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January 17, 2010 Sermon

A Reluctant Pilgrim (Isaiah 62: 1-4; John 2: 1-11)

Rev. Sally Harris

Timing and abundance seem to be the themes of this coming out story of Jesus’ ministry. Jesus has not yet begun teaching and working wonders, yet his mother has confidence that he can help when a crisis arises at the wedding of a friend. This short story provides a glimpse of Jesus and his mother as human beings who had friends, who "partied," who fretted when something went wrong, and balked at leaving the party to solve another's problem. The exchange between Mary and Jesus feels familiar to any parent who has mentioned a need to her child. Not now, Mom, not me. And yet Jesus does indeed respond to the need at hand, for the hosts are in a terrible predicament. However much we may appreciate hospitality today, the people of Jesus' time and culture practiced it as a survival skill, a way of looking after one another in a hostile and dangerous environment.

The first part of Jesus' response to Mary's observation that the wine has run out sounds almost modern in its detachment: "What's it to you and me?" But the second part of his answer sounds much more solemn and theological: "My hour has not yet come." Don't we wonder if Mary wondered what he meant by that? Whatever, she may have thought, just make sure there's wine for these poor folks, for everyone's sake. And then she set about the task at hand, unconcerned, it seems, about timing and what the "hour" was - after all, she raised Jesus to practice "compassionate justice."

So timing, no matter how important, takes a back seat to human need at that moment, as it would throughout Jesus' ministry.

Not surprisingly, scholars take several approaches to this somewhat puzzling though simple story. What about this reluctant pilgrim named Jesus? What can we say about this " scandal of divine reluctance" when Jesus seems to balk at miracle-making. Perhaps, as one theologian identifies (Carol Lakey Hess) there is a tension between that hesitation, followed by an extravagant gift of the finest wine, and God's seeming absence or inaction in the face of human suffering and need – just look at Haiti. In a world where for so many there is not clean water – let alone fine wine – where is the extravagance of God? Like Mary, perhaps we have a role in the story: perhaps this troubling text invites us to trust so much in God's generosity and abundance that we, like the perceptive mother of Jesus, nudges the world, the government, the church with our observation: they have no food, they have no shelter… there is no comfort; no justice.

A few weeks ago, we began a new decade, and looked back on the one just completed, evaluating it and perhaps reflecting on where we want to go in the next ten years, and on the challenges and possibilities now before us. Polls show that the past ten years were experienced by many as the worst decade in their lifetime, and we don't know what changes, for better or worse, lie ahead. How will the times change the ways we serve and witness? What hidden abundance lies within our sacred traditions, ready to be transformed, in this hour, like the water in the great stone jars?

"Every now and then," Dr. King said, in a sermon he preached in his home church just two months before he was killed by those who feared him, "I think about my own death, and I think about my own funeral. And I don't think of it in a morbid sense. Every now and then I ask myself, 'What is it that I would want said?' "I'd like somebody to mention that day, that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to give his life serving others. I'd like for somebody to say that day, that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to love somebody. I want you to say that day, that I tried to be right on the war question. I want you to be able to say that day, that I did try, in my life, to feed the hungry. And I want you to be able to say that day that I did try in my life to clothe those who were naked. I want you to say, on that day, that I did try, in my life, to visit those who were in prison. I want you to say that I tried to love and serve humanity."

On this Sunday as we reflect on the reluctant pilgrim who encountered sorrow and joy; we remember the life of Dr. King and we remember the pain of our world witnessed by the staggering losses in Haiti… In our remembering let us hold our pain before us – our individual pain, the pain of our church and of our world – by putting salt into this water – offering our tears to God…

(pass the bowl of water and sprinkle salt into it)

God, you call us to swim the deep waters, the difficult places where many fear to tread,
where your life, your love, your hopes are needed most
YOU CALL, AND WE WADE INTO THE DEEP WATERS You call us to swim the deep waters, weighed down by love for a broken world, by the burdens of injustice
YOU CALL, AND WE WADE INTO THE DEEP WATERS
God, you call us to swim the deep waters, to bring the burdens of our care and
to raise up a tower of hope in the midst of the storm.
YOU CALL, AND WE WADE INTO THE DEEP WATERS, BECOMING ISLANDS OF PEACE,
HOPE, AND RECONCILIATION THAT SHALL NOT BE MOVED.
GOD, YOU CALL US INTO THE DEEP WATERS, BUT WE DO NOT GO ALONE

As we sing together I’ve got peace like a river I invite you to bring your rock and place it in this bowl of tears, building a tower of hope in the midst of our troubled world. {Power Point Presentation*}

(we place our rocks into the bowl)

Somehow in this story of a reluctant pilgrim we see a revelation of abundance and joy. Jesus’ action at the wedding at Cana is not only a wonder in itself; it reveals much about who he is and what he has come to do. His gesture is an indication of the bent toward abundance that will mark his ministry. Again and again, in the stories to come, we will witness Jesus’ persistence in entering places of lack—lack of health, of justice, of wisdom, of wholeness—and offering joy in its place. But here’s the thing. As miraculous as Jesus’ provision is, and as hopeful as I find it, I wonder if he was up to something more here than just supplying what was lacking. By his action, Jesus was not only providing something needed but was also recognizing that it was already present. Encouraged by his mother, a woman who knew something of marriage and miracles, Jesus was offering a sign by which he acknowledged and celebrated the miracle already present when two people enter into a covenant with one another, with all the challenges and the blessings it will bring, most of which can hardly be seen at the outset. Relational miracles aren’t reserved just for couples who have covenanted to make a life together. In friendships, in families, in faith communities, in all the places where we honor the threads of connection and commit to engage the struggles and joys that come with them, the presence of wonder lurks, and the miraculous lies in wait for us to notice. When we do notice, when we see the abundance present in our connections, it comes as a reminder of what we celebrate in this season of Epiphany: the life and work of God-with-us, who, in the person of Jesus, came to tangle himself up with us in the messy miracle of this shared life.

So in the midst of your relationships, in the web of our connections, how are we keeping our eyes open for signs and wonders these days? What sustains us when the signs are hard to see? As we pray or yearn or ache for needed miracles in our lives, in our church and world are there marvels that God is already up to? Might the miracle be coming in a different form than we expect, and can we let ourselves see it? In these days of sorrow and joy, may we perceive the wonders at hand, be part of the miracles yet to come, and encounter unexpected delights along the way. Amen

[resources: *PowerPoint by Rachel Harvey –Reconciling Ministries in United Methodist, Jan, 2010; J. Richardson, K Huey and J. Good]

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