Sermon for Second Sunday after Epiphany – John 2:1-11 & 1 Corinthians 12:1-11

Have you ever run out of gas? I have. Once upon a time, I had a truck whose gas gauge stopped working. But of course, it’s never convenient when these things happen, and I’m always busy. I didn’t want to deal with it, so I just got used to obsessively monitoring the odometer. I had to track when I last filled up, how far I’d gone, and so forth. It worked really well for a long while, until the time I inevitably forgot. So, I was driving to work, when dashboard indicators I’d never seen before began to light up, and my truck started making noises I’d never heard before. Luckily I made it to the side of the road. And I sat there for some time, not really sure what to do and blaming myself full force, like you do. But then, I saw a AAA assistance vehicle pull off the road behind me, and suddenly I heard angels singing (not quite), and thought, “Ah, my savior has arrived at last!” They gave me a little gas, enough to get to a station to properly fill up. And even now, whenever I see one of those vehicles on the road, I feel a wave of thanks and gratitude, even now. But, in hindsight, I also recognize that I caused my own problem. By choice.

It can be hard to sympathize with something like that. When folks seem to cause their own problems. Procrastinating. Making bad decisions. Ignoring warning signs. Poor planning. Like throwing a wedding reception and running out of wine?

In our gospel reading, we have such a wedding. Now, of course, this is also where Jesus performs his first sign in the gospel of John. He turns water into wine and saves the day. But of course, if they had enough wine to start with, Jesus wouldn’t have had to do that. When we get fixated on Jesus’ miracle, we don’t really think about the root cause. But isn’t that typical for us? When we get past our troubles we just want to move on. We don’t like dwelling on the past. We also have short memories. We forget how we got into trouble in the first place. Sometimes we even forget how bad we felt at the time. It’s no wonder we say “history repeats itself.”

So why did these folks ran out of wine? Did they just not realize how much wine they needed? Couldn’t they add? Had they never been to a wedding before? Folks drinking too much? Open bars, just saying. Maybe they just invited too many folks. I mean, they invited all of Jesus’ disciples. Doesn’t everyone know how much those guys love to eat and drink? Like bottomless pits. Then again, it’s a wedding – a celebration. A time to invite everyone we know because we want to share our joy with the people we love. It’s hard to fault that, even if they didn’t have enough wine.

But then again, we don’t really know the whole story….

Maybe the family giving this wedding scrimped and saved and this was all they had. Maybe they’ve always been generous neighbors and called in a whole bunch of favors. Sure, they had servants and a wine steward, but that doesn’t prove anything. Our imaginations can come up with a lot of reasons to sympathize. We’re not heartless. Besides, our lives are messy too. How often do we procrastinate in dread or fear. Or make bad decisions because we don’t know any better. All the warning signs we ignore because we don’t want to live in a world of mistrust or suspicion. We want to be the kind of people that interpret our neighbors’ words and actions in the best possible light. But we’re not proud of it. It’s embarrassing. We don’t want folks to know.

So, we know how to sympathize. Except if we’re honest, do we? Deep down, we know how often we don’t.

And here’s the thing. Jesus isn’t really sympathetic here either. When the wine gives out, Jesus’ mother tells him, “They have no wine.” Does Jesus say, “oh here, let me fix that?” No, he says, “Woman, what concern is that to you and me?” Now, Jesus isn’t always the most thoughtful son. Remember when he was 12 and ditched his family at the temple in Jerusalem? They traveled for days to the city to celebrate Passover. On the way home they suddenly realize Jesus isn’t with them. They go back, they search the city, and it takes three days to find the boy Jesus at the temple. His mother’s beside herself. “Child, why have you treated us like this?” What does Jesus say? “Why were you searching for me? Didn’t you know that I must be in my Father’s house?” If I ever pulled something like that with my mom…. But maybe Mary’s used to this. Jesus has a track record. Kind of like our track records. How often do we get so annoyed that we’re just dying to say, “Lack of planning on your part doesn’t mean an emergency on my part.” Jesus couldn’t be any more human here. He’s basically saying, “That’s their problem, not ours.”

You know, this should be a really disturbing story to us. Because it asks a really hard question about God. What makes God act? How often do we feel like God doesn’t? They ran out of wine. The wedding hosts could absolutely have been shamed, or alienated their guests, or even lost relationships. The kinds of things that destroy us. We see it happen every day. Jesus was there. He can’t be the Son of God and not know all this. But his mother pushes. She tells the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” So you wonder, what if Mary hadn’t spoken up for them? Because how do we know if anyone would speak up for us?

But the good news is that there IS someone who does speak for us. Jesus, the Son of God. He speaks for us constantly. Every time he calls us beloved children of God, and when he calls us his friends. And he keeps on saying it because he wants that to be what we hear, above all the noise of the world. But Jesus doesn’t stop there. He puts his words into action. By going to the cross for us, because this is what love does. He suffered and died for our sake, yet he was raised, in the glory of his resurrection. Of course, he didn’t want to do it at first. In anguish and fear, he prayed, “Father, if you’re willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.” (Lk 22:42) And love prevailed. By the grace and will of God he did all this for us, because he thinks we’re worth the cost.

But he doesn’t stop there. He gives us his own Spirit to plant his Word in our hearts. And it changes us. St. Paul tells us what this looks like. We start uttering wisdom. We start casting faith. We start healing. We start prophesying. Jesus gives us a voice that won’t shut up. And that voice can’t help but speak truth to power for the sake of everyone who’s ever been silenced by the powers and principalities of this world. We know how it feels to have someone speaking for us, and what faith wants more than anything is for others to know what that feels like too. Because it’ll save a life. Here’s how. The Spirit says we don’t have to be afraid or ashamed anymore. It says we don’t have to procrastinate in fear or keep our bad decisions secret. That our plans will fail and our weddings will run out of wine. But when we hit bottom and bear our scars, they testify to our God-given dignity. And if that kind of good news doesn’t empower our neighbors to do likewise, I don’t know what will.

Of course, it’s not as fancy as turning water into wine. But Jesus does this to reveal what the power of God does with the most ordinary stuff. Now, it took a lot of water. 6 jars, about 20 gallons each, it’s a LOT. But that’s what they needed, and yet it was the sweetest wine. So too, the power of God draws countless ordinary folks like you and me together, to taste the sweetness of life in community. To be a sign that our divisions and everything that keeps us apart will never have the last word. Sure, it’s slow and complicated. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Yet, that’s how God is reconciling this tired world to God’s own self. Because it works. And it’s sweet.