Second Sunday after Epiphany – year C – Bill Harkins
The Gospel: John – 21-11
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 you and to me? 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 chief steward.” So they took it. When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward 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.
In the Name of the God of Creation who loves us all…Amen. Good Morning, and welcome to Holy Family on this second Sunday after the Epiphany. After the visit of the Magi to the infant Jesus and the descent of the Dove at the baptism of Jesus, the Epiphany season celebrates the beginning of miracles or “signs” in John’s story of the wedding at Cana. We read this story at Epiphany because the theme of this season of our liturgical year is the “showing forth” or manifestation of Jesus—who he is and what he is about. The changing of water into wine was the first time Jesus gave a real sign to his disciples and others in this way—this Epiphany. I want to visit with you this morning considering this first sign and the implications of this for our lives together at Holy Family. Put in theological terms, this reading from John’s Gospel builds upon the deep and rich history of traditional Jewish feasts with the immediacy, and perhaps urgency of Jesus’ life among his people. In this case, the water in the jars—representing a sacred ritual from institutional Judaism, is set aside for purification. The new revelation of who Jesus is builds upon the “old dispensation” as TS Eliot put it in his poem about the journey of the Magi. There is also the theological connection to the words of Isaiah, who likens the life of Jesus as Messiah to a wedding, and the joy of God’s people to the joy of a bride and bridegroom.
Theological musings aside, however, this is a really good story. Mary tells her son to do something for these folks whose wedding feast—and they were major social events often lasting for days—was in serious peril. Jesus tells Mary that all of this is none of his business and that he has other plans—another agenda—about how and when he will reveal himself. His time has not yet come.
Mary essentially ignores his response and assumes that Jesus is going to be a good Jewish boy and listen to his mother—and he does. Now, what we know about social customs in those days is that to have run out of wine was akin to committing a big social faux pas—a potentially disgraceful disaster that the families might never live down. Wine was the plumb line—if you will—that kept the celebration moving. So, Jesus must decide what to do. He must decide whether to wait before he makes himself known, before he reveals what he learned when God said, “you are my son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Or rather to act now, responding to the human need presenting itself in this moment, here and now. Jesus acts, the wedding is saved, and the bride and groom are given a new chance—the celebration is given new life. Now, if we take a step back and look at the big picture, we see that this story is not really about the bride and groom. In one sense, it isn’t even about Jesus. The first time Jesus makes himself known—the first time he “shows forth”—if you will, he does so not according to his plans or his timetable, but in response to human need. Jesus’ first manifestation of his true nature was not for or about Jesus. He didn’t call the media together for the cultural equivalent of a “breaking news” event—with which we are all so familiar these days—and then demonstrate a miracle. Rather, the true signs of his calling and identity were drawn out of him in the context of a real-life event, in relationship to people in his day-to-day existence, and out of their needs, not his.
So, dear ones, I want to suggest that what it means and what it looks like for Jesus to be the Messiah is given expression in this moment, amid a relatively mundane moment of human life and need. Who he was and what he had to give, then, were not done for him or his own self-aggrandizement. These qualities, the essence of his being, existed always and only for others—from the very beginning.
Now, let’s turn for just a moment to the Epistle. We recall that in many of his letters, some written from prison, Paul is about the state of the church in the first century. There were many conflicts due to infighting and miscommunication. Folks in Corinth, for example, were keeping secrets from one another and, as is so often the case when religion goes bad, they were more concerned about being right than being in relationship. They were saying things like “this gift of the spirit is mine, this way of doing things is mine, this way of being in the world is mine; this form of spirituality—this religion…is mine.” And you see, what Paul says to them is what Jesus discovered when the wine gave out. Paul says “What you have been given—your spiritual gifts—are not for you. Rather, Paul says, “To each is given the manifestation of the spirit for the common good.” What you have is not for you. What you have is ultimately not even about you. The folks in Corinth could never get their religion right, or their lives right, until they realized that being right was much less important than being in relationship. When Paul references the Spirit as he does in the text for this morning, he is reminding us to tend this gift carefully—the gift of what theologian Ronald Rolheiser called our “Divine spark” or the Holy flame we have each been given. What we have been given is not for us. It is given so we might give it away, in love. So it is with most of our gifts.
Once when I was in graduate school, a gift to be sure, I used a big word in the presence of my grandmother, whom I dearly loved and hated to disappoint. She was quiet for a moment and said “Sweetheart, we are so proud of you for going on with your schooling. But remember that what you are learning—all this new knowledge—can be used to build walls that separate you from others, or bridges that reach out to them. When you use a big word and you don’t really need to, you are building a wall. And it’s like putting a ten-dollar haircut on a fifty-cent head.”
What Jesus had, who he was, by the gift of God, was not for him or even about him. It was given so that he might choose to give his life away. What we have, individually and in this wonderful congregation, this Holy Family, is not for us. It is for the common good. And yet this is the great good news—this is Gospel—that when we give, we become part of something much greater than we can possibly be on our own. There is, as the theologian Paul Tillich put it, “a center, a direction, a meaning to our lives. Jesus offers new wine, a new being, new creation.” We are not created to live lives that are closed-in upon ourselves, protective, possessive, and defensively preoccupied with being right. Another of my wise grandmother’s sayings, usually from the pulpit of her garden, was “Sweetheart, remember that a person all wrapped up in themselves is a very small package.” Rather, we are creatures born to be in relationship. And this means being as fully present, at this moment, as we can be.
Jesus chose to abandon his plans; his schedule; his timetable, for relationship with something much larger. At the wedding in Cana of Galilee, he chose to act—to manifest this new creation. In doing so, he shows us what human life can be like. As the poet Goethe once said, “Anything you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Act, boldly, and Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never have otherwise occurred.” Today is our wonderful ministry fair, envisioned by Parish Life, and hosted by so many who give themselves away week in and week out. Let the Spirit you have been given allow your imagination to see new possibilities for your life at Holy Family. We need your Divine Spark, and let’s remember that there are many, many ways to give something having nothing to do with money. Remember that we come to resemble what we love and hold dear or, as Augustine said of the Eucharist, “Behold who you are, become what you receive.” Or as our fellow Episcopalian and poet Mary Oliver wrote:
Why worry about the loaves and fishes?
If you say the right words, the wine expands.
If you say them with love
and the felt ferocity of that love
and the felt necessity of that love,
the fish explode into many.
Imagine him, speaking,
and don’t worry about what is reality,
or what is plain, or what is mysterious.
If you were there, it was all those things.
If you can imagine it, it is all those things.
Eat, drink, be happy.
Accept the miracle.
Accept, too, each spoken word
spoken with love.
My friends, sometimes we can get so caught up in how something is possible that we forget simply to enjoy it. This poem by Mary Oliver invites us to accept the miracle, spoken with love, not just of the loaves and fishes, or the wine in Cana, but of our very existence, which is perhaps the greatest miracle of all. I believe this is especially true when we live beyond ourselves, into the new being of God’s new creation, where there is plenty of wine at the wedding. Amen