Foundry UMC DC: Sunday Sermons
Religion & Spirituality:Christianity
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC June 5, 2016, the third Sunday after Pentecost.
Text: John 2:1-11
I can remember hearing my grandparents tell me about how they got married. To my ten year old ears, I heard my Grandpa say they walked to a holler over yonder with a couple of friends and were met in the middle of a road by the Justice of the Peace. It’s a very strange image I’ve carried with me for years. Regardless of how it actually went, it was certainly a pretty simple affair. However, in Jesus’s time, weddings were huge celebrations, lasting at least seven days. They were community events—all were invited—with feasts and parties and food and wine and dancing. I’m sure that folks looked forward to these big celebrations with eager anticipation. Imagine the most extravagant wedding you’ve ever experienced and then multiply that by a lot—that’s what we’re talking about here. When we understand weddings in this way, we begin to see why the image of the wedding banquet is used throughout scripture in portraying the Kindom of God.
Jesus used this image in his parables as the prophets had used it for ages, to describe the fulfillment of what God intended for humankind from the beginning. After all, what is marriage? A new beginning, a new way of being in relationship marked by mutual love, honor, and commitment. The wedding feast also developed in early Christian understandings as an image of a future hope, in which all who are invited, all of humankind, will gather around the table of God’s love and grace. One important part of these marriage banquets was wine. Wine was the normal beverage at meals, for while water wasn’t always safe to drink, wine was. And, like so much of our religious tradition, common elements hold symbolic power. Wine is a symbol of joy. It is also a sign of hope—like the banquet itself—of the joyous arrival of God’s new age; just as the grapes have been transformed, so will the world be. We pray for this future celebration every month when we gather around the table and share the prayers of Holy Communion, praying for that day when Christ will come again and “all will feast at God’s heavenly banquet.”
This image of the wedding feast is the context for our Gospel story today: a celebration! A party! Like all parties, this party had a host, the person or family who was responsible for providing the food and wine. So as the story goes, this marriage celebration was not yet to the half-way point. All was well, it was a wonderful party. The host was in good shape. Until the wine gave out. To say “the wine gave out” was worse than any humiliation that we can imagine for the host of one of these ancient celebrations. To say the wine gave out is to say that the party is over. It’s the end. No more joy, no more celebration, no hope. One commentator goes so far as to suggest that such a humiliation would have been enough for the host of the party to consider suicide. The wine gave out. The life of the party is gone.
I have a feeling that most of us have a sense of what it feels like for the wine to give out. When we consider wine in its symbolic way, as a symbol of what we have to offer others, as a symbol of joy, as a symbol of hope, as a symbol of new life. The wine gave out. In one way or another we have all had this experience. Those moments in our lives when what we have to offer runs out. We run out of energy. We run out of joy. We run out of money. We run out of patience. We run out of new ideas or motivation. We run out of forgiveness. Our bodies give out. Our positive attitude gauge is on empty. Perhaps you have experienced moments in life when cynicism and resentment have sapped your reserves of trust and generosity. Perhaps you have experienced moments in life when the pressures and injustices of the world rob you of hope. Perhaps you, like I, have experienced these moments of emptiness, these times when you feel used up. Maybe you, like I, have had to recognize at certain points in your life that you can no longer be the life of whatever metaphorical party you’re attending, your family party, your work party, your self-care party, your ministry party, your relationship party. Sometimes the only party I can manage to make is a pity party. We are forced to acknowledge at these points that we have limits. That we are finite in our humanity. That others are just as limited and broken as we are. That we can’t always control the things that happen in our lives—that sometimes when we’ve been burning the candle at both ends, we just end up burned out…and therefore sometimes we run out of reserves.
So what is to be done when the party’s over, when the wine has given out? Looking again at our Gospel story for today, we see that there were six empty vessels. And Jesus said to the servants: “fill the jars with water.” On this “third day” what was empty was filled. On this “third day” there was new life for the party, there was salvation for the host, there was joy and wonder. What had given out was miraculously recreated for all to share: from what had been empty vessels flowed an abundance of the best wine folks had ever tasted. And I find it interesting that, uncharacteristically, this sign done by Jesus was not done in public. That is, only the servants of Jesus knew where the wine came from. Only the servants of Christ knew who really was the life of the party.
So what do we do when we find ourselves empty of whatever has been depleted in our lives? Invite Jesus to the party. I don’t mean this in any kind of flip, simplistic way, as if inviting the holy presence of the living Christ into our lives could ever be a simple proposition. In fact, many of us know that when Christ is present our lives can become more complicated and challenging not less. But—as we learn from the Gospel for today—when it seems that the party is over and that hope is lost, Christ can bring new life, new hope, new joy, new purpose and power. When human planning has failed, when human choices have been harmful, when even the best efforts have not been able to restore what has been lost, Christ can make something new. When we are tired and broken and empty, there is an abundance of grace that will fill us with our deepest need. Christ can fill the empty vessels of me and you with the life we need to party on. How? Well, first of all, for something to be filled it has to be open. So often in moments when “the wine runs out” we tense up, shut down, close ourselves off. This can keep us from being open to receive what is available. Even when we are used up and empty and exhausted, we still have some agency. We can choose whether to be open to what Christ can do in and through us.
“Do whatever he tells you.” Mary says. That is very good advice for anyone who is feeling depleted and empty. “Do whatever Jesus tells you.” Today he tells us to: “Take, eat…take, drink…this is my body, this is my blood, this is my life given for you—poured out so that you might be filled, strengthened, and enfolded into God’s vision of loving communion.” Christ invites all of us to the party that is God’s life, to be fed and loved and transformed, all equally sharing around the table of God’s gracious banquet celebration. At this banquet Christ is both the host and the feast. And that means that the wine never runs out; it means that hope, wonder, joy, forgiveness, and a love that promises to heal and save the whole world flows eternally—even until all is restored, transformed, and made right.
I don’t know about you, but on days like today when I feel pretty tapped out, I’m beyond grateful that I’ve been let in on the secret: Jesus the Christ is the life of the party. All we have to do is extend the cup that is our life and be filled.
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