The story of Jesus turning water into wine at a wedding Cana is traditionally talked about as Jesus’ first miracle. That word “traditionally” is really the key to that sentence, because of course we don’t really know. It is the first action of Jesus that we usually think of as a miracle in John’s gospel, but seeming to know Nathanael before they have ever met, which happened in the chapter before this one, seems pretty miraculous. And in Mark’s gospel the first thing Jesus does after calling disciples is cast an unclean spirit out of a man in the synagogue. Luke, also, tells a story of Jesus commanding the spirit of an unclean demon to leave a man as the first public action of a supernatural nature. Matthew talks about Jesus curing every disease and sickness among people immediate after gathering his new followers from the shores of the Sea of Galilee. Those all sound like miracles to me – miracles in the common sense of things the rest of us can’t usually do.
Since archaeologists have yet to uncover certified copies of Jesus’ day planner or diary, we don’t really know which one was actually first. And I tend to think it doesn’t really matter a whole lot… except isn’t it interesting that John chose to tell this story first?
The story in which even Jesus isn’t quite ready to get started.
The story that isn’t about one solitary person getting healed or one evil spirit getting cast out or one person’s sin being forgiven, but benefits a whole party, a whole community.
The story where the miracle is shown to the servants, not the party host.
The story that is about taking away shame of one host about to be embarrassed and experiencing joy. Isn’t that important to hear? – especially these days when the news conveys more fear and confusion and sadness than joy. Isn’t it interesting, isn’t it important to hear that joy is a important enough for a miracle?
What does telling *this* story first tell us about what John is trying to convey in writing this gospel? What does it tell us about *the* gospel, the good news? What does telling it first tell us about the work and the witness of the Word who was with God and who was God and who came into being with the life the was the light of all people?
As we have for several Lent and Advent seasons here at First Presbyterian Church, this Lent we’re using a thematic series that ties together our worship and study and devotion over these next six weeks or so. The theme of the series is “Tell me something good,” and it is crafted to help us ground ourselves in the good news this Lent.
Now Lent is one of those seasons or observances in the church that doesn’t come to us by way of a scriptural command. In fact, very few observances in the Christian tradition come that way. Lent developed from early church traditions that developed after Easter was recognized as the most appropriate and even only day for baptisms of new converts to the Christian faith, something that had become firmly established by the third century. Full conversion to the faith was a three step process consisting of an initial assent to the faith, a period of learning, growing, and practicing the faith, and a final week or so of prayers and fasting before baptism. By the second century that middle step lasted at least three years!
But after Christianity became the official religion of the Roman empire, there arose a need to speed that process up a bit. People were getting stuck in the three years and not really progressing out of it, which was a problem when being a part of the state religion was crucial for succeeding in life – for pleasing one’s family, for rising in the political order, even for getting married. So, a season of intense preparation was established to move the process along, to help converts learn the faith and practices of Christianity and prepare themselves for the new life which followed baptism.
Instead of three years, there would now be 40 days of preparation. 40 days in which to learn who Jesus is and what life in Christ means and looks like, what really matters, what is at the core, what this good news is really all about. And that’s what our theme is trying to tap into – that practice of learning and growing in the good news. In worship, in small groups, in faith formation, in daily devotions, in the art gallery, we’re digging into what the good news is, what it’s like, what really matters, how it shows up in the world and how it calls us to live and proclaim it.
So we’re back to that question we were pondering earlier – why this miracle, why this one first when we’re spending the season telling something good? Why does John tell it first and what does it mean for us to think of it as the first miracle Jesus chose to do?
Well, chose is a generous term. He didn’t go into the wedding thinking he would do something flashy. When his mother came and told him there was a bit of a supply problem in the wine cellar, he resisted getting involved. Not his party, not his problem. And besides, he told his mom, it’s not my time. I find that interesting. He had been thinking about his time. Maybe the two of them had even talked about when his hour might come, but at this moment, at this hour, at this wedding? No, now is not the time.
But surprise! Mary had another idea, and the miracle gets underway. She calls the servants over and tells them to do whatever Jesus tells them. Then, whether the party was big enough to warrant it or he was out to prove a point (you want some wine, I’ll get you some wine!), Jesus calls for the massive ritual jars to be filled with water, up to 180 gallons total. Once they are full, the servants, who so far are the only people we know have witnessed any of this, draw from the jars and take some of what’s inside to the person in charge of the banquet. Surprise! It’s no longer just water. The person in charge tastes the wine and is so impressed he calls the bridegroom over and praises the host for not skimping on the quality this late in the party. Other hosts, he says, would have pulled cheaper bottles now that folks aren’t paying as much attention, but again, surprise! You’ve given us the good stuff, even when our tastebuds and memories might not deserve it.
The story about Jesus’ first miracle, it’s a surprise! One surprise after another really. A surprise to Jesus, a surprise to the servants who saw it unfold, a surprise to the banquet coordinator, a surprise to the bridegroom, a surprise to the disciples who just started following him without much of a clue as to what he’d be all about. This story, told to introduce us to the good news the Word became flesh to embody, it presents that good news as a surprise, beyond our expectations!
There are contemporary Christian traditions that have very specific definitions of what the good news is. For some followers of Jesus, the good news boils down to a particular formula that is so specific, if you Google “What is the gospel?” the first line summary in the AI overview is this “The gospel (literally “good news”) is the message that God, in His love, sent Jesus Christ to die for sins and rise again, reconciling sinners to Himself.” Now I’m not here to argue this is not a valid understanding of what the good news is. Yet, that formulaic answer is just one answer, one that has been used as a litmus test, one that has justified some believers pointing fingers at other believers, call them sinners in need of repentance, correction, conversion, even conversion therapy based on their own understanding of what true belief and true Christian behavior looks like. So maybe we need to be careful if we find ourselves using it as a weapon aimed at other people.
What I am here saying is that in this story that sets the stage for what John is telling us about the good news, it’s about so much more. Maybe even that’s a surprise to us. So much focus in Protestant Christianity in the last hundred years or so has been given to a “personal relationship with Jesus” that maybe this good news miracle that isn’t about any one person is surprising. So much has been written and said about the need for personal salvation from our sins that maybe we’re surprised that this miracle doesn’t talk about anyone doing anything wrong and the good news of Jesus forgiving them for it. Maybe in our Presbyterian tradition that requires years of preparation and an advanced degree for ministry of word and sacrament, training for officers, additional training for elders to be able to officiate sacraments in some situations, all to ensure the gospel is proclaimed, maybe the idea that the good news of this miracle could happen at all without a plan carefully put together is a surprise!
This first miracle, a sign, as it is called more specifically in John’s gospel, this sign of what the good news is all about, what it means when the Word becomes flesh, it catches us by surprise because
- it proclaims that the call to participate in God’s good news might come when we least expect it, when we might not be ready – when we think we aren’t old enough or are too old, when we’re too busy, when we’re not prepared, when we don’t want to stick out, when the timing just doesn’t seem right;
- It proclaims that the gospel is about more than just “me and Jesus.” It’s not good news if it isn’t good news for everyone at the party. It’s not good news if some get to drink the good wine and some are stuck with the stuff from the bottom shelf. It’s not good news if you have to measure up or be good enough know it’s blessing.
- In fact, it proclaims that the people who are often considered the least important, the servants in this case, are the ones with a front row seat to the action. They are the first to witness the good news, to see it and know it up close.
This miracle catches us by holy surprise because the good news that is proclaimed doesn’t tell us we’re wrong or bad or in need of correction as we have too often been told. Instead, it is about living with abundant joyful abandon. The good news, this sign tells us is joy, and joy matters. Joy, you may even hear people say, is resistance. It’s a refusal to let fear and scarcity dictate our experience of life.
In John’s gospel the stories about signs have particular components. There is the sign itself, a miracle, an action which defies natural logic or explanation. There is a dialogue about it. And there is a discourse, a teaching in which Jesus interprets his own sign. Jesus’ interpretation is crucial to the sign; the sign is incomplete without it. And yet, with this sign, his first, the pattern is broken (admittedly before it’s even set).
Unless… it’s not. Unless the pattern is upheld, but instead of a verbal teaching from Jesus, a lecture or words of interpretation, instead, the whole rest of the gospel is an extended interpretation, a living out of this good news that we find in the first sign. If that is the case, it’s also an invitation to be surprised by the good news, an invitation to include in what we know of God’s love and abundant blessing, an invitation to live with joy, in joy, sharing joy with no limits, in Jesus name.
May this surprising good news bless us and bless our witness as the Body of Christ.
The good news is so good, it catches us by surprise