they’d been excluded. He simply carried
that spirit of celebration with him wherever he went,² as he taught
everyone, by his own example, about a God of mercy, a God of peace
and a God of joy.
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And he did it through the most ordinary events –like a country
wedding deep in Gentile territory. He did it through the most
ordinary people – like the young bridegroom who hugely
miscalculated how much wine to buy for his own wedding celebration.
And he did it using everyday objects like stone jars and clear
water. But in Jesus’ hands, the ordinary becomes the
sublime. And that is the glory of God. That is the miracle
of incarnation.
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For God loves to hear the laughter of people celebrating
people. God loves to see the joy on each and every
face. So this joyful feast at Cana in Galilee, made possible
. by a miracle that kept the party going, is still a sign to the Church
that we are to rejoice in the people of God and to toast the world
with the amazing good news of God’s grace.³
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Amen.
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¹ Robert M. Brearly Feasting on the Word;
Preaching on the Revised Common Lectionary Year C, volume 1
(Westminster John Knox Press; Louisville, Kentucky, 2009) p. 262.
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| ² Ibid. |
| ³ Ibid. |
