by The Rev. Todd Jolly
SCRIPTURE READINGS John 2:1-11
Transcribed from the sermon preached on JANUARY16, 2022
Before I started collecting wine, in fact, possibly before I even tried my first sip, I saw Orson Welles on television, advertising Paul Masson wine. Allegedly quoting the winery founder himself, from a century before, Welles delivered his famous line, “We will sell no wine before its time.”
Maybe that ad made me curious about the elixir, or maybe it was my first wife’s Uncle Jack, with his cellar in the Bronx and the heavy volumes about the fruit of the vine. Perhaps it was the powerful imagery of communion that led me first to learn to bake bread and then to develop my palate to understand the difference between pinot and cabernet, between 1994 and 2004, or between Bordeaux and Napa. Several times, growing up, I heard this story about Jesus changing water to wine, and we have all heard jokes about it. Jesus calls out, “Hey, Waiter, could we have some more water over here?” Maybe this story piqued my interest in the juice of the grape.
“Not much of a miracle, if you ask me. He turned it into Blue Nun.” Well, clearly, whoever wrote that joke did not read the story in John’s gospel very carefully, because the steward says to the bridegroom, “You have kept the good wine until now.” What a relief that Jesus had a refined palate, and how interesting that the gospel writer cared enough to mention it.
So, a police officer pulled me over and asked me what was in the bottle. “Water,” I replied. The officer said, “Sir, that’s wine.” I responded, “Wow, Jesus did it again!”
I do not mean to make light of the problems wine and other alcohol has caused in some people’s lives. Two of my uncles and one of my grandfathers died of alcoholism. I have a sobering respect for the power a bottle can hold over people who suffer that illness.
However, that is not the topic of this passage in the fourth gospel. Here, wine is the symbol of sustenance and life. It represents transformation, for what comes out of the process of fermentation is wildly different than what goes in. Wine connotes happiness and friendship.
John’s gospel begins, “In the beginning was the Logos, and the Logos was with God, and the Logos was God.” Philo of Alexandria, the Jewish philosopher and contemporary of Jesus, describes the divine logos as rich, red wine. Similarly, some rabbinic writings refer to the messianic age as that of wine, compared to the present age of water. Just as a wedding marks a hopeful new beginning, juice of the vine represents hope in the future, and a vision of luxury.
The Church established the Feast of Epiphany, with its traditional reading of the story of the wedding at Cana, on January 6. That happens to be the same day as the pagan Feast of Dionysos, called Bacchus by the Romans, which celebrated the god of the grape harvest, fertility, and ritual madness. Dionysos was said to turn water into wine.
So then Jesus is the logos, symbolized by rich, red wine. He supplants Dionysos, god of the vine, and steals his trick when he turns water into wine. Yet, Jesus’ hour is not yet come, the hour when his blood becomes the wine of the new age, replacing the water of the present age. Until the crucifixion, people live in the age of water.
Many scholars make much of the way in which the Gospel of John concerns mysterious, secret knowledge of God’s reality in the midst of our mundane existence. In today’s passage, we hear Jesus’ rebuke when his mother (never named in this gospel, only referred to as “the mother of Jesus”) tells him that the wedding hosts have run out of wine. “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me?” If your mother was like mine was, you wouldn’t get past the word Woman. If I had ever addressed my mom as Woman, I can only imagine the repercussions, immediate and severe. The gospel writer might be focused on mysterious knowledge of God, but he still has his feet on the ground.
I would go so far as to say that the writer of the fourth gospel is capable of conveying a down-to-earth theology, a heightened sense of our everyday needs, even considering them to be important in an incarnational reality.
Consider how Jesus’ mother responds: “His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’” She does not back down for a second. Jesus is still her son, and she expects him to step up and do his part to save a situation that was about to become humiliating for the wedding hosts. Maybe it’s just wine, and maybe it won’t make a bit of difference in a hundred years’ time, but right now, this woman is not in the mood to discuss the philosophical fine points of her son’s place in history and history’s place in all of God’s reality.
Not only does the gospel writer have his feet on the ground, he seems to be saying that a faithful person is not only attentive to signs of the Divine in our lives, but also to the daily needs of the people around us. Life in Christ is not about reading God’s latest edict, or even solely about following the clues that reveal eternal truths; it is a conversation between the Holy One and mortals. There is give and take in this relationship. If Jesus represents God on earth, telling his mother that his hour has not yet come, then the mother of Jesus represents us, telling God that the wedding hosts need more wine, and they need it now. The Holy One says, “Do not get distracted by the cares of the world to the point that you begin to think that this is all there is.” In our best moments, we respond, “Well and good, but this moment, right now, matters also.” In the discussion that takes place in the town of Cana, God yields.
Yes, many scholars have focused on the riddles and clues in the Gospel of John. Others argue that John’s gospel has this wonderful way of looking at things from both a temporal and an eternal perspective at the same time. Both views matter. We all need a reminder that there are things bigger than we are. At the same time, we should take seriously the work before us, and be faithful for the sake of those whom we see right in front of us.
Forty-five years ago, there was a television show, How the West Was Won. James Arness played the rugged mountain man, Zeb Macahan. I remember, or at least, I think I remember a scene in which somebody asks Zeb whether he prays much. Zeb answers no. “Well, don’t you believe in God?” comes the follow-up question. Zeb replies, “Well, it’s not that I don’t believe in God. I just figure he’s got a lot bigger things to worry about than my problems.”
What a wonderful demonstration of humility. What a healthy perspective. While the Apostle Paul may tell us to pray without ceasing, he probably is not implying that we should bother God with every little concern we might have. I admit to getting frustrated with people who wait for God to solve their problems, when a little action on their own part might do wonders. If incarnation means anything, it means that we use the brain, hands, feet, and heart that God gave us to make a difference, to bring about positive change, to challenge injustices and encourage the brokenhearted.
Nothing adjusts our perspective like the death of a loved one, or our own imminent demise. Many of us have been dealing with a lot of death lately. First there is the shock and disbelief. Then the pain starts to creep in. Then it floods in. Eventually we must deal with anger and frustration and unresolved issues in our relationship with the loved one who died.
And then, finally, there may be acceptance, and a sense of perspective, and the ability to move on without our mother, our father, our sibling, our child, our friend.
Lately, I have begun, only just begun, to reconcile with Death. It is certainly not as if I have made peace with the bastard. I have not forgiven Death for stealing people for whom I cared deeply. But I have begun to consider the possibility that my enemy, Death, might serve a purpose. A brutal purpose, but a necessary one. In fact, the more our society tilts out of balance, and the wider the gap becomes between the rich and the poor, and the more we see abuses of power and witness miscarriages of justice, the more I begin to think that Death has its place. For even if somebody doesn’t believe in God, even if certain individuals will not humble themselves to kneel before a greater power, there is still death to remind each one of us that we are limited creatures, dwarfed by the brevity of life. We may not achieve economic parity, we may not bring the powerful to justice, we may not succeed in protecting the vulnerable, but Death is the great leveling agent. Nobody escapes. In the end, even the most haughty must come face to face with their finitude.
And on the other side of the discussion, we have the mother of Jesus, reminding God of our needs, cajoling the Maker of All to listen to our prayers. And out of compassion, God yields.