The Right to Joy
John 2:1-11
On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’ And Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.’ His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’ Now standing there were six stone water-jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, ‘Fill the jars with water.’ And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, ‘Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.’ So they took it. When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to him, ‘Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.’ Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.
Big parties certainly feel like a thing of the past these days don’t they? Especially as I’m sitting here, fully alone in the social room. But let’s think back to the time before COVID when we could gather together and be merry. Chris and I used to host get-togethers in Philly pretty frequently. Chris actually really enjoys hosting parties, setting up charcuterie boards, figuring out a selection of beer and wine, I would usually bake a few things to snack on. Our gatherings were usually a hit. We loved to see the people we loved happy and well-fed. But I always remember the next morning, walking downstairs to a quiet house, seeing the crumbs, the remnants of the night before. (Though, to be fair, thanks to Chris being nocturnal and very tidy, the mess was usually mostly taken care of). But for me, there was always a weird emptiness after a night of merriment. Not a hangover per se—just sort of an emotional comedown from so much happy socializing. It was always such a jarring feeling to go so quickly from music and laughing and catching up to silence.
I think a lot of us feel that after the holidays too, or after trips away with old friends, vacations to recharge. It’s this whiplash of being happy and carefree, where meetings and paychecks and chores and errands don’t matter, to coming back to the real world and all the responsibilities and anxieties that come with it.
In the scripture passage that Meredith just read for us, I can feel Mary’s anxiety (as a sidenote, I know John refuses to use Mary’s name in his Gospel, but I’m going to ignore that if you all don’t mind) when she sees that the wine is running out—especially considering this was on the third day of a wedding celebration; in these times, wedding celebrations lasted a full week. So the wedding wasn’t even half over, and the real world was already threatening to rear its ugly head. Mary’s anxiety is totally understandable.
On the other hand, this is the Bible! This is a holy and moral book to guide us in our everyday lives, to help us discern what it means to follow Jesus and be a good Christian, a good person in the world. And in this story, we have Mary, not immediately concerned with the fate of the cosmos, the world, even the town she lives in—she’s concerned about running out of booze. It seems so trivial in the grand scheme of things, especially when Mary’s son is there to quite literally save humanity. And initially, Jesus seems to feel that way. It almost sounds like he’s being sort of sarcastic and a little snarky with his mom: “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me?” Thank God for annotated study Bibles, because all of mine assured me that Jesus was not actually being disrespectful—in fact, addressing his mom as “woman” was actually a sign of respect. So maybe he wasn’t being snarky, but he was indeed being a little negative. “My hour has not yet come,” he says somewhat cryptically. His kneejerk reaction to Mary letting Jesus know she would love for him to make it so they had more wine at this wedding is not one of anger, but rather, one of reluctance. He wasn’t yet ready to make his authority known to the world. He already knew that his hour—the hour of his death—would come, and then he would rise and the world would know for sure who he was. But he wasn’t ready to make that known yet. And he certainly didn’t want to make it known in a way that almost seems like some kind of parlor trick.
While there are some moments of humor and joy in the Bible, Jesus is usually the straight man. There’s never a mention of Jesus smiling or laughing. It all seems very austere and overly serious sometimes. But I think this moment shows the joy that is possible with Jesus. The Bible and the stories of Jesus are not just salvation and judgement, it’s not just the difficult decisions and ultimatums—it’s also about love and joy. It’s about knowing that real joy is possible, even when things are looking a little bleak. So Jesus might not be the life of the party—I mean, if I was constantly aware of my impending death, I probably wouldn’t be the most outwardly joyful person either—but Jesus knows how important relationships and community are. Jesus knows how important joy is. And because of this knowledge, Jesus does as his mother asks—but he does so quietly, so that only Mary and the disciples know. The world isn’t yet ready. And Jesus isn’t yet ready—he’s not ready to draw attention to himself and his abilities; he’s not yet ready to tell the world who he is.
There are two reasons, I think, as to why Jesus performs this quiet and simple miracle. One is that he knows the importance of togetherness, celebration, and joy. And the second is that Jesus is showing us what’s possible. Jesus is showing us that there is a future full of joy and togetherness and love that is possible. Jesus is giving us a sneak peek of the kingdom of God. And the beautiful thing I find about this, is that, if we’re going by this sneak peek, the kingdom of God isn’t some formal or heavenly place of angels and clouds and piety. It’s a place of gathering and community and love. It’s a place of relief and of joy.
I’m in the middle of a very long novel right now called The Morning Star. In it, there’s a character of a troubled minister who is talking about her relationship with God, with Jesus. In the book, she says, “The teachings of Christ were practical: he did not write about those he went among, did not write even for their sake, but went among them. Talked with them, listened to them, included them. All were equal, all were a part of something greater.... That was my warmth.” When I read that line, I thought of this passage—because this moment, during the wedding in Cana, is one in which Jesus is truly among the people, catering to the needs and desires of his fellow humans.
We, myself very much included in this, often think of Jesus’ most human moments as the ones in which he’s weeping, suffering, experiencing physical pain or mental anguish. We certainly don’t think of moments in which miracles are performed as his most human. But I think in this moment, despite the miracle, he’s incredibly human here—he’s reluctant and nervous about using his abilities, not wanting to draw attention to himself; and he’s also recognizing that a wedding in a tiny town that brings people together with joy and wine is essential and important. He’s truly being among the people, while secretly showing what an earth as it is in heaven would look like—never-ending good wine, merriment, love, togetherness… it’s truly the dream.
Today is Martin Luther King Jr. Sunday. I think we often think of MLK as this idealistic, larger than life preacher—a man who preached unity and peace in touchy-feely and palatable way from in front of the Lincoln Memorial to a crowd of thousands. But Martin Luther King was human. He was always among the people, marching with the people through the streets of Selma, sitting imprisoned among the people in a Birmingham jail. He didn’t shy away from the evils of the day, he didn’t sugarcoat the harsh realities of the racist America in which he struggled and lived. But he also celebrated victories, he felt joy among his fellow citizens. There’s a quote he has about happiness: “…the surest way to be happy is to seek happiness for others.”
The togetherness, the unity, the justice Martin Luther King Jr. preached about was him seeking that for others, seeking that for all people, regardless of race, creed, or sex… he was seeking joy for all.
In his day, MLK was very critical of capitalism in its current form, because he saw first-hand what those weighed down by poverty must deal with. And because of that, many accused him of being a Communist, or anti-American. But his is speech “Where Do We Go From Here?” from 1967, King said, “What I'm saying to you this morning is communism forgets that life is individual. Capitalism forgets that life is social. And the kingdom of brotherhood is found neither in the thesis of communism nor the antithesis of capitalism, but in a higher synthesis.” You can’t pigeon-hole Martin Luther King Jr. He was a radical, certainly, but he wasn’t one political label or another. He was a Christian. And he believed in this higher synthesis. What I take this to mean, is that he believed in a world where everyone has the right to joy. He understood that the world that he lived in, and surely that the world we currently live in was one that forgot that life is social, and that we need to true togetherness and unity with our fellow human. We need to all be able to experience joy.
It’s hard to experience joy when you’re working three minimum wage jobs, totaling 80 hours a week. It’s hard to experience joy when you’re on the streets on a frigid day. It’s hard to experience joy when you’re suffering either physically or mentally and you can’t afford basic healthcare. Martin Luther King Jr. was fighting for a world in which these things would no longer be worries. He was fighting for a world that didn’t forget that life is social; a world in which time to be merry and be with people we love is a right, not a privilege.
Church is so serious, isn’t it? Especially in these traditional New England churches. We just can’t shake the Puritan out of is, no matter how open and affirming we may be. The fact that Jesus always seems so serious in the Gospel authors’ writings don’t do much to help us break out of this seriousness. But Jesus clearly knew the importance of friends, family, and celebration; Jesus clearly knew the importance of joy, and that everyone deserves to experience real joy with their loved ones—everyone deserves to experience real joy everywhere, all the time.
The wedding at Cana is a preview of what is possible. We can have a world with never-ending good wine. We can have a world in which we won’t have to wake up to an empty, messy house, missing our friends as the anxieties of a broken world creep back in.
The Bible is a serious text with difficult, sometimes violent stories. But the story of wedding at Cana is not one of them. It’s a story about a reluctant but kind savior doing a favor of joy for his beloved mother. It’s about the importance of togetherness and happiness. It’s a story about the joy that is possible with Jesus, the joy that is possible among the people; the joy that is possible on an earth as it is in heaven.
On this Martin Luther King Jr. Sunday, let’s remember that “the surest way to happiness is to seek happiness in others.” Working for a world in which we are all able to experience real joy is working for the kingdom of God. Experiencing joy and togetherness among our fellow humans, regardless of race, sex, class, creed, was Martin Luther King’s dream. But to make that dream a reality, we have to work hard and know that everyone deserves joy, that joy is a right and not a privilege.
So let’s work for that world—a world full of celebration, a world in which everyone can experience true joy. Let’s work to bring the kingdom of God to this realm—and let’s never worry about running out of good wine again. Amen.
