William G. Carter
The story of the wedding at Cana is one of the most famous stories in the Bible. It has been the basis of many sermons and numerous misinterpretations. In fact, there are so many good misinterpretations of the text, I am not sure which misinterpretation I like the best.
I recall hearing a sermon based on this text. The preacher said, “In Cana, everybody was having a good time at the wedding banquet. There was a lot of music and dancing. It was a hot day. People got thirsty. They ran out of wine. Everybody began to get sad. But Jesus didn’t want that to happen. Rather, he wanted a celebration. So voila! Jesus turned water into wine, and the party continued.”
“After all,” claimed the preacher, “Jesus loves a good party.”
Now that’s something most of us want to believe. It is good to think the Lord intends to bless our human celebrations. We hope for the coming day where there will be a wedding feast of the Lamb that never draws to a close. But as pleasant as the hope can be, it has nothing to do with this text. There’s no hint at Cana that Jesus is a party animal. If anything, he comes across as a stern figure who was annoyed to be called away from his table.
Another interpretation of the story came from a Bible study group. The group was talking about the wedding at Cana story, and someone said, “I think it’s a wonderful tale. Jesus overcame his initial hesitation to do the right thing. Think of it: The bride and groom must have been terribly embarrassed. The party had gotten out of hand. They didn’t have enough hors d’ouevres. The roast beef wasn’t sliced thinly enough. Worst of all, the caterers ran out of Zinfandel and Chablis. It must have been awful. But Jesus was there. He produced some wine, and everybody escaped what would have been a catering disaster!”
That, too, is an interesting view of the wedding at Cana. However, with all apologies to Martha Stewart, the Jesus portrayed in this text is not the least bit concerned about saving people from social miscues. He seems totally unconcerned about etiquette. Jesus took six stone jars normally used for Jewish purification rituals, and made them carafes of his new wine. Is Jesus concerned about social proprieties? I don’t think so.
One Saturday in New England, a priest gave one more spin to the story. It happened at a wedding, of all places. The priest looked at the bride and groom and said, “You’re about to begin a new life together. Sometimes this new life will fill you with joy and happiness. Other times, however, it may feel like you’ve run out of wine. When those dry occasions inevitably arrive, remember the wedding at Cana. Just turn to Jesus and ask him to fill you up with wine. He will always come to your assistance whenever you ask.”
Of all the misinterpretations of Scripture I have ever heard, that misinterpretation is the most comforting. Unfortunately it can’t be authorized by this text either. Jesus is at the party. The party runs out of wine. Nobody from the wedding party bothers to tell Jesus. It’s just as well. When his mother brings up the matter, he essentially brushes her off.
She informs him, “They have no wine.”
Jesus replies, “Woman, what concern is that to you and me?”
She looks at him with maternal pressure. He stares through her and says, “It’s not my hour. It’s not my time.” Now, does that sound like a warm and supportive relationship? I don’t think so. Jesus brushes off his mother’s request. She backs off from her request, and then he makes the wine.
It is difficult to handle this story without it slipping out of our hands. It defies reduction. There is no simple application for our lives. So what is going on here? Is this a story about a wedding? I don’t think so. This is a story about that uncommon wedding guest, Jesus Christ. And we have already heard three clues to understanding this story.
The first is this: Jesus uses a village feast, not as an opportunity to make people happy, but as an opportunity to reveal God. The writer says, “This was the first time Jesus revealed God’s glory.” Curiously, some people missed it entirely. Jesus stood before them with the power to turn water into wine. Those who really saw what happened could only comment on the quality of the wine.
The caterer was one of them. He thought somebody had pulled the same trick as a college fraternity I knew. Whenever the fraternity would throw a party, they would tell their guests to count on plenty of premium beer. In actuality they would buy only one case of the expensive brew, and after serving it to dull the taste buds of their guests, they tapped a vat of cheap ale. It was cheaper that way; and according to the second chapter of John, it is a long-standing practice.
“You have waited to serve the best until now.” The caterer missed the point. But can you blame him? Jesus has revealed the glory of God, not in high and lofty places, but in the middle of a wedding. He revealed the presence of God, not in the reverent hush of a wedding performed in a sanctuary, but in the neighborhood bash immediately following. God drew near, amid loud music, the droning of distant relatives, and a three-tiered cake with plastic figures on top. It happened in such an ordinary place.
It reminds me of something Will Willimon once said. “Most preachers,” said Willimon, “get it all wrong at weddings. They stand up and talk about agape, the love of God that descends from above. The bride and groom, on the other hand, are drooling in anticipation of eros, the earthy love that they can’t wait to express.”1 Willimon is onto something. The glory of God is revealed in a very common human occasion.
After all, that’s the central theme of the Gospel of John. Where do we find the fullness of God’s glory? Not in the dead rituals or lofty traditions of organized religion, but in a specific human person, Jesus of Nazareth. The eternal Word becomes flesh. Knowing this does more than make people happy. It satisfies the deepest longings of the human heart.
That brings us to a second clue to the story’s meaning. If the human Jesus is to reveal the everlasting God, some established customs are broken. At Cana, Jesus used six large stone jars as carafes for new wine. Those jars were normally filled with water for purification ceremonies, for the ritual cleansing of dirty Jewish hands. Jesus claimed the authority to break the rules, and put those jars to another use. For those who knew what he was doing, it was disturbing, to say the least.
Imagine if a church member threw a party in fellowship hall. While the crystal punch bowl is carried down the steps, it accidentally slips and smashes on the floor. Uncle Joe says, “Don’t panic. I know something we can use.” He goes up the stairs into the sanctuary, hoists the baptismal font over one shoulder, and carries it down to fellowship hall. Then the caterers fill it with Canada Dry and cranberry juice. The font becomes a punch bowl. Get the picture? It’s disruptive ... like what Jesus did behind the scenes at the wedding in Cana.
It goes to show there’s no telling what rules Jesus Christ will break, in order to disclose the presence and power of God. All we can be sure is God’s glory will not be reduced to traditions and rituals. According to the Fourth Gospel, Jesus Christ is not interested in maintaining stale religious customs and established patterns. Rather he is concerned with bringing us into the presence of the eternal God.
If you read the Gospel of John, you get the clear impression that whatever happened in Cana can happen anywhere, at any time. With Jesus around, every day is the third day. If we have eyes to perceive them, we see minor miracles every day, significant transformations that happen in your life or mine. They are no less far-reaching as what happened that day in Cana. When such a moment happens, the actual event is significant, but it’s nowhere as important as what happens to us in the midst of the event. A sign from heaven can redirect you, turn you around, prompt you to participate in God’s timetable for the world, where every day is the third day, and Christ’s holy presence is with us.
Even so, maybe you know how disruptive it can be. One of the things God has been teaching me is that if we are to become new creations in Christ, we have to let go of the old patterns, the familiar ways, and the comfortable habits. That’s not easy. The work of Jesus Christ in our lives is always about making something new: beginning over, establishing new relationships, claiming a new start. Changes can be disruptive. They demand all the strength and courage we can find. But if we are able to embrace what God is doing, we may find that some of the best wine has been saved until now.
All of this points us to the third clue, that third insight into the story, namely, when new life comes, when the new wine is poured, it is the gift of Jesus Christ. He alone chooses to give the new wine. No one can force him to give it, not even his own mother. No one can tell him what to do. And when Jesus does choose to act, he does so entirely from his own initiative. Just recall a couple of the stories John tells.
One day, says John, the brothers of Jesus say, “Why don’t you go up to Jerusalem? It’s time for a public festival, and there everybody will see what wonderful things you do!”
Jesus replies, “No; my time has not yet come.”
So his brothers go to the festival while Jesus stays behind. After his brothers depart, then Jesus goes to the festival too. He responds by not responding; then he responds, free from all their suggestions. Jesus doesn’t need his brothers to tell him what to do. He already knows.
On another occasion, a multitude of people gathers around Jesus once they have heard how he can heal the sick. They are hungry. And Jesus asks Philip, “How are we going to feed these people?”
Philip says, “I don’t have the slightest idea!” The writer of John says Jesus asks Philip that question, even though Jesus already knew what he was going to do. He had already decided to feed the crowd.
On another occasion some messengers came to Jesus. They said, “Your friend Lazarus, the brother of Mary and Martha, is sick. He’s near death!” Now, says John, Jesus loved Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. He truly loved them. So what does he choose to do? Well, when Jesus hears that Lazarus is sick, he stays two days longer in the place where he was. Then and only then he sets out for the tomb to raise Lazarus from the dead.
In the Gospel of John, no one can tell Jesus what to do. He never acts spontaneously. He is never surprised. He is never caught off-guard. He never improvises for the occasion. By contrast, he always acts intentionally and deliberately, for he is the Lord. He comes to show us what God is like. As someone notes:
In John’s Gospel, Jesus speaks and acts not in response to any claims of kinship, friendship, or even need, but at his own initiative as God’s will is revealed to him. This may seem to be without compassion, but something more than compassion is involved. In the Cana story as well as those involving his brothers and his friends, Jesus meets the need but he does more. Compassion alone might provide wine, but sovereign grace does more: it reveals God in what is done.2
On the third day, Jesus turned water into wine. On the third day, Jesus rose from the dead. And if every day is the third day, there’s no telling what the Risen Christ might do among you and me, as he comes in the wild, unpredictable grace of God.
____________
1. William H. Willimon, “June Weddings,” On a Wild and Windy Mountain (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1984), pp. 116-117.
2. Fred B. Craddock, et.al., Preaching the New Common Lectionary, Year C, Advent-Epiphany (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1987), p. 130.
The story of the wedding at Cana is one of the most famous stories in the Bible. It has been the basis of many sermons and numerous misinterpretations. In fact, there are so many good misinterpretations of the text, I am not sure which misinterpretation I like the best.
I recall hearing a sermon based on this text. The preacher said, “In Cana, everybody was having a good time at the wedding banquet. There was a lot of music and dancing. It was a hot day. People got thirsty. They ran out of wine. Everybody began to get sad. But Jesus didn’t want that to happen. Rather, he wanted a celebration. So voila! Jesus turned water into wine, and the party continued.”
“After all,” claimed the preacher, “Jesus loves a good party.”
Now that’s something most of us want to believe. It is good to think the Lord intends to bless our human celebrations. We hope for the coming day where there will be a wedding feast of the Lamb that never draws to a close. But as pleasant as the hope can be, it has nothing to do with this text. There’s no hint at Cana that Jesus is a party animal. If anything, he comes across as a stern figure who was annoyed to be called away from his table.
Another interpretation of the story came from a Bible study group. The group was talking about the wedding at Cana story, and someone said, “I think it’s a wonderful tale. Jesus overcame his initial hesitation to do the right thing. Think of it: The bride and groom must have been terribly embarrassed. The party had gotten out of hand. They didn’t have enough hors d’ouevres. The roast beef wasn’t sliced thinly enough. Worst of all, the caterers ran out of Zinfandel and Chablis. It must have been awful. But Jesus was there. He produced some wine, and everybody escaped what would have been a catering disaster!”
That, too, is an interesting view of the wedding at Cana. However, with all apologies to Martha Stewart, the Jesus portrayed in this text is not the least bit concerned about saving people from social miscues. He seems totally unconcerned about etiquette. Jesus took six stone jars normally used for Jewish purification rituals, and made them carafes of his new wine. Is Jesus concerned about social proprieties? I don’t think so.
One Saturday in New England, a priest gave one more spin to the story. It happened at a wedding, of all places. The priest looked at the bride and groom and said, “You’re about to begin a new life together. Sometimes this new life will fill you with joy and happiness. Other times, however, it may feel like you’ve run out of wine. When those dry occasions inevitably arrive, remember the wedding at Cana. Just turn to Jesus and ask him to fill you up with wine. He will always come to your assistance whenever you ask.”
Of all the misinterpretations of Scripture I have ever heard, that misinterpretation is the most comforting. Unfortunately it can’t be authorized by this text either. Jesus is at the party. The party runs out of wine. Nobody from the wedding party bothers to tell Jesus. It’s just as well. When his mother brings up the matter, he essentially brushes her off.
She informs him, “They have no wine.”
Jesus replies, “Woman, what concern is that to you and me?”
She looks at him with maternal pressure. He stares through her and says, “It’s not my hour. It’s not my time.” Now, does that sound like a warm and supportive relationship? I don’t think so. Jesus brushes off his mother’s request. She backs off from her request, and then he makes the wine.
It is difficult to handle this story without it slipping out of our hands. It defies reduction. There is no simple application for our lives. So what is going on here? Is this a story about a wedding? I don’t think so. This is a story about that uncommon wedding guest, Jesus Christ. And we have already heard three clues to understanding this story.
The first is this: Jesus uses a village feast, not as an opportunity to make people happy, but as an opportunity to reveal God. The writer says, “This was the first time Jesus revealed God’s glory.” Curiously, some people missed it entirely. Jesus stood before them with the power to turn water into wine. Those who really saw what happened could only comment on the quality of the wine.
The caterer was one of them. He thought somebody had pulled the same trick as a college fraternity I knew. Whenever the fraternity would throw a party, they would tell their guests to count on plenty of premium beer. In actuality they would buy only one case of the expensive brew, and after serving it to dull the taste buds of their guests, they tapped a vat of cheap ale. It was cheaper that way; and according to the second chapter of John, it is a long-standing practice.
“You have waited to serve the best until now.” The caterer missed the point. But can you blame him? Jesus has revealed the glory of God, not in high and lofty places, but in the middle of a wedding. He revealed the presence of God, not in the reverent hush of a wedding performed in a sanctuary, but in the neighborhood bash immediately following. God drew near, amid loud music, the droning of distant relatives, and a three-tiered cake with plastic figures on top. It happened in such an ordinary place.
It reminds me of something Will Willimon once said. “Most preachers,” said Willimon, “get it all wrong at weddings. They stand up and talk about agape, the love of God that descends from above. The bride and groom, on the other hand, are drooling in anticipation of eros, the earthy love that they can’t wait to express.”1 Willimon is onto something. The glory of God is revealed in a very common human occasion.
After all, that’s the central theme of the Gospel of John. Where do we find the fullness of God’s glory? Not in the dead rituals or lofty traditions of organized religion, but in a specific human person, Jesus of Nazareth. The eternal Word becomes flesh. Knowing this does more than make people happy. It satisfies the deepest longings of the human heart.
That brings us to a second clue to the story’s meaning. If the human Jesus is to reveal the everlasting God, some established customs are broken. At Cana, Jesus used six large stone jars as carafes for new wine. Those jars were normally filled with water for purification ceremonies, for the ritual cleansing of dirty Jewish hands. Jesus claimed the authority to break the rules, and put those jars to another use. For those who knew what he was doing, it was disturbing, to say the least.
Imagine if a church member threw a party in fellowship hall. While the crystal punch bowl is carried down the steps, it accidentally slips and smashes on the floor. Uncle Joe says, “Don’t panic. I know something we can use.” He goes up the stairs into the sanctuary, hoists the baptismal font over one shoulder, and carries it down to fellowship hall. Then the caterers fill it with Canada Dry and cranberry juice. The font becomes a punch bowl. Get the picture? It’s disruptive ... like what Jesus did behind the scenes at the wedding in Cana.
It goes to show there’s no telling what rules Jesus Christ will break, in order to disclose the presence and power of God. All we can be sure is God’s glory will not be reduced to traditions and rituals. According to the Fourth Gospel, Jesus Christ is not interested in maintaining stale religious customs and established patterns. Rather he is concerned with bringing us into the presence of the eternal God.
If you read the Gospel of John, you get the clear impression that whatever happened in Cana can happen anywhere, at any time. With Jesus around, every day is the third day. If we have eyes to perceive them, we see minor miracles every day, significant transformations that happen in your life or mine. They are no less far-reaching as what happened that day in Cana. When such a moment happens, the actual event is significant, but it’s nowhere as important as what happens to us in the midst of the event. A sign from heaven can redirect you, turn you around, prompt you to participate in God’s timetable for the world, where every day is the third day, and Christ’s holy presence is with us.
Even so, maybe you know how disruptive it can be. One of the things God has been teaching me is that if we are to become new creations in Christ, we have to let go of the old patterns, the familiar ways, and the comfortable habits. That’s not easy. The work of Jesus Christ in our lives is always about making something new: beginning over, establishing new relationships, claiming a new start. Changes can be disruptive. They demand all the strength and courage we can find. But if we are able to embrace what God is doing, we may find that some of the best wine has been saved until now.
All of this points us to the third clue, that third insight into the story, namely, when new life comes, when the new wine is poured, it is the gift of Jesus Christ. He alone chooses to give the new wine. No one can force him to give it, not even his own mother. No one can tell him what to do. And when Jesus does choose to act, he does so entirely from his own initiative. Just recall a couple of the stories John tells.
One day, says John, the brothers of Jesus say, “Why don’t you go up to Jerusalem? It’s time for a public festival, and there everybody will see what wonderful things you do!”
Jesus replies, “No; my time has not yet come.”
So his brothers go to the festival while Jesus stays behind. After his brothers depart, then Jesus goes to the festival too. He responds by not responding; then he responds, free from all their suggestions. Jesus doesn’t need his brothers to tell him what to do. He already knows.
On another occasion, a multitude of people gathers around Jesus once they have heard how he can heal the sick. They are hungry. And Jesus asks Philip, “How are we going to feed these people?”
Philip says, “I don’t have the slightest idea!” The writer of John says Jesus asks Philip that question, even though Jesus already knew what he was going to do. He had already decided to feed the crowd.
On another occasion some messengers came to Jesus. They said, “Your friend Lazarus, the brother of Mary and Martha, is sick. He’s near death!” Now, says John, Jesus loved Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. He truly loved them. So what does he choose to do? Well, when Jesus hears that Lazarus is sick, he stays two days longer in the place where he was. Then and only then he sets out for the tomb to raise Lazarus from the dead.
In the Gospel of John, no one can tell Jesus what to do. He never acts spontaneously. He is never surprised. He is never caught off-guard. He never improvises for the occasion. By contrast, he always acts intentionally and deliberately, for he is the Lord. He comes to show us what God is like. As someone notes:
In John’s Gospel, Jesus speaks and acts not in response to any claims of kinship, friendship, or even need, but at his own initiative as God’s will is revealed to him. This may seem to be without compassion, but something more than compassion is involved. In the Cana story as well as those involving his brothers and his friends, Jesus meets the need but he does more. Compassion alone might provide wine, but sovereign grace does more: it reveals God in what is done.2
On the third day, Jesus turned water into wine. On the third day, Jesus rose from the dead. And if every day is the third day, there’s no telling what the Risen Christ might do among you and me, as he comes in the wild, unpredictable grace of God.
____________
1. William H. Willimon, “June Weddings,” On a Wild and Windy Mountain (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1984), pp. 116-117.
2. Fred B. Craddock, et.al., Preaching the New Common Lectionary, Year C, Advent-Epiphany (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1987), p. 130.
