2 Epiphany.C.25
John 2:1-11
The Rev. Melanie McCarley

I suspect most people (and certainly every pastor I know) has a host of stories relating to wedding mishaps. Not that we don’t like to do weddings—I love them. But these events—like large theatrical productions—are inherently risky. They depend on so much: the priest showing up on time, the DJ downloading the right music, the caterers ensuring that the chicken doesn’t dry out. So much can go wrong—from bridesmaids tripping to grooms passing out and flower girls, overcome with emotion bursting into tears mid-way down the aisle. The number of things that can go wrong is immense.

Even so, weddings are wonderful events—celebrating life, possibility, love and family. From ancient times until now, comparatively little has changed. Weddings are dramatic, beautiful moments, involving processions, ceremonies and feasting—accompanied by wine. Lots of wine.

In the time of Jesus, weddings would extend over a period of five to seven days. Nor was it a select group of people who attended; but oftentimes the entire village. These were large affairs—and make no mistake, more often than not, the family’s honor was at stake. Memories were long. Stories of a bad wedding would follow a family around like a curse. “Do you remember Rachel and Joseph’s wedding….they ran out of wine….” Expectations were huge. So, imagine the tragedy that would accompany a wedding that was supposed to last days, where the feasting suddenly went dry. The revelers would go home early and disappointment would hang over the affair like a pall. The newly-married couple would receive the news like a bad omen, casting a shadow over their marriage and the family would be disgraced. In a word. Disaster!

Some folks might shrug and say—well, it’s only a party! What’s the big deal? Others, such as Mary, the mother of Jesus, knew better. Perhaps she held memories of her own—shall we say—“unique” approach to the marriage covenant, and was well acquainted with the rumors and side glances which probably still followed her around. For whatever reason, she notices that the wine is running dry—and she realizes the happiness of the couple and their family is teetering on the brink of disaster, and she has no doubt how that problem can be fixed.

She goes to Jesus and says: “They have no wine.” And her son responds: “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” Despite what Jesus says, it seems that Mary has no doubt that her son will do something, and she says to the servants: “Do whatever he tells you.” Mary, it seems, is confident. She knows her son. And lo and behold, we—along with the servants and Mary, are witness to the first of Jesus’s miracles at a wedding feast in Cana of Galilee.

And what a miracle it was. This particular miracle was one of quantity as well as quality. Each jar held twenty to thirty gallons—so the result was 150 gallons of wine, far beyond what the revelers could reasonably drink. Nor was this the less expensive vintage that would typically be served after the initial revelries began. Because, let’s face it, after the first several hours—or days—the wedding guest’s taste buds wouldn’t be what they were at first. But this--this was superior wine—excellent, in fact. So much so that the steward, remarks in bewilderment: “Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.”

This is the season of Epiphany—one of the purposes of which is to display the glory of God. So, what does this miracle tell us about Jesus? First, that God cares about important life events such as weddings; second that God is generous—giving more than we need; and finally, God doesn’t skimp when it comes to quality.

I am particularly fond of this miracle. It’s a stealth-miracle. Think of it. The people it benefits the most, the newly-married couple and the family responsible for the festivities, they never know what happened. They are blissfully unaware that this wedding was saved from catastrophic failure by none other than the Son of God. They are completely oblivious. The only people who are aware of what had taken place are Mary and the servants, whose job it was to draw the water into the jars—and maybe a disciple or two. That’s all. It’s not a spectacular miracle—one that would have caused the crowds to exclaim in wonder and give adulation to Jesus; it’s an under-the-radar extraordinary occurrence that kept the party going with no one being the wiser—until, of course, someone wrote it down so we, like the stewards, could witness it from afar.

This event leads me to wonder, how often we miss the miraculous—because I think we do. For too many of us life is gray and grim and hopelessly devoid of the extraordinary goodness of God. But, if you are like me, you can look back on your life and see (if not in the present, then certainly in retrospect) miracles of love that have taken place around you. Extreme acts of generosity, gracious forgiveness, kindness and compassion. Some of these we, like the newly married couple and the parents, may not see—but perhaps, if we cultivate the art of looking closely, with hope, wonder and expectation, we can. The question is, are we willing to look—and, for those times when we cannot see, are we willing to trust in the gracious goodness of God.

C.S. Lewis, in his book God in the Dock, reflected on this when he wrote: “God creates the vine and teaches it to draw up water by its roots and, with the aid of the sun, to turn that water into a juice which will ferment and take on certain qualities. Thus every year, from Noah’s time till ours, God turns water into wine.” Miracles are all around us. God takes the ordinary, and makes it extraordinary.

Each week, we—like the people in today’s story—are called to gather together to celebrate and to feast. Each Sunday we, like those revelers in the village of Cana in Galilee, are invited to a banquet, in which we are fed. Oh, the elements themselves, the bread and the wine, they look ordinary enough. But in them there is also grace and promise. There is strength as well as solace. There is hope, and there is love. That is extraordinary. And, it’s abundant—there is always enough for everyone—and more even, to go around. What’s more, it’s divine—and that, is reason enough for all of us to give thanks. In Jesus’ name. Amen.