A Sermon by Sydney V. (Skip) Jackson — January 15, 2012
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

And the servants filled the six jars] to the brim. — John 2:7

Like all of John’s stories this one has many layers of meaning and symbols galore.  There is no end to ways to interpret it.  Nothing in the Bible has only one single meaning.  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.”  There are seven signs in John.  In Hebrew thought, the number seven symbolizes completeness.  This one is the first.  It sets the tone for everything.  So let’s start with the very first words of the story.

“On the third day there was a wedding…”  John has told three stories up to this point.  Each begins with the words, “The next day…”  Now this fourth story begins, “On the third day there was a wedding…”  Whose wedding?  We don’t know.  But those first words, “on the third day,” are pregnant with meaning for Christians.  “On the third day” Jesus rose from the dead.  It is the day of resurrection…the Lord’s Day.  This is not the only time the third day figures in John’s gospel.  On the third day after his friend Lazarus falls ill, Jesus sets off to raise him from the tomb.  New life comes on the third day.  And all the way back in Genesis 1:11 on the third day of creation, God calls into being the first living things—“Let the earth put forth vegetation”—to be food for all creatures.  The third day is about God’s life-giving and life-sustaining activity.  And could it be that John wants his readers to think of another wedding, that one in Isaiah 62 when the Lord God unites with the people in marriage?  Perhaps this wedding “on the third day” in Cana of Galilee is to be seen as a reflection of God’s delight—“As a bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you” [Is 62:5].

But then midway through the joyous festivities, we’re brought back to earth.  Jesus’ mother comes and tells him, “The wine gave out.  There is no more.”  That’s the way it is for us all.  God means creation to provide enough for all, that all people have sufficient to live full, abundant lives.  But our world seems a place of scarcity.  We’re constantly hearing that there’s not enough to go around—not enough food to feed everyone, not enough money to ensure shelter or education or basic healthcare for all, not enough jobs to go around so people can support their families, not enough resources to repair the bridges and highways, or to build mass transit, or to keep the libraries open, or to maintain police and fire departments, or to keep funding Social Security and Medicare.  “There’s not enough,” we are told, “The wine gave out.  There is no more.”  But what about all those who do have enough… and more than enough?

 

I’ve heard a lot of standard, familiar quotes from Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., this holiday weekend, quotes about dreams and such.  But let me share a prophetic quote from Dr. King that you probably won’t hear this weekend except for right now.  “You know, Jesus reminded us,” he said, “of a magnificent parable one day that a man went to hell because he didn’t see the poor.  And I come by here to say that America, too, is going to hell, if we don’t use her wealth.  If America does not use her vast resources of wealth to end poverty, to make it possible for all of God’s children to have the basic necessities of life, she, too, will go to hell.”  But since King’s death in 1968, America’s wealth has increasingly concentrated with those who have enough, and the gap between the fortunate and those in poverty has widened dramatically.

What happens at the wedding in Cana illustrates the vast difference between the kingdom of God Jesus proclaims here in our midst and the world of scarcity that stubbornly resists that kingdom.  Jesus doesn’t blame anyone that the wine gave out—that some freeloaders drank too much or someone didn’t plan ahead and budget for what was needed.  He didn’t  tell the guests to just be happy and make do without, or even tell those who could afford it to go off to buy their own wine.  No, he provides new wine, the best of wine, and not just a little, but more than enough for all.  The party goes on—for all, not just for some.

So very much wine!  According to John, “there were six stone jars… each holding twenty or thirty gallons.”  Think of it… six times 20 or 30, a total of something like 150 gallons of wine.  That’s a lot of wine… especially since the wedding party and guests already polished off the first batch.  Surely one jar—20 or 30 gallons of wine—would keep the party going, allow for final toasts to the bride and groom, and wrap things up.  But Jesus is extravagant… wildly extravagant!  In God’s kingdom, there is enough for all… and always enough.

Still, I would like to think that there was some wine left over after the wedding party ended… perhaps quite a lot.  And I would like to think that when the guests had departed and the couple had gone off on their honeymoon… that then some friend or family member took the wine that remained and poured it into smaller containers—jugs or bottles—and corked them.  And when the couple returned, he or she then presented them with quite a few crates of the splendid wine.  “Here, this is that wonderful wine the rabbi from Nazareth supplied.  I thought you might like to have it for special occasions.”

I picture the couple delighted, smiling to think that along with the low-budget meals of newlyweds—things like hamburger helper and tuna surprise—they can have wine, good wine, heavenly wine.  And as it is with eager young couples, they don’t plan especially well.  So after a couple of years they realize that, as extravagant as Jesus was, they will someday run out.  So they start saving the wine for special occasions—their wedding anniversary, of course… the birth and dedication of a child… family reunions… and high holy days like Passover when feasting and drinking are expected.  And every time they taste the wine, they relive the joy of their wedding day… and recall how, at the first sip of Jesus’ wine, they had looked at each other with such intense love and joy it surprised them both.

And so the years pass until they are an old couple, keenly aware that “all flesh is grass,” fading with age.  I see the two on a chilly night, some 46 or 47 years after their wedding at Cana.  She is sitting in front of the fire, trying to warm her hands and feet, for they always ache when it’s cold now.  He pauses as he comes into the room and watches her sitting on the bench pulled up close to the fire.  He studies her in the light of the fire:  the shape of her forehead, the deep creases in her face, and the lips he has kissed a thousand times.

Then he remembers the wine.  There’s only one bottle left, and they’re not getting any younger.  Perhaps there will be no more celebrations for them.  So he calls to her, just a little too loudly because he’s grown a bit deaf:  “Honey?”  She turns to him, and he goes on, “What if we finish the wine tonight… the rabbi’s wine?  There’s just the one bottle left.  It might warm you up some.”
“Sure, sure,” she says, “that would be good.”

So he gets the bottle and brings it back to the fire along with the only clean chalice he can find.  He begins uncorking the wine, wondering aloud, “Do you suppose it’s still good after all these years?”

“Always has been,” she says.  “The rabbi’s wine has never gone bad.  It’s as amazing as the way he provided it.”
The husband pours the first cup and hands the chalice to his wife.  She sips and hands it back.  The look at each other and nod their agreement:  the wine is every bit as sweet and satisfying as the day they were married.

They drink slowly, passing the chalice back and forth.  And they begin to tell stories.  She says:  “I remember the day Sarah was born.  How you carried on!  Like no one had ever been a father before.  Called all the neighbors in, you did!  You all drank a whole crate of this wine, as if it were our wedding all over again.”

“Well, you did the same when Benjamin and Rebecca brought our first grandchild home," he laughs.

“I did, didn’t I,” says the wife, laughing back.  “Oh those were such good times, weren’t they?  We wanted them to never stop.”

He pours some more wine, and they each take a sip.  He stirs the fire, and they sit quietly, absorbed in the flames.  She glances over at him and notices he is trying to hold back tears.  She knows what he’s thinking.  He’s remembering when their third child died after a long, hard sickness.  They’d tried everything, but he died anyway.  For weeks all she could pray was, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  They were both so distraught, and God seemed so silent and far away.  It was a terrible time.

One evening he came home, and she had supper ready.  They set the table without a single word, going through the motions, the rituals, and habits that seemed to be all they had left.  When they sat down to eat, they realized that she hadn’t gotten water from the well and he’d forgotten to bring home any wine from the market.  So he found one of the bottles of wine from their wedding.  “Might as well open this,” he thought, “no sense saving it for special occasions anymore.”

So he opened it and poured some wine for each of them.  And when the wine touched their lips, they tasted grace in their hearts, and they broke down and sobbed together.  The grief of their loss never went away.  How could it?  But the strength to carry the grief together—that was what the wine of Jesus gave them.

And now sitting in front of the fire, he turns to look at her.  And hearing him move, she turns toward him.  And they look at each other, and she takes his hand, saying, “Yes, Honey, I know.  I know.”

He is silent… then tips the bottle upside down over the chalice.  There are a few last drops, just a taste.  He hands the chalice to her:  “Here, you finish it.”

She takes the smallest of sips and hands it back to him, pointing out there is still the tiniest bit at the bottom.  He puts the brim to his lips… and throws back his head… and drinks the last drop of this beverage that gave and celebrated life.  And then he slowly brings the chalice down between them.

“That’s it,” he says with a voice that sounds both satisfied and sad.  “All gone.  There’s none left to pass on to the children or grandchildren now.  Just the story of our wedding at Cana and the rabbi named Jesus who blessed us with so much wine.  Just the story… but no wine.”

“Not to worry,” responds the wife.  “Not to worry.  Wherever people follow Jesus and his way of life, there will be more—enough for all and always enough.”¹

This was… this is… this will always be the first of Jesus’ signs.  For it reveals his glory…and the glory of God’s kingdom in our midst. 

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

 

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¹  I developed the story portion of this sermon from notes I took in a workshop at the Albuquerque Worship & Music Conference, July, 1996, during which Thomas H. Troeger briefly outlined a possible story sermon on the wedding at Cana.