A Sermon by Sydney V. (Skip) Jackson — January 17, 2010
Indianola Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Ohio
Texts:  Isaiah 62:1-5;  John 2:1-11

…as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride,
so shall your God rejoice over you. — Isaiah 62:5b

When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus
said to him, “They have no wine.” — John 2:3

The Wedding at Cana reminded me of a story this week, but I just couldn’t locate a copy of it.  Too many books, I guess.  As close as I remember it’s about a much-loved innkeeper in a small village in France.  After forty years he decided to retire and move away to spend his final years enjoying the sun and beaches in the south of France.  His inn had been the social center of the community, and his hospitality and generosity were legendary.  Most people knew how he had quietly supported many families fallen on hard times and had, over the years, helped numerous stranded travelers.  And his cooking!  Why, he served the finest food in the district!  And he always took some to any family visited by illness or death.

 

The villagers were at a loss as to how they might honor this good man.  So when the mayor noted how much the innkeeper savored fine wine, they all knew what would be perfect.  They would commission a 50-gallon oak cask from the local cooper, and everyone in the village would bring a bottle or two of their best wine from their private cellars.  All would pour their bottles into the cask to blend a potent elixir that just might remind the innkeeper of his friends and of the sweetness of life in the village he was leaving behind.

When it came time to fill the cask, one villager, a baker, thought of how things had gotten a bit tight lately as business had slacked off and prices soared.  So he took an empty wine bottle with a fancy label and filled it with water.  “Surely,” he thought, “no one will ever notice the difference in 50 gallons of wine.”

That night at the climax of the going-away banquet, the great cask was brought out and presented.  With tears in his eyes, the innkeeper thanked his neighbors and friends.  “I’ll sample it now.  Then every time I taste of it far away in the south, I’ll be whisked back to the delight of this very moment.”  Taking a flagon, he drew a full measure, lifted it to his lips, and tasted.  “This,” he exclaimed, “is surely the finest, sweetest tasting, purest water I have ever drunk.”

All too often such is the way of the world—that human worries and fears of shortage should, in effect, “turn wine into water.”  But the story of the Wedding at Cana is just the opposite.  In a moment of divine extravagance, Jesus transforms the situation entirely by turning water into wine.  And not just a little bit of wine, either… no shortage and nothing lacking here.  There are gallons and gallons of wine… bathtubs sloshing over with the best fruit of the vine.  So the party goes on.

Like all of John’s stories, this one has layer upon layer of meaning and symbols galore.  There are probably a dozen or more ways to begin unpacking his story.  What does Jesus mean when he says, “My hour has not yet come”?  His coming “hour” will figure in story after story.  Why does John call this “the first of [Jesus’] signs”?  John never calls such events miracles or acts of power. He calls them “signs.”  In his gospel there are seven signs.  In Hebrew thought, the number seven symbolizes completeness.  There’s a rich treasure throughout John’s stories.  But I want to start with the very first words of this wedding story.

The story opens, “On the third day there was a wedding…”  Up to this point John has told three stories, each one beginning with the words, “The next day…”  Now this fourth story begins, “On the third day there was a wedding…”  We don’t know whose wedding this is.  But those first words, “on the third day,” are pregnant with meaning for Christians.  “On the third day” Jesus rose from the dead.  The third day is the day of resurrection… a day of power… the Lord’s Day.  Oh, a reader might not grasp this on a first reading, but the third day figures more than once in John’s gospel—usually associated with the initiation of some kind of divine action, such as Jesus going to raise Lazarus on the third day after hearing he was ill.  Could it be that John wants his readers to think of another wedding?—of that symbolic wedding in Isaiah that brings vindication and salvation to God’s people?  “As a young man marries a young woman, so shall your builder marry you, and as a bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you” [Is 62:5].  Perhaps the wedding party at Cana “on the third day” echoes that divine wedding.

But then midway through the festive wedding feast we’re brought back to earth.  Jesus’ mother approaches him and says, “They’ve run out of wine.”  That’s the way it is for us all.  We live in a world of shortage and scarcity where things run out, wear out, lose their zip, come to an end.  Such things happen to us all.  Christmas is over, holidays past, the decorations put away.  Now it’s ordinary time. 

And it’s not just about Christmas.  We have many ways of saying, “The wine ran out”—songs like “The Party’s Over” or “Is that All there Is?” or one I especially like, Pete Seeger’s “My Get Up and Go Has Got Up and Went”?  Abraham Lincoln left Washington, DC on one rare occasion during the Civil War to visit with Union troops.  When he returned a friend noted that he looked rested and healthier.  Lincoln replied that it had indeed been “a great relief to get away from Washington and the politicians, but,” he added, “nothing touches the tired spot.”  That’s how it is sometimes.  The wine just runs out.

So too even with faith, hope, and love.  Faith was so simple when things were going well, but then came a cancer diagnosis… or my mother died… or my child fell ill… or my husband left me.  Life turned sour, and the wine ran out.  Hope was easy to share in the midst of celebrations, but then I lost my job and the foreclosure notice came… or the doctor told me after the accident that I might never walk again.  And the wine ran out.  Love was great as long as it grew and was returned, but when the barriers went up and communication broke down, the wine ran out.  “They have no wine,” said Mary the mother of Jesus.  And these words reverberate in our lives and the lives of people we know.  In this world of losses and shortages and mind-boggling tragedies like the earthquake in Haiti—times and places where death is an ever-present specter, someone or something is always saying, “The wine ran out.”

At such points in our lives the gospel—the Good News—of John’s story breaks through.  For John tells us how Jesus enters into the situation and transforms shortage into abundance.  Jesus—says John—has the power to come into our lives and transform them.  Not in any Pollyanna sense—with bland assurances like, “Don’t worry, be happy.”  Jesus doesn’t tell the guests to cheer up and make do even though the wine ran out.  No, he makes new wine!  The best of wine!  And more than enough for all!  So the wedding party goes on.  Jesus came—says John—so we “may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10).

This is incredible good news, and we’re asked to believe it and to trust in Jesus just as the disciples did.  For Jesus comes into our lives with the promise that, even though we know hurt or disaster or betrayal, growth and fulfillment and abundant life can rise from that.  Perhaps all this may take a while—sort of like how good, vintage wine needs time to ferment and to age.  The cartoon on this morning’s bulletin cover jokes about a vintage of three minutes ago.  Oh, that we all might know restoration so quickly!  We are ever seeking quick fixes in our world.  Yet surely transformation—new life— will come… “on the third day.”

Finally I want to consider some almost forgotten characters in the story, the servants.  They never speak and aren’t named.  At first glance they’re background figures.  Yet it turns out they’re a necessary part of the action.  And like servants in so many stories, these servants are “in the know”—that is to say, they’re the only ones who realize what happened back there in the kitchen.  The steward praises the bridegroom for saving the best wine for last.  Neither of them know what ‘s going on.  But the servants do.  They alone know that just moments earlier this fine wine was common, ordinary well water meant for washing hands and feet.

I focus on the servants, in part, because the Greek word for “servant,” diakonos, was what early church members called themselves.  You might recognize in the Greek diakonos the English word “deacon” we get from it.  How appropriate it is—that the mother of Jesus would tell the diakonos (the deacons!) to “do whatever [Jesus] tells you.”  And what do they do?  They do what turns out to be necessary for the sign.  They fetch the water and serve the wine.

Jesus directs them to fill six large, stone jugs with water—150-180 gallons total—a bucket brigade, nearly three quarters of a ton of water.  If they don’t do their part, nothing happens—no miracle, no transformation, no sign.  The party’s over.  Oh, I suppose Jesus could have managed alone.  But he chose to work through the servants—just as, I believe, he chooses to work through all of us who are his followers and servants.  The gospel message is that not only can Jesus transform the loss, the betrayal, the brokenness, and the pain that any of us feel;  not only can he restore the faith, the hope, and the love we lack;  not only can Jesus do all that for us; but he summons us to join in and help in the process.  We are all of us needed and called to be servants… deacons… ministers of Jesus Christ.

We do not ourselves bring about the transformation, oh no.  Our efforts, the things we do—whether working at food banks, attending B.R.E.A.D. action meetings, visiting people in the hospital, writing to our elected representatives, serving breakfast to college students, or any other forms of ministry—these are all but signs.  Prophetic and powerful signs!  But none of these, in and of themselves, will bring about the kingdom of God.  Nevertheless, each and every one of us has a role to play—as both a beneficiary of and a participant in God’s new creation.  The abundant wine of celebration brings us new life and enables us—like the servants in the story—to offer the same source of new life to all who cry out in desperation and despair, “The wine has run out!”  May we all do our part—fetching water and serving wine as servants of the living God!  Amen and amen.