2022 01 16 Sermon

Sermon for January 16, 2022 Epiphany 2 C House of Prayer Lutheran Church

John 2:1-11; 1 Corinthians 12:1-11 Rev. Karl-John N. Stone

Last Sunday as a sermon illustration, I told a story about my youthful rafting misadventure when I was around 9 or 10 years old. My friend Jonathan and I were attempting to sail our rubber raft inland on a creek that was part of a tidal estuary. We made it about halfway down the creek, paddling with the flow of the tide, when suddenly we became stuck. We couldn’t paddle our way forward anymore. That’s because the tide had shifted, so instead of flowing inland, the tide started pulling us backwards! There was no way to fight it, and if we didn’t act fast we’d be swept out to sea! So we clung to the tall marsh grass on the side of the creek, and were able to jump out onto the swampy marshland. Then we ran. We ran through the mucky swamp, and couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of us because the marsh grass was so tall. Even though we had a vague sense of the right direction home, we couldn’t see the end point until we got there.

Have you ever had a time like that? This story came back to me again this week because these times we are living through feel a lot like that to me. We’re all just trying to “make it home”, even though we can’t see the end point where life will feel “normal” again. We’re weary, and we just want to get to a place where all we need to do is deal with the regular ups and downs of life and not have to factor in a pandemic on top of it.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could see the end point for sure? To know that by “such-and-such” a date, the worst of it will be behind us? I’ve been reading a novel called “Sarum” by Edward Rutherford. It traces the history of England through the lives of several families, beginning in prehistoric times and progressing through the ages. I just read the chapter on the year 1348—when the bubonic plague killed 1/3 of the population. And as I’m reading I’m thinking, “that sounds familiar; that sounds familiar.” For a novel written 30 years ago, describing a plague some 700 years ago, it amazed me how contemporary it all seemed. People were doing and experiencing the same kinds of things 700 years ago that we’ve been doing and experiencing today, right down to people wanting or not wanting to wear masks, the caution and weariness brought by social distancing, and businesses and workers dealing with labor shortages and rising prices. People tried to find ways of gaining control of a situation that can’t be controlled, and just muddled through. It just reinforced to me that as we try to get through a pandemic, no one has the benefit of hindsight, and while we learn things along the way, it’s not always clear what the best direction to take is.

Wouldn’t it be great, though, if we could see how it all ends? But we can’t. And really, even if this pandemic had never happened, can any of us really see how the twists and turns of life will unfold? No, we can’t. Yes, we make plans; we pursue goals. These are good, necessary, and valuable things to do. But any day, at any time, things can happen that change our life’s direction in a moment. Like a tide shifting and pulling your little raft out to sea.

Yet there is One who does stand in the midst of life’s uncertainties, who can see the end ahead of time. I’m talking about Jesus. When we feel like we’re running through the tall marsh grass and can’t see more than a few feet in front of ourselves, Jesus is there, standing tall and inviting us to look to him. He’s calling us to follow his direction, even when our understanding of the present is unclear.

This is something we learn from the story of the Wedding at Cana in John’s gospel. This story is so rich with symbolism that almost every word points to a deeper meaning and a deeper reality of God’s presence in the world. But let me take a few points to ponder from this first of Jesus’ miracles. The water turned to wine is the first of his “signs” (as John’s gospel calls them) pointing to what God is like, the first clue Jesus gives about what lies ahead.

So the first thing I notice about this story is that it’s a wedding. And throughout the Bible, a wedding feast is a metaphor of the great heavenly feast that God is preparing for us. Jesus does his first miracle with God’s promise of eternal joy already in mind, and he is foreshadowing the joy of being raised from the dead and defeating sin and death for eternity.

The story works backwards from there, going from a metaphor about heaven and the resurrection, to a metaphor about death and crucifixion—because Jesus knows right from the start that his ministry will lead him to the cross (and this is what he’s talking about when he says “my hour has not yet come” in verse 4—his “hour” refers to the time of his crucifixion). The wine running out during the wedding at Cana is a foreshadowing of his going to the cross.

Now, running out of wine at a wedding feast back then didn’t simply mean the end of the party—it was a social disaster that would bring shame upon the family. Similarly, crucifixion was also a social disaster (although to a much greater degree) which was designed to heap shame upon its victims and their associates. Yet in each case—the wedding at Cana and the crucifixion on Cavalry—God’s glory is hidden in human weakness and shame. And in each case Jesus provides a sign of God’s extravagant grace and abundance of love and mercy, available to us at all times, whether that be the best of time or the worst of times.

At the wedding, God’s glory is revealed in human weakness and shame when Jesus turns water into wine—150 gallons’ worth of wine that can be poured into the guests’ cups without limit! Now the party can go on! Now the wedding couple won’t have to hang their heads in shame and send their guests home early. Likewise, at the crucifixion God’s glory is revealed when Jesus pours out love and forgiveness for others without limit. From the cross: Jesus gives his disciple John and mother Mary to each other, so they can support and care for one another as a new family; Jesus forgives the Roman soldiers who tormented him, saying “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do”; Jesus welcomes the repentant thief to the joys of heaven saying, “Truly, this day, you will be with me in paradise.”

Jesus is able to send his compassion and care to everyone, whether he’s on the cross or at the wedding. I suppose in the grand scheme of salvation, Jesus turning water into wine was a small thing. But for the wedding couple, at that moment in their lives, it was a big deal because it was a sign of compassion, love, and grace—and that’s what really matters.

Everything Jesus did from the cross was about the abundant life God provides through compassion, grace, and love—just as everything he did at the wedding at Cana was about compassion, grace, and love. At the wedding, and from the cross, Jesus reveals that the whole goal of the Christian life is to live according to the compassion, grace, and abundant love of God. That’s the goal Jesus calls us to—even if you can’t see two feet in front of yourself, and you’re unsure of the best way forward.

So, to follow the direction Jesus is leading, ask yourself: What small gesture of care or compassion does my neighbor need? If I could make a small difference for just one person, what would I do? Because with Jesus, our small gestures—when done with love—are like water turned into wine. Amen.