Second Sunday in Ordinary Time C
At the time I was learning how to cook,
I was also learning how to appreciate wine.
One of my “gourmet” friends
taught me a good rule of thumb
to make sure you’ll always
have enough fruit of the vine
for your dinner party:
divide your number of guests in half, then add one—
that’s how many bottles of wine
you should have on hand.
I’ve never run short.
I was thinking of that principle
as I reflected on this Sunday’s gospel.
Doing just a little bit of research and math,
I calculated that the water turned wine by Jesus
would have filled between 600 and 900 modern bottles.
Even if it was a really big wedding,
there’d be enough to make it though dinner!
But
this first—and rather extravagant—
of
the miraculous signs performed by Jesus
apparently
went unnoticed
by
most of the folks who directly benefited from it.
Jesus
says to Mary, “How does your concern affect me?
My hour has not yet come.”
Jesus
went along with his mother to that wedding
as
a regular ol’ guest.
Were
the newlyweds family friends? Neighbors?
Perhaps
customers of the carpentry shop?
We
don’t know.
But
we can safely assume that Jesus wasn’t invited
because
he was a rising star of a preacher
with
a reputation for performing wonders.
If
there were any rumors about him floating around,
they
would have been surrounding the circumstances of his birth,
not
that he might be a prophet—and certainly not the Messiah!
Jesus’
public ministry had only just begun.
His
hour had not yet come.
He appeared
to be an ordinary man
living
an ordinary life among so many others.
But
how is Jesus’ true identity
not
discovered by his fellow wedding guests
even
after producing 900 bottles of really fine wine?
Because
most of them weren’t at all aware
that
the wine had run out.
From
the way the story’s told,
you
get the impression that even the headwaiter—
who
should have known better than anyone—
seems
oblivious to the fact that this dinner party
was
about to come to a crashing halt.
When
you don’t realize there’s any problem,
then
you’re not in the least on the lookout
for
somebody to save you from it.
The
Church continues to bask in the light of the Lord’s Epiphany,
celebrating the
saving mystery that the God of heaven
has
been made manifest here on earth:
manifest
as a tiny child to the star-guided magi;
manifest
in the waters of the Jordan River
as
the heavens opened, the Spirit descended,
and
the Father’s voice was heard;
and
manifest today at Cana in Galilee,
as the
hand which had once divided the waters at creation
But
this great revelation of Jesus
as
God come in human flesh,
as
the Only Begotten Son of God,
as
the promised and long-awaited Savior of God’s people
is
of little avail to those who have no idea they need saving.
And
so the party goes on as planned
with
just another ordinary guy among so many others.
We regularly
ask God to reveal himself to us—
to
make his presence clearly known,
and
often in miraculous ways.
But
a far more foundational step is to ask God
to
reveal us to ourselves:
to
open our eyes to our real need, our weakness, our sin.
Who
needs a Savior when “it’s all good”?
Who
needs a liberator when he thinks he’s already free?
Has
Jesus’ hour come in your life?
It’s
not a question of his presence;
we
have his assurance that he remains with us always (Mt 28:20).
Nor
is it a question of what he can or cannot do;
as
his Virgin Mother understood so well:
for
him, all things are possible (Lk 1:37).
It’s
a matter of recognizing
that
your life is otherwise incomplete,
that
you have deep wounds in need of healing,
that
you’re incapable of saving yourself—
that
you can’t go on without him.
Whether
anybody noticed or not,
Jesus
was no ordinary wedding guest.
And
that’s because he’s no ordinary man:
in
Jesus, the truth about God is revealed to us;
in
Jesus, the truth about ourselves is revealed to us, too.
Recognize
your need that you may recognize your Savior,
and
then watch him change your life in a way far greater
than turning water into so much good wine.
than turning water into so much good wine.
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