By the Rev’d Hilary Willett
Season: The Second Sunday of Epiphanytide.
Readings: Isaiah 62:1-5 | 1 Corinthians 12:1-11 | John 2:1-11
When I got married to Kit, I wanted to have a little wreath for my hair. I’ve always been a little bit into the woodland aesthetic. The school Kit was working at was across the road and had enormous bushes of lavender, which we had gotten permission to use. We went across together and spent a few hours picking lavender and piling it into bags. While my mother was helping out with some of the wedding prep, I sat beside her and started constructing a lavender wreath. After about an hour, I showed her my work. She took one look at it and exclaimed, “You can’t wear that!”
Immediately offended, I said, “What? I like it! It’s rustic.” She gave me a look. I think some of you may know this look. It’s a uniquely parent look. A slightly pained grimace that shows they’re trying really hard to be supportive… but are also deeply unconvinced. After a moment, Mum sighed, held out her hand and said, “Can I have a go?” I rolled my eyes and handed her the wreath.
For the next half a day, my mum worked on the wreath. She managed to convince a florist to give her some florist tape. This is what she came up with.
I admit it was pretty good.
So today in scripture, we have come to the wedding at Cana, a very familiar story. Jesus performs a miracle, turning water into wine. It is perhaps one of Jesus’ most well-known miracles in Western culture… that and Jesus walking on water.
We know the Cana wedding story well. We know that it shows something of the generosity of God to make the wine that is superior to what had come before. Some of us may even be aware that in ancient Israelite cultures, wine was a symbol of God’s blessing, so Jesus turning water into wine could be seen symbolically—sometimes, God brings blessing out of ordinary circumstances.
But as I had another read of this very familiar story, something stuck out at me.
Mary. Mary stuck out, in a way that she hadn’t to me before. Specifically in verses three to five:
“When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’ And Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.’ His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’”
Is there anything that stands out to you about these verses? Take a moment to chat about them to your neighbour, or ponder them yourself.
What stands out to you in these verses?
The thing that stands out to me is the little shift that happens between Jesus saying his “hour hasn’t come” and Mary saying to the servants: “Do whatever he tells you.”
Do you see that? That gap between sentences. Mary starts by talking to Jesus, Jesus responds, and then Mary simply turns and talks to the servants. Mary doesn’t answer his question. In fact, she pays absolutely no attention to what Jesus has just said. She fully just ignores God and “God’s timing,” and assumes that God will do what she has implicitly asked.
I like to think that in that moment, Mary gave Jesus a mum look. “Oh, it’s not your time is it? It’s not yet your time huh? Well that’s fascinating Jesus. So you’re just gonna let this social disaster happen are you?”
Mums are powerful.
And then, bizarrely, Jesus does what she has asked for. This may not feel very weird if we were just talking about people. But Jesus is God. The God who, in the previous chapter, was there at the beginning and made all things. And this God allows themselves to be convinced and to act, despite this timing not really being a part of the plan. Truly, radically, bizarre.
But, then, is it that bizarre? Many writers in the past have thought so, believing that an all-powerful God cannot also be a God who is persuadable. But as Princeton theologian Carol Hess implies, there are possible problems with writing off the possibility that God is persuadable.[1] Professor John Roth agrees with this view, arguing “if the biblical narratives can be trusted at all, God’s activities do form changed ways from time to time.”[2]
Because it’s actually not the first time in the Bible that they have allowed themselves to be convinced. In Genesis 18, Abraham pleads with God to spare Sodom, and God listens. In Exodus 32, God is persuaded by Moses to spare Israel. In Jonah 3, God sees the repentance of the people of Ninevah and turns from anger. In Ezekiel 4, God tells Ezekiel to eat impure food as a symbolic sign of Israel’s political corruption, but Ezekiel protests and God relents. Later, in Mark 7, Jesus is persuaded by the argument of the Syrophoenician woman to heal her daughter. There is a long tradition of God listening to and being persuaded by the concerns of humanity.
What is rather delightful about Mary’s interactions with Jesus here is the deep familiarity and loving connection pervading the passage.
Rather than being a very dire, life-or-death situation, like the other moments where God has been persuaded, this is so very domestic. The consequences to Jesus refusing to act would be rather mundane—some social awkwardness. Even in a highly communal culture, where hospitality and generosity are highly prized, no one will die if Jesus does not act.
Yet, he does. Jesus allows himself to be persuaded by his mum. The person he initially calls “woman,” a rather distancing term, becomes his mother again in this interaction. There are many times when I feel inspired by stories about Jesus, but this one is so endearing. Jesus, the Word of God, listens to his mother and does what she asks.
Sometimes, I think we think of God as very distant from us and our current realities. Our ordinary, sometimes mundane, concerns aren’t that important. We say things like: “Oh, others have it harder than me”, and we quickly dismiss our worries as unimportant. What is lovely about this story is that the so very ordinary concerns of Jesus’ mother are responded to. Mary brings out a new understanding of God, a new epiphany about the character of God: that God does not dismiss the ordinary concerns of our lives. Rather, God responds to us and listens, even allowing us to change their mind.
As we think and pray about this coming year, I invite you to reflect on the concerns and worries that are sitting with you at the moment. Don’t dismiss them too quickly. How might God be responding to you about them? How would a kind parent respond to you about them?
Bibliography
[1] Carol Lakey Hess, “Theological Perspective,” in Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 1: Advent through Transfiguration, Kindle (Louisville: Westminister John Knox, 2009), 636.
[2] John K. Roth, “A Theodicy of Protest,” in Encountering Evil, A New Edition: Live Options in Theodicy, ed. Stephen Davis (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 34.