Sermon on January 17, 2010
Sermon for the Episcopal Church of St John the Baptist, Capitola,
given by Rev. Eliza Linley
The Episcopal Church of Saint John the Baptist welcomes all to worship God and to share Christ's love in the world. We are a parish family committed to provide liturgy, Bible study, music, counseling, and Christian education for children, youth, and adults, and to equip all our members for life and for service to others.
Readings
Is. 62:1-5, Ps 96:1-10, 1 Cor. 12:1-11, Jn. 2:1-11
Sermon
Not long ago we attended a wedding in San Francisco at the Great American Music Hall. It was a large wedding, with hot and cold running bridesmaids and groomsmen, a big Chinese Baptist family and a not-so-big Jewish family. The bride and groom chose the venue because they’re both fans of the contemporary music scene, and this was very much in evidence at the reception. So although we got out while the evening was yet young, we nonetheless thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle, the vibes, the cultural collision of disparate families and traditions marinated in rock and roll. Those of us who have seen a lot of weddings know that, no matter how different one may appear to be from another, basically every wedding is the same. You’re there for the same purpose, to witness the vows two people make to one another. At the same time, you know that, for the principals, as for their families and friends, this wedding is an entirely new thing under the sun. It is a transformation of two people into a new entity that will itself bring new things, and perhaps new people, into the world.
So this morning, in this new year, we have a gospel text about the new ministry of Jesus and his new self-understanding. It’s a story about that developing ministry set in the context of the new life of a bridal couple, and it centers around the miracle of new wine from water, which is neither new nor old, but eternal. If we look more closely at this story, though, it’s a little strange. Jesus is at first reluctant to become the sommelier at this village feast. However, having just been to a wedding where the Jewish mother of the groom was an old friend of mine, I can understand that when Mary says, in effect, “listen to your mother!” - it carries some weight. But what, really, is the point of this miracle? Is it so the bridal couple will not lose face in the community by having run out of wine? It’s hard for me to grasp the role of Jesus as Martha Stewart. Was it to get everyone roaring drunk? Six of those big jars of water would have been about 150 gallons. By the caterer’s rule of thumb, that’s enough wine for about 1800 people. If there’s such a thing as too much wine, this would be it. So what’s the point?
As I look around at this congregation, at our community, and at the world around us, I see tough times. I see health crises, job losses, threats of foreclosure. I see world events that are no more positive. The terrible tragedy in Haiti has opened Americans’ hearts and pocketbooks, and that’s a good thing. But will there be a corresponding drop in donations here at home? Nonprofits, the organizations that work for good, from seminaries to food banks, are stressed beyond capacity and looking toward the future with trepidation. To put it briefly, this is “hunker-down” time. And a story about turning water into massive quantities of wine looks kind of silly. We’re just trying to get through it here, and most of us are better off than many.
But then I remember that this is the gospel of John, where everything is symbol and metaphor. It’s not really a story about wine, or even about Jesus as miracle worker. After all, this is not a healing, a making-whole, a remittance of suffering. It’s a story of divine abundance, and it’s hedged about with information about who Jesus is. When Mary tells him to do something about the embarrassing shortage of wine, he says, “My hour is not yet come.” What hour? The hour for Jesus to perform miracles? No. For this evangelist, everything Jesus does points to and through the passion and the cross. That’s the hour he’s talking about. So this crazy gesture of way too much wine is about the Messiah, and the scandal of the cross, and the access to abundant transformation that even we, so many years later, inherit. When the text tells us that the water was there for the Jewish rites of purification, this author wants us to remember that the cross makes other purification redundant. That water is no longer needed. And when we are told that this miracle reveals Christ’s glory, we are to look forward to the Resurrection. We are to look forward, in other words, to whatever it is that reveals Christ’s eternal glory in our own lives. Now this transformation of water into wine is no longer a party trick. It makes more sense at a moment when we are trying to get through the bad time. “This is my blood of the new covenant, which is shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.” This is hope. This is new life. This is a sharing in the body and blood of Christ, which body we are. None of us is alone. In communion we become, our souls and bodies, that 150 gallons of new wine.
You know, when we designed this building, we said, “Won’t it be nice to only have two services on a Sunday morning, like most Episcopal churches?” But that was a pipe dream. It seems we can’t do that, because we have too many people. We don’t really fit into two services. Oh, dear. What shall we do with all this new wine? How will this delight of God be manifest in the world? This weekend our new vestry is on retreat to think and pray about this very question.
That’s the question for the church as a whole, but the same question is raised for each of us. What’s the new wine in your life? What is the new thing that God is doing? I believe that these new things, these transformations, happen in spite of, and sometimes because of the reverses, the challenges, and the plain bad luck we run into. Our work is to discern where fermentation is happening, where new wine is being created. Paul writes to the church at Corinth about different kinds of gifts, and service, and activities, and reminds them that the point of all of these is the common good. I think that sometimes we discount the gifts that God has given us. We underestimate our abilities, or we think that a certain gift is not easily translated into the service of the Body of Christ and the world. But to do that is not just selling ourselves short; it’s selling God short. Why were we given these gifts? Why were we given the ability to make art, or to make somebody laugh, or feel wanted or loved, the ability to lead a meeting or learn how to create a lesson plan? Some gifts are stranger than these: an illness can teach us patience and how to rely on God’s grace, and that’s a gift, too, one that can also serve the common good.
A few weeks ago Steve preached on why a regular practice of prayer is a useful thing. Something to bring to that conversation is an inventory of the assets God has given you. How is God calling you to use those gifts now for the good of the world? And if you feel that your gifts are not so many, or so useful, try posting this text from Isaiah where you pray to remind you of God’s love:
“You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God. You shall no longer be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate, but your shall be called, “My delight is in you”.
God has created each of us for delight, to serve the common good. Some of the greatest spiritual gifts I have received have been given to me by people who were hopeful, accepting and wise in the face of adversity. The sharing of those gifts is how new wine is created in community. In difficult times, it often seems as though there’s not enough - of money, of people to get the job done, of resources. But the transformation of the lives of men and women is not expensive. In the economy of God, it costs everything, and yet it’s free. Putting on the garment of light in Epiphany means moving into that understanding of limitless possibility in a finite world.
This is good news. It is good news that we do not live for ourselves alone, and that what we have is not for us. We are not created to live closed in upon ourselves; protective, possessive, and defensive. We are not at our best when we try to live that way; we impoverish ourselves when we try to live that way. And we don’t have to! When we dare to live beyond ourselves; for others and for the larger whole, then something wonderful can be created; there is simply more to go around. When Jesus turned water into wine, he put aside his own agenda and understanding of what he was supposed to be doing in favor of what was needed and what he found he was able to do. God help us to be co-creators of the transformation that will neither make us drunk nor hung over, but thankful.