A Narrative Sermon on The Wedding at Cana (John 2.1-11)
Let’s Party!
I bet you think modern wedding planning is tough, right?
Back then, in first century Palestine,
when I served at weddings,
feasts were more like festivals.
When they said ‚party till you drop,‘ they meant it!
And then they would get up
and party for six more days!
Today, there are pinterest-worthy seating charts
for 100 guests with cutesy decorations.
Well, we had to worry about seating arrangements
for half the village.
But there was one wedding
that topped them all.
It starts off as usual…
all the rituals involving the bride and groom and their families,
the well-wishing,
the first special meal,
and all that jazz.
The location fills up.
More and more people come.
It’s a bit of a squeeze, but we make do.
As always.
No wine!?
So, about a couple of days into the celebrations
my colleague Kish starts to have this worried look on his face.
You see, that’s quite unlike him.
He normally is that energetic young man:
charming with the ladies,
and muscles that never tire carrying food platters
or wine jars.
That night,
as our paths cross behind the main building
he stops me.
He must have just been to fetch more wine from the cellar
and carries a large wine jar.
He’s exasperated.
“I’ve seen plenty of wedding disasters,” he says
“but running out of wine?
That’s what I call a dry reception.”
I’m gobsmacked.
“What do you mean?”, I say
making space for this one middle-aged woman
heading for the ladies room.
And Kish, “This is the last wine jar!
I was assuming there was more in the other cellar,
but no!
This is it!”
Hold on!
No more wine?
Oh God, how embarrassing!
For these people
feasting is serious business!
They expect to be wined and dined
for at least another couple of days.
The groom and his family
will be the gossip of the village for months to come!
What a disaster!
The news spread
Slowly I make my way back into the building.
There’s my colleague Jonam.
No matter how long the dancing and drinking last,
he keeps going,
topping up wine cups
well into the early hours of the morning.
He’s a little quiet man,
almost invisible to the guests
as he moves around the tables.
Right now, walking into the kitchen from the banquet room
he shakes his head and murmurs to himself.
Nothing unusual here.
He sighs.
“I can’t stand tipsy women!
There’s one out there
pestering her son with wild rumours.”
Still digesting Kish’s news,
I say, “What do you mean?”
“He and his friends want to party,
and them mummy comes over
badmouthing the groom.
Can you imagine!
‘… yada yada yada …
… there’s no more wine …
… meh meh meh …’”
Oh bother!
That must be the woman
who passed Kish and me a couple of minutes ago outside.
He and I look at each other in terror.
She overheard what we said!
My head spins.
I turn around,
and there she is:
timidly walking through the kitchen door.
She registers Jonam’s eye roll
and blushes as she approaches the three of us.
She clears her throat,
“I’m here with my son.”
“Yeah, so I noticed!”,
teases Jonan.
Kish shoots him a stern glance.
Now it’s Jonan’s turn to blush.
“You see,” she stammers,
“my son might be able to help you.
You know who I’m talking about?”
Jonan, whose kindness had finally
replaced the initial sarcasm,
nodds.
“He sometimes has these weird ideas.”,
she continues,
“Maybe he’ll ask something strange of you.
Please do it. Trust me.
I know my boy.”
She looks pleadingly at each of us
and disappears.
A strange thing happens
And sure enough:
That guy comes over
and makes Kish and me
run to the well dozens of times,
wanting all the six massive stone jars
round the back
full of water.
Meanwhile Jonan stoically
serves the last wine to the tipsy guests.
As told by the stranger,
I take some of the water from the cleaning jars
in a wine cup
to Keturah, the boss.
I’m worried.
She’s not to mess with,
and a wine buff on top of it.
She takes a sip of the water.
I’m surprised.
She swirls it around in her mouth,
making those funny slurping noises
she keeps on showing off with.
I’m worried.
Her face slowly lights up.
“Where’s this wine from?”,
she whispers, wide-eyed.
“Unbelievable!”, she sighs,
“It’s the sort of stuff even big-wigs
Like Herod and Pilate would kill for!”
She takes another big mouth-full,
then runs off to interrogate the groom.
He’s in no state for deep conversation…
Has had a drink or two, you see.
Can you believe this?
My head spins.
What just happened?
Secretly, Kish, Jonan and I
help ourselves to a sip from the large water jars.
It really is wine!
Fantastic wine!
Even amateurs like us can taste it!
My grandad’s psalm chanting comes to mind:
“Taste and see that the Lord is good!”
Jonan fills a jug with this wonderful vino
before heading into the dining room
to keep on topping up cups,
whistling a naughty song about Dionysus
magically creating boat-loads of wine.
Now I’m the one blushing & rolling my eyes.
Kish takes another gulp
and starts talking about Elijah and Elisha
being miraculously fed by God.
The party continues.
The crowd get first cheerful,
then slightly unruly,
and eventually very drowsy.
People stagger home,
or get dragged by their friends and family.
Tomorrow is another day!
Another day of overindulgence.
Another day of work for us.
Midnight ponderings
Once all the tidying is done
I say goodnight to Kish and Jonan.
I stand outside,
taking a moment to enjoy the silent star-light night.
I muse over today’s events.
Looking at the stars,
I think of that one tale about my forefather Abraham,
wonder if he felt as clueless, yet peaceful,
that night when he gazed at the stars.
Today we did the mad thing
that stranger asked us to do.
Abraham, too, did mad things, right?
God gave him instructions,
and it worked out in mind-blowing ways.
This is what today felt like:
like a divine interruption of our ordinary lives.
There is none of the usual end-of-night exhaustion in me.
Just some strange awe and warmth.
Even though I never saw them again in the partying crowd
I can’t stop thinking about that woman,
and especially her son.
“Do what he tells you.”
That’s what she said.
It feels like this is the best advice I’ve ever been given.
“Do what he tells you.”
Man, I’m so glad she got involved
and didn’t politely step back
or even gossip about the groom’s family’s stinginess.
She heard of what was happening
and told her son about it.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful
being able to tell him all about my own worries?
As open-minded as his mum did?
Slowly walking home,
I wonder where his way may lead.
He meant well with everyone there tonight.
Will he keep on changing people’s lives
as he changed this feast?
Will people be oblivious or stunned
or even angry?
I’ve got the feeling
that he may get himself into trouble.
Deep within me I’m convinced
he’ll keep on creating newness, deliciousness and beauty
from ordinary everyday-stuff, like our water.
And ordinary everyday people
like Kish, Jonan and myself will be part of this!
All we did was follow that stranger’s lead.
All we did was our ordinary everyday job.
But somehow this ordinary everyday
was transformed into—dare I say?—something sacred.
I finally sneak into bed,
feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.
As I drift off to sleep
my whole inner being knows
that days like this will keep on happening…
…as long as that stranger is around.
…as long as mothers and brothers and friends
tell him about the difficulties around them.
…as long as everyday people do their ordinary work.
Christine Ghinn
19.01.2025