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2 OT C ~ "Tidal Wave" ~ Jn 2:1-11 Susan McGurgan, D.Min.

Writer's picture: susan mcgurgansusan mcgurgan


Who knows what really happened that day?

Maybe the guests were unusually rowdy,

or the party,

unexpectedly fun.


Maybe the host scrimped and scraped

and then fervently prayed

that his friends would leave

before the wine ran short

and his poverty was revealed.


Maybe a simple feast,

prepared for 50,

mushroomed

(as weddings often do)

into something not even the bride

could comprehend.


Maybe the dust of traveling

lodged deep

in the back of a dozen throats,

and nothing tasted so sweet

or felt so good,

as a cup of cool wine--

quickly followed by another.


Who knows what really happened?

We only know that the wedding was out of wine.

The party was in danger of dying.

The family was on the verge of public shame.


Medieval paintings sometimes show Jesus at Cana,

surrounded by guests,

his hand outstretched,

hovering over six stone jars

like a conjurer

preparing for a trick.

Six jars,

once empty,

now brimmed with good wine.

Six jars,

once empty,

were now filled.

And yet,

when you look at paintings of this miracle,

When you really,

really,

look at them,

you realize that in most scenes,

those jars

are just too small.


Six stone jars

hidden in a corner,

or tucked away under a table.

Six stone jars,

barely reaching

to the top of his couch,

scarcely filling the space

in an open door.

Six jars,

pictured as too short,

too narrow,

too fragile

to hold this tidal wave of new wine.


180 gallons!


Enough wine

to give 3, 840 people

a standard 6 ounce serving.

Enough wine

to offer 180 lucky guests

their own private gallon.

Enough wine

to fill six large garbage cans

eight wading pools,

two oversized water heaters

or the back end of an SUV.


Enough wine

to launch a flotilla

of model boats

or sink a hostess into debt.

Enough wine

to make everyone in Cana

either sit up and take notice

or fall down in a stupor.


180 gallons.


It’s as if

we can’t quite wrap our minds

around the sheer abundance

that flowed through Cana that day.

As if

our hands can’t bring themselves

to paint jars that are big enough,

sturdy enough,

empty enough,

to hold it all.


Our eyes

skim over the numbers in this story

as if they are mere filler,

an intriguing detail

added to keep our interest

or make the story come alive.

Our familiarity

numbs us

to the fact that at this wedding feast,

no one,

absolutely no one,

will go away thirsty.


Isaiah says,

“As a bridegroom rejoices in his bride

so shall your God rejoice in you.”

This miracle poured out by the gallons

is a sign—

a concrete reminder of God’s delight in us.

It is a symbol of the covenant that binds us—

a bond cemented not by guilt

or by threats,

but by the love that one newlywed

holds out to the other.


This miracle of the jars is an epiphany.

A moment

when God is revealed to us.

And yet,

those words of Jesus, “my time has not yet come”

remind us that this epiphany—

this gallon-by-gallon revelation

of God’s overflowing presence--

is simply one signpost along the way.


The transformation of water into wine,

just like the healing of the lepers,

and the raising of Lazarus,

and the restoration of the bleeding woman

is a marker that invites us to look beyond.

Like legends on a map

or bearings on a compass,

these miracles point us down the road

and guide us along the way.


On that journey,

the true epiphany comes

when we face the loss of dreams

or the loss of friendship—

when we battle human betrayal

or physical pain;

when we find ourselves alone, on our knees in despair

looking up at the cross,

and we remember…

God wants to make emptiness

overflow.


Gallon by gallon,

jar by jar,

God sends us miraculous signs everyday—

a chance to start over,

forgiven,

whenever we have sinned.

A place at the table,

fed,

whenever we are hungry.

A standing invitation to join the party,

even when it appears

that the wine has run dry.


The true epiphany comes

when we realize that,

like painters of the wedding at Cana,

our jars

are sometimes

just a little too small.

The true epiphany comes

when we allow ourselves to be

open enough,

thirsty enough,

empty enough

to receive God’s tidal wave of new wine.


© Dr. Susan Fleming McGurgan

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