2nd Sunday of Ordinary Time
The older I get, the more conflicted I become about this story. I’m no teetotaler, but I’m also not the kind of pastor who would deal in that kind of moral absolute even if I was. Most people don’t have a problem with alcohol. The Bible does not say drinking alcohol is a sin. And besides, we do have bigger things to worry about: we are tasked as followers of Jesus to proclaim his salvation to the world.
But like I said, I’m also getting older: I’ve seen things. I’ve seen what alcohol has done to some of the relationships of the people I care about. I’ve seen the studies about the effects alcohol can have on people over time. I’ve seen the statistics on what drinking can do to families and communities. I know that even a more-relaxed attitude about drinking will increase the chances our kids will abuse it. And then along comes a Bible-story about Jesus miraculously making an extravagant amount of wine for people who were already drunk.
Maybe you can see why I’m a little conflicted; and I’m not even sure that’s the most conflicting part of the story. There’s still another piece to this story I’ll get to in a minute. The good news is Jesus seems a bit conflicted by this story too. The good news is, for Jesus, what happens here is not so much about the wine. The good news is, if it’s about something else, maybe we can take that lesson home with us instead.
This is one of those messages that, to flesh out what it’s about, we’re first going to need to peel back what it isn’t about. For example: it isn’t about a magic trick.
There’s one about a priest who gets pulled over. The officer asks him, “Father, have you been drinking tonight.”
“Oh no, officer. I’ve just been drinking water.”
“Then how come you smell like wine, father?”
“Praises be! He’s done it again!”
It’s funny, for the past couple of weeks, we’ve had a recurring theme of magic. Attendance has been a little low because of the weather, so let spend a minute to review a little. It started on Epiphany, when the Magi—the astrologers from the East—come to bring gifts and celebrate the New-Born King. Then last week, our reading from Acts introduced us to a magician named Simon. Those two magic stories go in very different directions: the Magi are actually used by God through their “signs” to go and celebrate something no one else in Israel seemed to know anything about; that story shows us how God uses the most-unlikely people (even magicians).
But then Simon’s magic did not seem as tuned into what God was doing. Ordinarily, I think that is the thing about magic: usually it’s self-serving. If the Magi got it right, it may have had something to do with looking at something past their own self-interest. Last week, Simon’s self-serving ways would set him at odds with the Holy Spirit; not a good place to be. It got him into trouble, but I believe it also set him on a path toward repentance; and repentance is inherently not self-serving.
Which leads us to the wedding at Cana. The wedding at Cana raises an important question for me: what’s the difference between a miracle and a magic trick? It may have something to do with the lessons we’ve learned from the Magi and from Simon. Ignoring the obvious mystery of where the power to do amazing things comes from, who do these amazing things serve? The Magi look to the stars for signs and God uses them to proclaim the birth of the Messiah. Simon looks to his own interest and tries to buy the Holy Spirit.
So which is this? John tells us that this was the first of the signs Jesus did. “Signs” is a weird way to put it. At any rate, it doesn’t seem Jesus wanted it to be the first “sign,” right? He even argues with his mom about it. So which is this: is it a miracle or is it a magic trick? Who does it serve? I suppose I can see how it can serve God, but to be honest, it would be a stretch. God’s power is obviously at work in Jesus, so it could be used to point to what the Kingdom of God is actually like: lavish, abundant, and joyful. The God who would send his own Son to bring us life eternal is not going to throw a cheap, boring party.
Now I could put a sermon like that together (and I may have at some point), but let’s be honest: there isn’t anything in this story that really says that. Sure, God’s unending, unmeasurable, extravagant love is at work here; but it’s not really obvious, as miracles go. Compare turning water into wine to other miracles: he fed the hungry; he healed the blind; he gave hearing to the deaf; he raised people from the dead! I mean, even calming a storm is more helpful to others than making more wine.
Hate to say it, but this is more of a trick than a proper miracle. So why does he do it anyway? His mom tells him to.
I love this part of this story. There aren’t many conversations recorded in the Gospels between Jesus and his mom. But isn’t it delightful that this conversation with his mom could just as well be anyone’s conversation with their mom. Jesus’ mom comes up to him and bosses him around like any mom would.
I love my mom and I am so grateful to still have her in my life to argue with. And if there is one thing that I’ve learned through my decades of professional experience, academic study, achievements, and degrees it is this: I am never going to win an argument with my mom.
When I’m talking to my mom, my age doesn’t matter; my education doesn’t matter; my experience doesn’t matter; being right doesn’t matter. When I’m talking to my mom, I am eternally her little boy. She’ll ask me what my sermon’s about, and I’ll tell her what Scripture passage I’m preaching on and what it means (because, you know, that’s what I’ve been educated and trained to do) and she’ll say, “No, I think it means...” and she’ll tell me what she thinks.
And yes, Scripture can have lots of different meanings to lots of different people—and she’s really sweet about how she says it, don’t get me wrong—but I’m the expert! I have a master’s degree! But when mom says so, it is so; resistance is futile. There is a way a mother can talk to her son that only a mother can do. No matter how old you get, how much you know, or how much you achieve. And what I love about this story is that this is even true if you are the Messiah.
The mother of Jesus walks up to the incarnate Word of God and starts bossing him around. She says, “Hey, they’re out of wine;” and she says it like she knows he’s going to do something about it—because of course, she’s his mom. And notice, he kind-of says “no.” He says something like, “How is that our problem?” And notice that he doesn’t just say “no;” he’s not a defiant son, he’s just reluctant. He’s a good son and so he explains why he’s reluctant: he says, “My hour has not yet come.” In other words, “This is not how I wanted to start this, mom. This is not a part of the plan.”
Of course he’s right. It is a valid point. A wine-making parlor trick could be confusing to some. It is a legitimate concern to say, “You know, mom, some people might get the wrong idea about me if all they know about me is that I make wine at wedding parties.”
And having voiced this very legitimate concern, Jesus’ mom turns to some servants and says, “Do whatever he tells you.” Isn’t that great! She totally ignores him. “Thanks for your input, Messiah. Do whatever he tells you.”
So what does Jesus do? Same thing you’d do: he did what his mom said to. Now you and I would have to go to the store to get more wine, but when mom tells you to get more wine, Messiah or not, you get more wine.
I think this is where we really start to see what this story is really all about. More than what it might say about the morality of alcohol; more than what it might say about the extravagance of God; more than what it might say about what even qualifies as a miracle; this is a story about listening. As it should, it starts with Jesus. This is a story about Jesus changing his plans for his mom’s silly whim. Granted, there are other times when he didn’t because, for the salvation of the world, he couldn’t; but here he could, so he did.
Sometimes I lose sight of the humanity of Jesus; sometimes I forget that, when he wasn’t performing miracles, he probably looked a lot like we do; his relationships and interactions with the people he cared about probably looked a lot like ours. When your mom asks you to change your plans, when those plans can be changed, you change your plans. Why would we think Jesus wouldn’t do that too? Jesus loved like we love and still does. In fact, those relationships are what his ministry was all about. Now that I think about it—now that we look at this story through the lens of relationships—this was exactly the right miracle to start with (and yeah, I’m calling it a miracle now)! Look how relational it is: they’re at a party, what’s more relational than that! His mom tells him the party needs more wine; they argue about it (like people do); she invites the servants to join in by telling them to, “Do what he tells you.” They are now part of the miracle.
As it turns out, this story is symbolic of what our life together is meant to be. A rhythm of our relationship with Jesus and our relationship with the world around us and the needs we see there; our relationship with Jesus to know that he hears those concerns; our relationship with Jesus and the faith to know he has the power to meet those needs; our relationship with Jesus and the trust to do what he says about them.
Friends, let us remember today that our Savior meets us where we are because our Savior wants to deepen this relationship. May we trust that he hears us. May we trust that his power can bring joy to this world. And may we trust him enough to do what he tells us.
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