I consider it divine good fortune that we have a scripture lesson so early in the year which encourages us to ponder a miracle. You and I need to become more sensitive to the possibility of miracles. Such a sensitivity will help us recognize present miracles, which we either do not see or which we take for granted; and it will  prepare us to receive still more miracles.

Walt Whitman felt that "each part and tag" of his own person was a miracle, and that "a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels." He reminded us that we are surrounded by the glorious and the miraculous and do not know it. Science ought to have increased our sense of awe, as it has unfolded the marvels of the heavens above and mysteries of our bodies within; but we take the attitude that if we know how far it is to a given planet, we have, therefore, encompassed all its significance.  We need to know that God is at work in our world. The affairs of this world, and of our individual lives, often seem to be out of control. At such times we can be reassured by the knowledge that God has worked wonderfully in days past, and that he is still at work. 

So I direct our attention today to a story from the Gospel of John, generally referred to as Jesus' first miracle. I am impressed that this miracle came to pass, not in the confines of a place of worship, nor even in a uniquely religions occasion; but where people were celebrating one of the happy social events of our common life -- a wedding. 

In the course of the wedding feast, the family ran out of wine. That was a more serious matter in first-century Palestine than it would be in our culture, because a wedding was a unique social occasion. For a family to be inadequately prepared was almost unthinkable. Jesus' mother turned to him expectantly, as if she felt he could solve the problems; and Jesus answered that his hour had not yet come. Several times in this Gospel, Jesus expressed such a sense of divine timing.  But Jesus' mother was not to be put off so easily. She instructed the servants to do whatever Jesus told them. Jesus gave in to his mother's request. He instructed the servants to fill some nearby purification jars with water; then told them to draw some of the water out of one of the jars and take it to the steward of the feast. When the steward tasted the wine, he praised it as the best of the occasion, marveling that they had saved this special wine until the last. 

In many ways, this is a troublesome story. I can find logic for most of Jesus' miracles -- especially those where he heals the sick and relieves human misery. But this miracle seems so much like a performance, a mere demonstration of power. In a way, it hardly seems worthy of our Lord. What is the meaning of it?  Some scholars feel that it was purely a symbolic act. They question whether it actually happened, and think of it rather as a kind of dramatic parable, to show the power of Christ to bring excitement and renewal into human life.  Others say this is a beautiful way of showing God's care for the common business of life. In a way, it is a living-out of Jesus' statement that the hairs of our head are all numbered -- God is concerned about the most routine details of our lives, even though they have no eternal significance.  Still others say this miracle is God's way of saying that heaven is ready to celebrate with us in the happiness of life. God is not a killjoy who waits to make life miserable. Rather, he is a benevolent Father who rejoices in our happiness and brings exuberance to our best celebrations. 

I find a bit of satisfaction in each of these interpretations; you may take your choice. I'm more anxious to rejoice in the miracle and to learn what circumstances brought it to pass.  To be specific: How many participants are needed in order to make a miracle? The devout might say that one is enough; miracles are God's business, so only God is needed. The very secular, on the other hand, might reply that it's a moot question; there is no such thing as a miracle, thus any questions about the number of participants are meaningless.  The truth lies somewhere between these extremes. I will not concede the miracles do not exist; the essence of this sermon rests on the conviction that miracles are a fact of our lives and we ought to rejoice in them and enlarge their scope. Secularists and I might differ widely on the definition of a miracle; but I think I would show them, in time, that they, too, leave a place for miracles and mystery in their lives, even though they are troubled by the terms. They might resist using the word miracle, since they may find the word offensive. That won't bother me, since a rose by any other name still smells as sweet. 

As for those who argue that the miracle is God's province alone, I expect that their definition is too small on the other end of the discussion. We would soon discover, as we looked at specific miracles in the life of that devout person, that God used several human instruments in bringing the miracle to pass.  The miracle at the wedding feast in Cana began with Mary. It began where many a less-remembered miracle has begun -- with an unabashed, indomitable, undiscouraged mother. 

The scriptures do not give us many insights into the thinking of Mary. We're told that after the shepherds' visit, "Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart" (Luke 2:19). And again, a dozen years later, following the remarkable experience in the temple at Jerusalem, "His mother treasured all these things in her heart" (Luke 2:51b). In truth, I imagine that Mary's mind and heart were a beehive of wonderings, glories, and apprehensions. Many things about this son of hers must have confused her.  But one thing was sure -- she knew he was different and special. So when the word slipped out at the wedding feast that refreshments had run out, Mary knew exactly what to do. The Gospel record is succinct. "When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, 'They have no wine' " (v. 3). Probably any of us who have memories of our mothers will hear the inferences which are waiting to be drawn from those four words. From anyone else, "They have no wine" might be simply a statement of fact. From the mother (also, sometimes, from our children), the tone of voice says, "What are you going to do about it?"  Very clearly, Jesus got the message. He responded, not to a statement of fact, but to the implied request for help. "Why are you asking me?" Jesus countered. "It's not my time." 

Mary proceeded as if she hadn't heard Jesus' objection. From the human point of view, hers was the style of many a mother: while you complained that you were not going to school, Mother continued to pack your lunch. From a faith point of view, Mary was doing what we need to do more often: she was riding over the objection without giving it undue credence. She simply instructed the servants to do whatever Jesus told them. And in the process, she was telling Jesus what to do! 

The second major contributors to the miracle were the servants. I'm not sure to what degree they were impressed by the innate authority which people were beginning to see in Jesus, or were intimidated by Mary's insistence. One way or another, they did exactly as they were told.  What they did was very remarkable. The pots which Jesus ordered filled were not containers of drinking water; rather, they were wash water -- the jars for purification. When Jesus instructed the servants to take some water from those jars and deliver it to the steward of the feast, he was asking a reckless venture. Water in place of wine was bad enough, but wash water? The servants are the unsung heroes of this story. I marvel that they would hazard their jobs in such an absurd risk. 

When the steward sipped from the cup and pronounced it something very special, the miracle was complete. The power belonged to Jesus; but the miracle belonged to Jesus, Mary, and a small team of unnamed servants. The occasion of the miracle would never have been established if it hadn't been for Mary's insistence in the face of Jesus' apparent reluctance. And the delivering of the miracle wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for the servants. In that structured first-century society, Jesus couldn't have delivered the wine for himself. He was dependent on the cooperation of the servants -- and their daring, almost foolhardy cooperation. 

And that's the stuff of which miracles are made. God hardly ever does a miracle unaided. Just as God works with us in the routine business of this world, so he works with us in the extraordinary and the miracles.  Sometimes our human involvement is so much in the normal course of things that we hardly know a miracle has occurred. The first asylum for the blind was founded by a Christian monk, Thalasius. The first hospital of record was founded by a Christian woman, Fabiola, in love for God. Apollonius, a Christian merchant, opened the first free dispensary. Are these the stuff of miracles? Indeed! In a world where compassion was essentially an unknown quality, and where the sick and handicapped were a burden to be ignored, it was altogether a miracle for someone to be captured by a spirit of unselfish love. Their concern was completely against the tide of the times. It grew out of soil which was hostile to such caring. It was, spiritually speaking, a case of health bursting forth from a plague-ridden atmosphere. Miracle, indeed!
 But God didn't do it alone. Thalasius, Fabiola, and Apollonius were the servants who bore the water which Christ could then change into wine. 

Sometimes you and I are privileged to participate in very small, yet very real miracles. Have you, with sudden unexplainable impulse, sent a card or note to someone, then had them tell you that your greeting card came at just the right time? "How did you know," the person asked, "that I needed something like that at that very time? How could your timing be so perfect?" Yes, how? Is it only a coincidence that you felt the urge at such a special time? Do you suppose such "coincidences" would happen more often if we were more ready to bear water for our Lord?

You and I live in a time and place where miracles are badly needed, and in short supply. We are so trained to be skeptical, not only of God, but even of our own generous impulses, that the miraculous must struggle for any kind of hearing. 

That's why it's so important that those of us who believe in God, and who believe deeply in love, compassion, and service to others should be sensitive to our potential agents of the miraculous. Many prayers are left unsaid, or are spoken tremulously, because we have been conditioned to expect nothing; and expecting nothing, ask for nothing. Many ventures, some grand and some ordinary, are never begun because we don't have the faith to dare. Larry Sachau says that most Christians have "an almost terminal case of practicality." I fear he's right. God seems to find a stronger voice for hope and daring venture among secular leaders than among some of the people who claim to be his disciples. We Christians ought to be an expectant people, because we follow One who has the power to set the world right. 

Much of the living of our time has taken on the quality of a wedding feast in which the celebration has faded into silence. A miracle is needed, which will bring a true and worthy intoxication to life. Jesus Christ waits in the wings, ready to introduce such gladness. He waits to perform that great and necessary miracle: the enlivening of life.

But it is a miracle which calls for helpers: a "mother" who will insist on giving Jesus a place at the feast, and servants who will dare to deliver the water-made-wine. Our Lord Jesus Christ will do the rest. But he counts, as always, on our doing what only we can do.