Life of the Party
John 2:1-11
I’ve mentioned in the past that before entering the ministry I used to work as a copywriter, but I was actually hired as a copy editor. This was pharmaceutical advertising, or Medicine Avenue, as some called it (although I worked on Broadway in the Theatre District). My job was to review and edit pharma-ceutical ads, checking for spelling, punctuation, grammar, and stylistic consistency, and also fact-checking, i.e., making sure that any claims were supported by appropriate references.
I didn’t mind editing. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I enjoyed it, but I didn’t mind it. It was low-stress, behind-the-scenes work. As an editor, I didn’t work under any deadlines and I never had to meet with the client. I made my edits and then passed the job along to the next department. Rinse and repeat.
I probably would have continued in this fashion indefinitely were it not for Olga, my supervisor. Olga was a generation older than I was, about the age I am now, which is hard to believe, and she had a son my age. I suppose that’s why she treated me almost as her work son. Like a mother would, Olga wanted what was best for me, even if it wasn’t what was best for her.
Case in point, Olga is the reason that I transitioned from editing into writing. It was not something that I planned. I can’t remember what exactly caused her to think that my future lay in writing. She must have seen something that I wrote—maybe for the company newsletter, back when there still was one. Whatever it was, she pulled me aside one day and told me that there was an account within the agency that needed a part-time writer. “You’d be perfect for it,” she said. “Why don’t you give writing a try?”
I knew that Olga was not trying to get rid of me. She thought that I had a talent and wanted me to pursue it, even if it meant my leaving the editorial department. Seeing her faith in me inspired me to have faith in myself. I agreed to a trial period in which I would spend half my time writing and half continuing in my role as editor.
It was an effortless transition. Within a just a few weeks, I switched over to writing full time. Yes, I now faced deadlines. I now had to meet with clients. I now had to travel for market research. But I never looked back and I never regretted the move. I was in the right place, all thanks to Olga. She was willing to let me go in order to see me grow.
I don’t know whether that’s precisely what happens between Mary and Jesus in today’s passage, but something like it does. When the wine runs out at the wedding that they’re attending, Mary knows that Jesus can do something about it. She has faith in him, a faith beyond even that of a mother. But Jesus is reluctant to intervene, even resistant. “What concern is that to me and to you?” he asks his mother. And yet, he relents. And in doing as Mary suggested, Jesus begins to walk the path that was laid out for him by his heavenly Father, a path that will lead him away from Mary and toward the cross.
That hint of death is suggested in the first words of today’s passage: “On the third day….” That phrase is likely familiar. You’ve no doubt heard it in association with Jesus’ death and resurrection. Although we are only in chapter 2 of the Gospel, John is already suggesting what’s to come. Jesus, who will suffer the cross, die, and be buried, will rise again on the third day.
As told by John, this wedding in Cana is the first event in the life of Jesus’ public ministry. He is there with his disciples, who have only just begun following him. With him also is his mother, Mary, although John never refers to her by name.
Wedding receptions in those days were quite different than what we’re used to. You know, when I was in Korea, I had to explain to Koreans how American wedding receptions can last four or five hours and feature music and dancing fueled largely by well drinks from the open bar. That’s because in Korea, a wedding reception is basically just a buffet dinner. To be sure, a buffet dinner with an amazing spread—king crab, sashimi, sushi, barbecue, raw beef (if you’re into that sort of thing)—but there’s no music, no dancing, and if you eat quickly, you may not even see the bride and groom make an appearance.
But in first-century Judea, a wedding reception was a weeklong affair, making even American receptions seem puny by comparison. And people then were not teetotalers. There would have been enough wine to last the week—well, at least there usually was. For whatever reason, at this particular wedding the wine runs out. Maybe more people came than were expected. Maybe some of my friends from back in the day crashed the wedding!
From “Woman…my hour has not yet come” to “Woman, here is your son,” Mary is with Jesus at the beginning and at the end.
Whatever the cause, running out of wine would have been a source of significant embarrassment for the hosts. Mary surely knows this because she tells Jesus that they have no wine.
Why does Mary tell him this? Well, she knows her son. She knows that the Holy Spirit is with him as it was with her when she carried him in her womb for nine months. She knows that he can intervene, if he so chooses. And that’s why Jesus says, “Of course, mother, I will get right on that.”
I’m joking. What he really says is, in effect, Not my problem. The exact words are, “Woman, what concern is that to me and to you? My hour has not yet come.”
To our ears it sure sounds as though Jesus is being rude and disrespectful to his mother. Much ink has been spilled and many words have been wasted suggesting just that. It’s the Syrophoenician woman all over again. Remember her, the woman whom, as a foreigner, Jesus compares to a dog? “Let the children be fed first,” he tells her. “It’s not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”
But to focus on the tone of Jesus’ words is to miss the point that he is making, both in his interaction with the Syrophoenician woman and here with his mother. I mentioned earlier that even here toward the beginning of John’s Gospel, John writes with the end already in mind. The fact that the passage begins with the phrase “On the third day” already suggests Jesus’ death and resurrection. But that’s not the only allusion to his death. In declining to do anything about the lack of wine, Jesus says to Mary, “My hour has not yet come.”
Time and again throughout this Gospel Jesus speaks of his “hour.” He’s not checking his watch, he’s referring to his death. When he says, “My hour has not yet come,” he means that the hour of his death is not yet at hand. The events that will set him on the path to the cross have not yet been set in motion. But on the night of his arrest, he says to his disciples, “Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say: ‘Father, save me from this hour?’ No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour” (John 12:27).
And at the actual hour of his death, as he hangs from the cross, Jesus addresses his mother for the last time. John writes, “When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother” (John 19:26-27).
The wedding in Cana and the cross—these are the only two places in John’s Gospel where we see Jesus and Mary together. The first at the beginning of Jesus’ public life and the second at the end. As John tells it, Jesus’ two interactions with Mary serve as bookends to his public life. From “Woman…my hour has not yet come” to “Woman, here is your son,” Mary is with Jesus at the beginning and at the end.
Arguably, and I’m making that argument, Mary is even responsible for giving Jesus the push that convinces him to begin his ministry. For whatever reason, Jesus initially shows no interest in doing anything to help with the wine shortage. And yet Mary tells the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Mary knows her son.
Jesus tells the servants to fill the six stone water jars that are used for washing hands, each of which holds up to 30 gallons. They do as he commands. He then tells them to draw out some of the water and bring it to the person in charge of the banquet. That’s it. Jesus doesn’t put on a show. There’s no drumroll, no magical incantation. This, the first of his signs that reveals his glory, is so subtle as to be almost imperceptible.
Except to the person in charge of catering. One sip and he is stunned. He says to the bridegroom, who has no idea what’s going on, “Usually people serve the good wine first and save the cheap boxed wine from Costco for later, after everyone’s already drunk, but you’ve saved the best for last.” The party was all but dead, but now it’s received a second life.
Jesus, quite literally, is the life of the party. On the surface, turning water into wine may not seem on the same level as restoring a blind man’s sight or raising Lazarus from the dead—both of which occur later in John’s Gospel. But this miracle, which is the first of many that Jesus will perform, provides a foretaste of the life to come. Jesus has come to give us life. As he does for the guests at the wedding banquet in Cana, he gives us a taste right now of the eternal life that we have through his death and resurrection.
And that life is one of joy. Jesus has come to bring joy into your life, a joy that does not depend on which political party is in power, what the state of the economy is, whether things in your life are going your way or whether everything is falling apart. Jesus has come to give you a taste of his joy, so just hold out your cup.