John 2:1-11 · Jesus Changes Water to Wine
Wine from Water: The Wedding
John 2:1-11
Sermon
by Steve Swanson
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Wouldn't you think that when early man and woman learned to make wine they thought it a miracle - or at least a mystery? Picture some prehistoric person putting a bunch of grapes in a stone jar, then getting so busy hunting pterodactyls for a week or so that they forgot all about those grapes. Imagine their surprise when they finally came back to find the whole business bubbling and gurgling away with great vigor. That amazing process is called fermentation.

Fermentation is an important process in this world - and not just for making wine. Even in early times fermentation was used not only for beverages, but for cheese, for certain textile processes, for tanning leather, and, of course, for the mild and brief fermentation that yeast causes in bread.

Our industrial society has since used fermentation to produce lactic, citric, and acetic acids that are important to the food and chemical industries. Other modern fermentations produce solvents like acetone, fuels like butanol, explosives, plastics, and all sorts of marvelous substances. Modern agriculture has always depended on fermentation to process chopped crops in silos and harvestores, but now more and more farmers are trying to use that same process to produce not only feed but gasahol.

At its roots, though, fermentation is a very simple process. You leave some grapes, some water, and some sugar in a jar for a while and you'll soon have wine. That is one of nature's simple miracles, one of the many miracles that is built into the fiber and structure of this world of ours. We marvel at this miracle along with others we have associated with water.

But fermentation is a slow miracle. A complete natural fermentation process takes weeks. Imagine that miracle taking place instantly. That would be a double miracle. And imagine it taking place with no grapes. That would be a triple miracle. Water into wine - a triple mystery.

It all happened, it really did, in a little town called Cana in Galilee, about 2000 years ago. It happened because there was a wedding. It happened because Mary, the wife of Joseph, the mother of Jesus, was there. It happened because her son came along. He took that simple, ordinary stuff we have been studying - plain water - and changed it into wine.

It was a strange and quiet and private miracle. It happened in the entryway of the wedding hall. There was no hocus-pocus about it, no flash of lightning, no magic words or incantations. So subtle, so silent was the miracle that only Mary and the servants really knew what had happened. One minute there were six jars of water; the next minute there were six jars of wine.

It was good wine. The best. The steward was amazed at the excellent quality of the wine. Water into wine. Six large jars of ordinary water into extraordinary wine. Jesus' first miracle, his first strange miracle.

What interests me particularly about this miracle is not that water became wine; not that the Christ of God was involved in something so frivolous as a wedding dance; not even that he would make wine in a world where alcohol addiction was and is one of our major health problems. What interests me particularly about this story is what Jesus said to his mother: "O woman, what have you to do with me? My hour is not yet come."

Those sound very much like angry, peevish words. We can't help but compare them with a scene that falls later in Jesus' ministry, when he was preaching and teaching crowds along the Sea of Galilee. At one point Jesus must have been speaking to a crowd in a house or building - maybe it was Simon Peter's house. The story goes like this:

And his mother and his brothers came; and standing outside they sent to him and called him. And a crowd was sitting about him, and they said to him, "Your mother and your brothers are outside, asking for you." He replied, "Who are my mother and my brothers?" and looking around on those who sat about him, he said, "Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother, and sister, and mother." (Mark 3:31-35)

Now this is a beautiful saying for those who try to do the will of God. That even goes for you and me. If we try to do God's will, Jesus calls ~us his brother and sister and mother. That's really exciting. That makes us feel pretty good.

But how do you suppose Mary and her family felt on that day so long ago? it must have hurt something awful.

Children always have ways of hurting their parents. They run away from home, they get married too young, they fail in school, they become sullen and withdrawn, they fall into bad ways. Sometimes they seem too slow in getting on with their life's work. That is happening a lot more these days than it used to. More than in former generations, today's young people are postponing decisions about their futures; they are in no hurry to make that dive into the mainstream of life. They are hanging around home; they are staying in college for extra years; they are working at jobs below their ability level - and, in the process, they are getting to be twenty to twenty-five years old and seeming not to be getting anywhere.

If this is going on in your home, you can easily imagine how Mary felt. In those times young men went to work at age twelve or thirteen, girls got married at thirteen or fourteen. Everyone started young in those days - everyone but Jesus. There he was, thirty years old, and not really doing what he seemed destined to do.

Even before he was born, Mary had had dreams about Jesus. She had been visited by the Spirit and had seen some promising signs. Joseph had had visions and dreams too, and even cousin Elizabeth knew that Mary's child was destined for something great.

But here was Jesus, thirty years later, and nothing had really happened yet. Do you suppose Mary nagged him a bit? Did she urge him to get busy and become a rabbi? Did she push him like a mother of today would push?

We don't have answers to those questions, but I'll tell you this: it must have been thrilling for Mary to see her son, her thirty-year-old son, finally - finally - get busy with his life's work, and finally, begin to get some recognition, too. It must have been great for her to see the crowds gathered about her son, to hear people talk about him on the street corners around Galilee, to hear people exclaiming over his healings, to hear them recounting his teachings and laughing at his put-downs of the stuffed-shirt Scribes and Pharisees. It was nice to have a famous son. That's what the promises and visions and dreams had been all about. Mary, like any mother, must have loved it.

But Jesus was a strange son. "Whoever loves God is my mother," he said. That's a nice saying for anyone but his real mother. It's a terrible put-down for her. She must have felt terrible - and it wasn't the first time either. Mary, standing outside that house, watching that crowd, must have thought back to another crowd, a wedding party at Cana. Those earlier harsh words might have rung in her ears: "Woman, what have you to do with me?"

It is always hard to be the private family of a public person. Jesus' mother was not the only one. We could tick off on our fingers a whole list of strange private relationships among public figures we have read about and heard about. Think of terrified Isaac, lying on that altar, watching his father raise the knife; think of Pilate's frantic wife who had nightmares about Jesus; think of Eva Braun's strange relationship with Hitler, of Eleanor Roosevelt, Jackie Kennedy, Margaret Trudeau, and dozens and dozens of other political and show-business figures - people who were twisted, hurt, hampered, outraged, spurred on, or, in some other way, changed by being related to a famous or infamous public person.

Most public people don't have much time to look after their private lives, and the more public they are, the harder it is. Before the '76 election a reporter asked one of Gerald Ford's children how he would feel if his father won that election - or lost it. His reply was, "If he wins, good for him; if he loses, good for us." He knew they'd get their father back if he lost that election - and that is undoubtedly what happened.

"Woman, what have you to do with me?" Jesus said. Mary could have answered, "I have had a great deal to do with you. I submitted to the Spirit when you were conceived. I gave birth to you. With my own milk I nursed you. I raised you through your childhood, protected you, fed you, loved you. I still love you. That's what I have to do with you; I love you."

Jesus would have been touched, we can be sure, by such words from his mother. He knew she felt this way; he knew she loved him even though she didn't say a single, solitary word. It was important to have his mother's love as Jesus faced his gigantic mission, but hanging around home to care for her wasn't part of the plan. Jesus was laying a foundation for a new religion, a new way, and he had to break, and break decisively, his ties with his family. "Woman, what have you to do with me?"

Jesus made that break. The rift, the division, lasted almost three years.

Jesus addressed some of these broken relationships, when hanging on the cross, he said to Mary, "Woman, behold your son," and when he said to young John, "Behold your mother."

As he hung there on the cross, minutes before his death, he took time to heal that three-year ache, that painful separation. Just minutes before his death he arranged an adoption.

Jesus hadn't forgotten his mother. There,from the cross, he arranged for John to look after mother Mary - and from that day John took her to his own home.

It is interesting to notice that when Jesus was hanging there, dying on the cross, no one mentioned his brothers and sisters. Maybe when they heard he was being crucified one might have said, "Well, it's good enough for him. He got too big for his britches. He wouldn't even recognize us, his own family." Or another might have said, "Do you remember the time I invited him for dinner - me, his own sister - and he said he had to go see about some sick person?" Who can be more cruel to each other than members of a bickering, fractured family? Remember the prodigal son's elder brother?

The family of Mary and Joseph must have suffered plenty because of the fracture, the rejection in their family - but the rejection was not forever. Jesus did arrange for his mother's care as he hung there dying, but there was still another episode, because death was not the end for Jesus. He came back. He walked this earth again for forty days. I'm betting Jesus went home during that time. I think he must have made things right with his family after he was raised from the dead.

If you find that hard to believe, then read carefully the account of those early days of the church (especially Acts 1:14) and of the day of Pentecost. On that day, when the Holy Spirit came to them, Peter was preaching (Peter who had denied his master three straight times). And who was listening to Peter's sermon? There were Jesus' brothers: James and Joseph and Simon and Jude. There they were, and Jesus' mother was there, too. Peter was preaching; Mary and her family were listening. They were together. They had put the mystery of Jesus together and that's what brought them together.

This is an encouraging word for all of us. No, we can't rise from the dead and come back to straighten things out in our families, but there is hope nevertheless. There is hope in our own homes where even our faith can't seem to hold things together sometimes. There is hope even when things seem so broken and fractured and bitter we wonder if there is any way out.

We should be encouraged to see in Jesus' own family the trouble was finally worked out. The risen Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit drew his family together at last.

God's promise was offered to the world in Jesus. Mary's family finally became a part of that promise. They drew together around the risen Christ.

Your family and mine are also a part of that promise. The risen Christ can draw us together, too - and he will if we let him. It may take some time, and it may take some work, and it may take some patience and some compromise and some pain, but the risen Christ can do it. He can pull together all the twists and sprains and gaps and breaks in our fractured families. He can teach us to love.

O Holy Spirit, bindOur hearts in unityAnd teach us how to findThe love from self set free;In all our hearts such love increaseThat every home, by this release,May be the dwelling place of peace.(F. Bland Tucker, 1895-)

C.S.S. Publishing Company, BIBLICAL PICTURES OF WATER, by Steve Swanson