Epiphany 2C
In the name of God: our Spirit, our source, and our sustenance. Amen.
The truth is, I’ve always been a little bit troubled by the
story of the Wedding Miracle at Cana.
When I was visiting the site where the miracle supposedly occurred last
March, it was a deeply moving place for many of the people with whom I was
traveling, but of all the sites we visited, it was the least significant to me.
Many of the people on the pilgrimage, at least, had the
point of reference of having been married.
The Book of Common Prayer points to this miracle as a sign of Jesus’
blessing on the institution of marriage.
But as a single person, I didn’t share that connection.
In almost all of the miracles that we hear about throughout
Jesus’ life, there always seems to be some larger purpose attached. Hungry people are fed, sick people are
healed, and dead people are raised.
Serious needs are seen, and Jesus, moved with compassion, eases the
people’s suffering.
But in this miracle, that aching human need seems to be
missing. Certainly the hosts of the
wedding banquet would be upset if the wine were to run out. It might be embarrassing for them. It might even make for a lackluster end to
the party. But it hardly counts as
suffering. It hardly seems to meet the
standard for miracles that seem to exist elsewhere in the Gospels.
Perhaps the most convincing argument I’ve read about the
significance of the miracle at the wedding feast was one that said that the
point of the story is one of God’s commitment to revealing abundance - that it
brings God joy for us to share in joy, and that God couldn’t allow the wine to
run out, because God so wanted to party to keep going.
That’s certainly a nice thought. But it doesn’t really hold up to scrutiny.
If the threshold for God’s direct intervention in the form
of miracles were the avoidance of annoyance, it seems like there would be quite
a few more miracles around. If that were
the threshold, I think I’d find myself stuck in far fewer traffic jams, at
least.
But the other stories of the Bible don’t stand this test,
either. Throughout the Bible, we hear of
great suffering - before, during, and after the life of Jesus - not to mention
the unimaginable suffering of Jesus and his closest friends at the end of his
life.
Of course we always know that suffering is never the end of
the story. We always know that in the
midst of the Good Fridays in our lives, God is stirring in the background
tilling up a new Easter. That is the
underpinning of our faith.
But even so, the wedding miracle at Cana somehow doesn’t fit.
In our wider culture, this weekend we are celebrating and
remembering the life of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Of course, that’s a secular observance, and
these lessons weren’t chosen to attempt to bring Dr. King to mind. But as I’ve been thinking about Dr. King this
week in the context of today, a quote of his keeps running through my mind: he
said, “The arc of history is long, but it bends toward justice.”
It’s kind of like that old cliché: “Rome wasn’t built in a
day.” Dr. King was reminding us that
great things take time. Sometimes there
are setbacks and delays. Sometimes we
grow impatient. But, even so, history is
on our side.
In the life of Dr. King, there were a great many setbacks
and delays. He was arrested during his
working for justice. He was reviled as
often as he was celebrated. He was even
assassinated for his efforts.
But through all of that, the arc of history continued to
bend toward justice.
Now, nearly 45 years since his death, we mark this day in his
honor with a National Day of Service.
People all across the country come together to do little things to ease
the suffering of others. Each little
thing on its own might now be enough to really change the world, but together,
they amount to a lot. And more than even
the work that is done, the National Day of Service helps to remind people that
there is more work to be done. It pulls
us out of our bubbles of security and comfort and gives us new mindfulness.
Each little thing may seem insignificant, but together, they
change the world.
That’s the lesson I hear in the miracle at the wedding feast
in Cana. It’s not about the wine. It’s not about the party or the wedding. It’s not about Jesus’ obedience to his
mother, or even about the miracle itself.
It’s just a step: a first step down a long road.
It may seem insignificant when seen by itself, but when seen
as a part of the bigger picture - as a part of the arc of history - it adds up.
And the same is true for us.
Most of us aren’t the Messiah, the anointed one of God. Most of us aren’t even Martin Luther King,
Jr. But as Paul reminds us in his letter
to the Corinthians, we do have something to offer. We are imbued with gifts of the Spirit, each
in our own way. Though our gifts are
varied, the Spirit is the same. And
together, when we use our gifts in complement to one another’s, great things
can come of it.
The miracle of the wedding feast at Cana may seem sort of
strange on its own - even out of place.
Or, perhaps, it has some deeper meaning for you that I’ve not yet
found. That’s okay. We all have our own gifts of the Spirit.
But either way, we don’t have to take it on its own.
It comes as a single step on a longer journey.
Turning water into wine is not, in itself, salvation. And it doesn’t have to be - because the arc
of history is long. There is time. We just need to work together. Amen.
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