Trinity Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)

Sermons 

Title: "Water or Wine?"

Text: John 2:1-11

this is the first miracle we see Jesus perform.

Turning water into wine,

so that people can continue to party.

Some of you have heard me say this before, but

this is something terribly important to remind ourselves of

at times when we start to imagine Jesus

as terribly somber, or serious, or grim:

His first miracle – three days after his baptism –

took place at a party,

and had the effect of

encouraging the party to continue.

Well, that’s not our usual image of Jesus, is it?!

If a stranger came up to you –

or even a friend who wasn’t much of a churchgoer –

and out of the blue, said "Tell me about Jesus . . . "

the first phrase out of your mouth

would probably not be "party animal."

And certainly, there is more to him than that . . .

But many churches are

so uncomfortable with this first miracle

that they insist Jesus didn’t really

turn water into wine . . .

it was more like an early version of Welch’s,

non-alcoholic, of course.

But that ain’t what the book says.

Anyway, the story line is clear.

Jesus has the caterers draw jugs of everyday water,

probably from the same backyard well

that the host’s family has been using all these years,

and by the time they get to the partygoers,

they are jugs of wine.

And not just any wine, either:

much better wine than the host himself had provided!

Of course, the point of the story,

and the reason John included it in his gospel,

is not to prove that Jesus was a partygoer,

though that’s certainly in there.

It might be more to the point

to suggest that the story got put in

because it happened right after Jesus’ baptism,

and was the first demonstration

of his specialness and his power.

I think that’s quite true – but we have to remember

that most of the folks at the party never found out

it was Jesus who provided the wine . . .

they assumed that the host

really had saved the best wine for last.

So not many people found out

that Jesus was special and powerful

through this particular miracle.

I wonder if another purpose behind the story

isn’t simply John, telling his readers,

that Christ has the power

to turn something very ordinary

into something quite extraordinary.

Not just water into wine . . .

if you’re God, that’s small potatoes.

Interfering in the course of nature is comparatively easy;

it doesn’t resist.

No, what’s truly miraculous is the possibility

that Christ might be able transform us.

Us, ordinary, plain-vanilla people

into something or someone extraordinary.

I suspect that perhaps John is hinting at this as well.

The difficulty, of course,

is that we do resist being changed.

Think about it like this:

Even if you go through a normal winemaking process,

and use grapes, and sugar, and fermentation, not a miracle of some kind . . .

after a few months or years,

you will get wine.

It may or may not be good wine, but it is wine.

Some human beings, on the other hand,

never change.

There are lots of different ways that we can and do

resist being transformed.

Let’s look at a few.

At the very outset, a major obstacle for many of us

is that we don’t like to think of ourselves as ordinary.

We’re not as common as water!!

Especially plain ol’ tap water, or well water,

or – heaven forbid – Trinity River water.

We like to think of ourselves as more special than that.

And we are all different from one another,

I don’t deny that for a moment.

But it seems that often,

we also take pains to deny our common humanity.

Extreme example:

Remember the first time you ever

fell really goofy in love with someone?

And how you were quite sure that

no two people on earth

had ever felt quite the same way

as the two of you were feeling at that moment?

At the other end of the spectrum, it also happens in times of grief or loss:

Our hurt feels so deep,

and we feel so alone,

that we are sure no one else

has ever endured quite as much pain

as we are having to live through.

We often like to think of ourselves as different from other people

when it comes to questions of sin:

You know, "my sin is not as bad as your sin,"

that kind of thing.

"I may cheat on my taxes

but at least I didn’t bankrupt my company

and cost thousands of people their jobs

and thousands of retirees their pension . . ."

"Okay, I’m a glutton; I eat way too much,

but that’s not nearly as bad as abusing drugs,

or other really bad things I could be putting into my body.

Besides, food isn’t illegal."

It may be hard for us to accept the idea of our own transformation

if it means that first

we have to acknowledge our ordinariness.

And even when we have done so, then,

the next obstacle seems to be that

we don’t want to accept anyone’s help

in being transformed.

Admitting that we might be just plain water

is hard enough . . .

How much more difficult it is to acknowledge

that we need help from beyond ourselves

if we ever want to be

anything more than ordinary.

We’d rather do it ourselves,

thank you very much!

The deceptive thing about that is,

up to a point, it will work.

We can change ourselves through effort, through will power,

through the choices we make.

We can lose weight, change jobs,

start or end a relationship,

move to a new city and start over.

But we can’t truly transform ourselves

under our own power.

Not from water into wine, anyway.

As far as we can get on our own, is maybe

from, say, river water to bottled water,

cleared of some impurities . . .

or from ordinary water to Perrier,

with a little extra fizz we didn’t have before.

But water to wine?

Only Christ can do that.

And even if and when we do reach the point

where we come to accept that we can’t

do it for ourselves . . .

the last obstacle seems to be that

we want to get to decide

what it is we’ll be transformed into.

We’d like to exercise a little control

over the outcome.

We reach a point where we can say,

yes, I’d like for Jesus to transform me,

but couldn’t I be – root beer instead of wine?

Or even grape Nehi?

Or how about a really fine single-malt Scotch?

How hard it is for us

really to let God be in charge.

I think that’s why the metaphor of wine

is a powerful one.

Whether we’re talking about "spirits" as in alcohol,

or the Spirit,

we’re talking about

not having total control over our self.

Now in the case of too much wine,

that’s not a real good thing.

But if we can imagine being filled that much

with the Spirit of God . . .

that’s a wonderful thing.

It’s also scary.

Because, unlike being drunk,

when you’re oblivious to the fact that that

you’re out of control . . .

When we are transformed by the Spirit,

we’re very much aware that

someone else is in control, not us.

We don’t get to set our own course.

And from the point of view of

those of us who are still plain ordinary water,

that’s scary to contemplate.

Giving anyone, even God,

that kind of control over us,

is a big change

that it takes a while for us

to get ready to accept.

I can recall at one point on my own journey saying,

okay, God, I give up;

I’m not going to law school,

you can make me into a minister

if that’s what you REALLY want,

but don’t you dare say the word "missionary" to me,

and do not ever send me to a church in Houston.

Which is somewhat akin to saying,

"transform me from water into . . . a wine cooler."

Where are you?

Are you water, or wine?

Have you accepted your humanness?

Have you acknowledged your need for God?

Have you determined to accept God’s plan for you,

whatever it includes?

You see, there’s a party going on . . .

and they need wine.

That’s us.

It is a tremendous responsibility.

But it’s also a whole lot of fun.

May we have the grace to allow God

to make us into wine for the world.

Amen.

© 2004 Julie Adkins (e-mail: DrJAdkins@trinitypresdallas.org)