Up to the Brim

John 2:1-11

January 20, 2019

            I saw a great cartoon the other day. It depicted a human and two cats. The perspective was from the human point of view looking at the cats. You never actually see the human’s face. The cats both wear expressions of startled horror. The only words given were what the human was obviously saying to the cats.

            “You know, you can eat the food at the bottom of the bowl.”

            Perhaps this is really only funny to those of us who own cats or who have spent any time with cats. But if you have spent time with cats, you get it. You get it, because this is true all over. Now I grew up in a dog family. We never had cats. My dad is not a cat person, which is the world’s greatest understatement. But for some reason I believed the myth that cats are easier to have as pets, for renters and for people with busy families. And in some ways they are easier; until it comes to the food at the bottom of the bowl.

            My cat Pippin lets me know in no uncertain terms that he has reached apparently the inedible food at the bottom his bowl. Usually this happens about 4:30 in the morning. He used to wake me up by knocking one thing at a time off my dresser until I opened my eyes. I always knew when I slept really deeply because I would wake up to a whole pile of things knocked from my dresser to the floor. Now, he just sits by me on the bed, staring. If I don’t stir, he bats me on the forehead.

            I don’t know why cats get uptight about emptying their food bowls. Maybe it’s because they are just cats, and the dregs of last night’s dinner are not good enough. Or maybe it’s instinctive. Instinctively they know the danger of scarcity, and once that food is gone, perhaps they won’t get anymore. So rather than let it run out, they don’t eat it and turn instead to letting their human know that it’s never too early to feed the cat.

            The food may still have been plenteous at the wedding feast in Cana, but the wine had run out. The crux of this story – that Jesus turned water into wine – is fairly well-known in the larger culture. It’s something that you might hear a reference to in circles outside of the church. But the depths of this story, and perhaps even the “why” of this story, are less known.

            The wedding at Cana is just that: a wedding. But unlike the ceremony that I am currently planning, a wedding in Jesus’ culture was not just a one day event; it was at least a three day feast. I have read other commentaries that state it was a seven day feast. If you are planning to feed guests a feast for seven days, food and drink would have to be well planned and abundant. This was not just an issue of showing off. It was about hospitality. Hospitality, as you may know, was the foundation of that society. Hospitality was important. It was intentional. It was part of the Law. So for this couple and their families to run out of wine was not just about bad planning or a shortage, it was a lack of hospitality. And running out of wine would have brought shame on them.

           And hearkening back to the Old Testament, the wine was also seen as a symbol of blessing. Running out was serious. No wine, no blessing. So perhaps this gives us a better understanding of why Jesus was called in by his mother to do something about the wine. But to our ears, it may still seem somewhat frivolous. Especially as this is the first act of public ministry by Jesus in John’s gospel. Mark begins with an exorcism. Luke, as we will read next week, has Jesus preaching as his first act of ministry. Matthew tells of Jesus calling for repentance because the kingdom of heaven had drawn near. But John states that Jesus’ first act of public ministry was by replenishing the refreshments at a party that had gone off the rails. Interesting choice.

            Yet just as the wine symbolized something greater to the people at that wedding, in John’s gospel wine also symbolized something more; something deeper and more profound. Wine was an eschatological symbol. It represented God’s abundance and glory and blessing in the time to come. If that was what wine symbolized, then let’s think about how much wine Jesus produced.

            It would seem that the mother of Jesus – never called Mary in John’s gospel – was one of the first to realize that the wine was almost gone. She turned to her son for help. Jesus’ response to her sounds rude to our ears; but I think rather than rudeness it was about distancing. This isn’t our concern. My time has not yet come. But like any mother, she didn’t accept his answer. Instead she turned to the servants and told them,

            “Do whatever he tells you.”

            If Jesus was reluctant at first, he gave in. He told the servants to fill up the large stone jars meant for purification with water. And don’t just fill them, he told them, fill them up to the brim. They did as he told them. He instructed them to draw some out and give it to the chief steward – perhaps the wedding planner or head caterer in our time – and the steward was amazed at what he drank. He didn’t know where this fabulous wine came from, but he knew it was better than any wine he had ever tasted. He told the bridegroom,

            “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.”

            Clearly this was not like the wine in a box we might serve today. This was the good stuff. And it wasn’t just a taste, it was abundant. It was filled up to the brim. It was overflowing, gallon after gallon after gallon. This was the good stuff.

            This was the good stuff, filled up to the brim and overflowing for the newlyweds and their guests. And this is the good stuff filled up to the brim and overflowing for us. That is the key to this story, to this passage, abundance.

            It is an abundance of wine, filled up to the brim and overflowing. And it is an abundance of God’s love and grace, filled up to the brim and overflowing. That is the deeper meaning of this miracle at the wedding in Cana. In John’s gospel, miracles are never called miracles. They are called signs. And what do signs do but point to something else? Billboards on the road are not there in and for themselves. They point to something else. Jesus’ sign of turning water into wine points to the abundance of God’s love and grace and glory for us now and for us to come. How wonderful and amazing it is to think of God’s grace in this way, to think of the abundance of God’s love and glory, just filled up to the brim for us and for God’s world.

            Yet with thinking about all of this abundance, I cannot help but think about those people and places who are decidedly without abundance; whether it is of the material or of the physical or the emotional or spiritual kind. And I cannot also help but think of how rarely I’m willing to see abundance in my own life. How often do I lead from a place of scarcity? How often do I think only about what I don’t have, what I may never have? How different would my life be if I could trust in the abundance of God?

            I don’t think I’m alone in this. I suspect that we humans are more like the cats I described at the beginning of this sermon. Don’t we worry that once something is gone, there won’t be anymore? What would the world look if individuals focused more on abundance than scarcity? What would communities look like? What would nations look like if we saw abundance rather than scarcity; if we could just see that there is more than enough for everyone? What would this world look like if we all believed, if we all trusted that God’s abundance of love, of grace, of blessing, of the good was more than enough for everyone? What would this world look like if we trusted God and trusted that God provides not just enough, but filled up to the brim and overflowing?

            Thanks be to God. Amen.