“Of water, wine and weddings”

Second Sunday after Epiphany

Sunday January 17, 2010

Isaiah 62: 1-5

Psalm 26: 5-10

1 Corinthians 12: 1-11

Today’s Gospel reading recounts Jesus’ first miracle, as recorded in the Gospel of John – the transformation of the water into wine.

The story is fairly straightforward.  Jesus, his friends and members of his family were at a wedding reception in the town of Cana.  The party had been going on for quite a long period of time, and suddenly the servants realized that they were running out of wine.  The word must have started to get around, because Jesus’ mother heard what was happening, and she came to her son.  “They have no wine.” 

In stating that, it is interesting for us to realize that there is no implication that Mary had any knowledge that her son was going to be able to remedy the situation.  Perhaps her words to her son – “they have no wine” -- were simply intended as a form of encouragement to Jesus and his friends that they should start to get ready to leave, rather than cause any level of further embarrassment to the hosts of the party. 

As we ponder this text, this morning, I would invite us to pay particular attention to the situation in which the servants and the chief steward found themselves.

That is, the servants and the chief steward were confronted with a situation over which they had no control, rooted in an awareness of the scarcity of their resources, and they did not know what to do about it.

Jesus’ initial response to Mary seemed dismissive of her concern.  “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me?  My hour has not yet come.” 

In response to Jesus’ words, Mary turned to the servants and spoke a few short words. “Do whatever he tells you.”  Mary’s words still offer no indication that she knew what was going to happen – or even whether anything could happen – but her advice to the servants was assured and it was clear.  Without knowing what he was going to say, nor trying to predict what he might suggest, she nonetheless encouraged those servants to “do whatever he tells you.”

And what Jesus told them to do must have seemed decidedly strange.  He told them to fill six jars with water.  The servants must have wondered what was going on – they were out of wine, and Jesus was encouraging them to fill up jars with water.  But they did what he told them to do.

Jesus then told them to take some of the water and give it to the chief steward.  Again, they did what he told them to do.

And because of those simple acts of obedience, the water was transformed.  The best wine was revealed.  The power of Christ was revealed. 

Whenever I read this story, I am always struck by the fact that even though the miracle is attributed to Jesus, he does almost nothing of any significance in the parable.  He does not speak any notable words of prayerful incantation over the water.  He does not demonstrate any remarkable degree of wonderworking power.  In fact, there is no indication that he even touches the water.

Rather, the miracle happens because, when confronted by a situation over which they had no control, rooted in an awareness of the scarcity of their resources, and about which they did not know what to do, the servants simply obeyed Christ.  Do whatever he tells you, said Mary. And they did.

And what they did were a few seemingly simple and unremarkable things.  They filled some jugs with water and drew some of the water off. 

And a miracle happened.

In light of the events of the past week, it seems quite strange to read a story about a joyful wedding banquet at which the greatest problem seems to be a lack of enough wine.  For most of us, today, our hearts and spirits continue to be heavy as we pray and ponder the fate of the people whose lives have been forever altered in light of the earthquake in Haiti.  Once again, this week, we have, as a human community, been forced to catch a glimpse into the terrible abyss of incomprehensible tragedy.

We continue to read and hear about stories of families separated from each other, not even knowing if their loved ones are alive.  We see scenes of complete carnage, made the more horrific by the knowledge that are horrors yet to be experienced by the innocent people of that ravaged country.  Images of poor, bruised and battered people whose eyes cannot contain the despair and sorrow that confront them.

We cannot help but feel sorrow for them. But, in the midst of our sorrow, there are questions that haunt us.  Why did the earthquake strike that specific area, causing desperately poor and oppressed people to suffer even more than they had already been suffering? 

What is the best way to respond?  Is giving money effective – or enough – or even necessary?  Should we collect food and clothes, or will they sit on already crowded airport runways, in light of the lack of an effective way of transporting those goods to those in need?  Are there effective levels of accountability in the organizations and governments to which and through which we offer our resources that will ensure that the help actually gets to those who need it the most?  Should we pressure our politicians to do more? 

One of the most important questions that we find ourselves asking, at a time such as this, is how we might try to ensure that the intensity of our horror at this catastrophe neither paralyzes us in this moment, nor that our compassion for the Haitian people dissipates over time, in the way that we fear that it inevitably will.  The collective handwringing and outpouring of money in the aftermath of such tragedies is understandable and, in many ways, helpful.  But the people of Haiti have been suffering for a very long time already, often without much international attention.  And we must remember that our collective attention and our concern for the Haitian people will, likely, only last until the next tragedy, the next earthquake, the next catastrophe.  I have a good friend who is an African American pastor in a small church in New Orleans.  She lamented the way that public attention shifted away from the people of New Orleans long before their problems were fully addressed, let alone resolved.  And what is true for my friend in New Orleans is likely true for the people of so many natural disasters.  When was the last time, for example, that we heard updates about the work of reconstruction after the landslides in Guatemala, or the progress on reconstruction efforts in the aftermath of the tsunami in Southeast Asia, or the ongoing effects of the devastating earthquake in Sichuan province, or any of the other catastrophes that have preoccupied us – even over the last couple of years -- for a period of time, and then have drifted from our attention?

And, perhaps most importantly for those of us who struggle to believe in God, catastrophes such as the one that occurred in Haiti this past week force us to confront some of the most difficult questions of faith.  Is there some level of meaning in this tragedy?  Or is meaning only to be found in the nice, sterile, safe, happy experiences in life?  Most importantly, how do we maintain our faith in a God of sovereign love when such devastations occur?  If God is powerful, and God is love, how can such horrors happen?  One common response, these days, is to quickly dismiss such questions by vehemently reiterating that we do not believe that God intends for such suffering to occur.  Such a statement may be true, but it is actually a convenient way of avoiding the complexity of the question itself!  Difficult questions should not be met with clever and clichéd quips.  The presence of suffering is and will always be a challenge to our understanding of the sovereignty of God.

But lest we move too quickly away from these challenges to faith in the face of such horrors, we must realize that the absence or non-existence of God is an equally difficult idea.    That is, if suffering and tragedy lead us to give up on faith altogether, we are left in a world of meaningless, hopeless and pointless chaos.  In a world without God, after all, there is no reason to live with the expectation of goodness, or love, or hope.   Why protest or lament tragedy if there is no reason to expect anything else, nor anyone or anything to whom such protests and laments might be addressed?

In the face of these haunting and perplexing questions, however, there is one question that makes all of the other questions pale in comparison.  And that question is this.  What should we do?

What should we do? 

And it is this question that draws us back into today’s reading from the Gospel of John.  At first glance, the difference between the joyful wedding banquet in Cana and the devastated people on the streets of Port au Prince could not be more extreme.

And yet, there is a common thread.  And that common thread is that in both of these situations, we find individuals in situations over which they have no control, aware of a daunting scarcity of resources, and not sure what to do about it.

And it is in this that we might even discover our place in this story.  That is, like the servants who want to provide for and help the wedding guests, we too long to provide for and help the people of Haiti, and those who suffer in so many places in this beautiful and broken world. 

But, like the servants in Cana, we do not know what to do.

In response to the situation in Haiti, what should you do?  What should I do?

The answer to this question is found in Mary’s advice to those servants so long ago.

“Do whatever he tells you.”

Do whatever he tells you. 

It is intriguing advice, and is probably as relevant today as it ever was.  There are times when we need to learn to wait and to listen for the voice of Christ, prodding us and providing us with the direction that we will need.

And ‘whatever he tells you’ may be different for each one of us.  Governments, and churches, and relief and development agencies might have suggestions; we might ponder possible ways to respond after having discussions with friends and colleagues; we might have ideas for initiatives that we might take, creative ways to respond to this dire situation.

Some might feel directed to give generously, perhaps even sacrificially, to aid in the relief and development efforts.  But money is not, and never will be, the only answer.

Others might feel led to spend time in prayer, holding in their hearts and minds and spirits those Haitian people who cannot now, and may never again hold in their arms their lost loved ones.

Others might be moved to rediscover their own humanity, as they are restored to the ability simply to shed tears at the tragic loss of innocent life that this earthquake represents.

And, out of those tears, some might feel inspired to awaken from the slumbers of complacency, and become ever more dedicated to the ways of justice, ever more dedicated to learning about the desperate plight of people in oppressed and poverty-stricken lands, learning what it might mean to befriend and to stand in solidarity with the poor of Haiti and of the many, many places in this world that we should -- but do not -- pay attention to until a disaster strikes.

Others might feel inspired to create new initiatives for growing in awareness, and most important in relationship with people who are suffering, who are oppressed, and who are seeking to rebuild their lives after devastating crises.

Still others might dream bigger dreams, and made deeper commitments – to raise the money to rebuild schools, or houses, or churches in Haiti, to become involved in immigration and refugee work, someday to travel to Haiti, or some other ravaged part of the world simply to give their time, their energy, their resources, and a portion of their lives in service to others; to be exposed and to be transformed by the God who is present with those who suffer.

The possibilities are only limited by the unlimited imagination of God.  We know that the situation in Haiti – as in so many suffering parts of this world – represents a situation that is beyond our control, a situation where daunting scarcities confront us, and where we do no even know what to do.

And, in the face of these challenges, Mary’s words continue to offer us the key to discerning what is it that we should do.

Do whatever he tells you.  And, in response to that advice, it is wise for each one of us to spend time in prayer; to listen for those quiet movements deep in our spirits which offer wondrous signals of what we are supposed to do.  Even if it is a seemingly simple act – perhaps an act which seems no more complex than the simple act of filling some water jugs that the servants in this story were invited to do – I would encourage all of us to heed Mary’s advice -- do whatever he tells you.

Because, like those servants so long ago, we may be surprised what can happen.

As I end today, I would like to invite us to spend a few moments in silence before we sing our next hymn and confess our faith.

In this time of silence, I would ask you to seek to listen, in the depths of your spirit, to whatever Christ might be asking of you.  For some, there may be no answers or feelings at all; that is fine. 

But for others, try to listen, try to hear; and then try to do whatever he tells you to do.