Appointed to Serve

Jesus, it really looks like you blew this one. I mean, things were going along swimmingly. You’d read the scripture reading; and everyone thought it was great. They were proud of you: the local boy made good. Everybody “spoke well” of you and “were amazed at your gracious words”. They seemed very proud of you, the son of Joseph the carpenter. And then you had to go and throw it all away.

"Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, 'Doctor, cure yourself!' And you will say, 'Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.' Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet's hometown.” What’s that all about? They were amazed; they were proud and then you have to say that! No wonder they wanted to teach you a lesson—the up-start son of Joseph the carpenter.

What was it that you thought you knew that they didn’t? That nothing would ever be enough for this enthralled crowd? That it would always be about you and never about them? That they would seek to rest on their laurels because you came from their town? Or that no matter what you did nothing would retain their attention beyond what you just did—reading and expounding the scripture? It doesn’t make sense to us now. They all spoke well of you and were amazed. What on earth made you say what you did?

True, they turned out to be a fickle group—shifting from admiration and amazement to rage in a moment—but you can’t say that they weren’t provoked. You threw their admiration back in their faces. It looks more like an adolescent tantrum than mature reflection: “The world is against me and nobody can tell me any differently.”

Oh, we know about the prophets. We know about Jeremiah who had to convince the people that he could speak even though he was young; and about Elijah who literally ran from the wrath of the people when he showed up their false gods; and Elisha who cured a foreigner when there were plenty in his own land who were in need of healing. We know that a prophet’s call is a lonely one. No-one like their frailties and failures to be brought to public attention, but what made you… what made you…

What made you speak this particular prophetic word--this communal assessment that cut people to their cores; so that they would prefer to do away with the carpenter’s son rather than face their own demons? Was the response of the assembled company a sign that you had struck more than a nerve, that you had exposed a deep-seated prejudice in that community? Not one of us is good enough. Not one of us can make it in God’s eyes. Not one of us really belongs. We’re happy when we all muddling around together; but if you remind us of our aspirations and our failings; you challenge who we are; and we are afraid. Was it something like we’d call today in Australia, the “tall poppy syndrome”—“Nothing good ever comes from Nazareth”?

We wish we understood Jesus because we suspect if we did; we’d discover more than a little of ourselves in the crowd. Not one of us is good enough. Not one of us can make it in God’s eyes. Not one of us really belongs. We’re happy when we all muddling around together; but if you remind us of our aspirations and our failings; you challenge who we are; and we are afraid.

Or maybe it’s about impossible expectations? And we wonder what are the expectations we have of you, that you know you cannot fulfil and would never want to in 6 billion years, or a thousand creations? Because it’s not what good can come from us; but what good really is and how we so often fail to recognise it for ourselves.

And if you were in our midst today, reading and expounding the scriptures, would we recognise you, or move quickly too from admiration to angst without a moment’s thought, and try to run you out of town?

You know us through and through, Word-made-flesh. You knew us in our mothers’ wombs and long before that in the dust of the stars. You know our rising and our resting; and yet, like Jeremiah and Elijah and Elisha, Miriam and Deborah and Esther, you have appointed us to serve. There are no excuses—being too young or too old; or not having the right words; or not being good enough; or expecting too much or too little. You have enfolded us into yourself, your mission, your ministry, your vocation, your life; and we know that even in our admiration, and our amazement, and our rage, and our aspirations, and our failures, you know us; and we could no more throw you off a cliff than find ourselves in God without you.

And we hear the word which came to Jeremiah, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you.” And we realise that you have appointed us… Today the scriptures have been fulfilled in our hearing. And we wonder what awaits us in a world which can so quickly move from admiration and amazement to rage and angst.

Your word is a 2-edge sword. Your call over nations is not simply about plucking and harvesting, building up and restoring. It is also about pulling down and confronting, destroying and overthrowing all that which is not of your life. And that work begins in us, as surely as it is the work to which we have been commissioned, for you have appointed us to serve long before we knew your name; and while you are a part of us, one of us, you are so much more; and there is so much more to which you call us. Do not just pass through our midst, O Christ, and go on your way. But stay with us and teach us how to do what you have appointed us to do.

Teach us, good Lord,
to serve you as you deserve:
to give, and not to count the cost;
to fight, and not to heed the wounds;
to toil, and not to seek for rest;
to labour, and not to ask for any reward,
except that of knowing that we do your holy will;
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Ignatius Loyola, 1491-1556

Proclaiming the Year of the Lord's Favour

Australians all, let us rejoice, for we are young and free;
we’ve golden soil and wealth for toil, our home is girt by sea.
Our land abounds in nature’s gifts of beauty rich and rare;
in history’s page, let every stage, advance Australia fair.
In joyful strains then let us sing: Advance, Australia fair!

Or perhaps, like Curtis Levy, you prefer:

Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong under the shade of a coolibah tree…

Or even:

When you’re lonesome away from your kindred and all…

Or

Hey true blue, Don't say you've gone,
Say you've knocked off for a smoko and you'll be back later on,

Or

I’ve been to cities that never close down…

There are some things that put us in touch with the deep stories of our community—with our collective mythologies. Now, by mythology, I don’t mean untrue tales, I mean the stories and ideas and concepts and imagery which are the currents and undercurrents of our society: things which seem to speak to us of something of who we are; pictures that help us to think about our place in the world as a community and where we fit in. Very often these stories and pictures and ideas are fairytale-like—they’re don’t seem quite real, but they speak to our dreams, our hopes, our aspirations. And, of course, all of the songs that I alluded to earlier are part of the collective mythology of what it means to be Australian. They’re not the only things that are part of our mythology, but they are some of the significant and enduring musical motifs that keep cropping up whenever anyone wants us to know that it’s Australia and being Australian that they’re on about.

Mythology doesn’t usually appeal to our rationality, our analytical minds; it appeals to our emotions. It articulates something that we don’t really have the words for. And that’s why it’s stories and songs and imagery that come to the fore when we’re looking for those symbols or signs that speak of things too deep or complex for words.

Every society, every community, every group has its mythology. It’s what tells the group who they are, where they belong, what their purpose is, and the type of journey that the group is on. The Armidale Congregation has a mythology. The Uniting Church has a mythology. The whole Christian Church has a mythology. And the people of Israel had a mythology. And when Jesus reads from the scroll of Isaiah, he is well and truly tapping into the mythology of the people.

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favour.
(Luke 4:18-19)

This is the grand vision of what’s called the Jubilee year—the 49th year or the seventh Sabbath year of a 7 by 7 year cycle—although we generally think of it as the 50th year; and we still call the 50th anniversary of something a jubilee. I know that there are quite a few of you who are celebrating your jubilee anniversary of marriage this year.

This is the grand vision of what is possible in a community of people, a nation, which honours God, and enjoys the benefits of the promises of God. It speaks of a time when the ground is left fallow; prisoners (including slaves) are set free; the lost come home; the disabled are healed; land that has been lost is returned. And that vision presumes that the people have been able to enjoy a stable and bountiful existence for nearly 50 years.

In the history of the Jewish people, there has been a lot of discussion of the Jubilee year—when it should be counted from; what it should really mean; what it should really entail—but it is almost certain that such a year has never been celebrated in all its fullness; similarly with the Jubilee years that the Christian church has, at various times, proclaimed. The year 2000 is perhaps one that you will remember where a focus on the justice of jubilee was highlighted in relation to global poverty. And let’s face it, that proclaimed jubilee year got nowhere near where it hoped to be in relation to tackling that immense and complex issue. The Jubilee year has almost certainly never been celebrated in its fullness, although again very clearly there have been calls to both the Jewish and Christian faith communities to at least move towards this grand vision because the vision is something to which we aspire. It speaks to us about something of who we are and what we believe that God has called us to be.

So, here we have the story of Jesus reading about this grand vision from the scroll of Isaiah. And then we have the beginning of his exposition of the passage: “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” We get no more of his sermon. Nor, in the assigned reading for today from the lectionary do we get any indication of the response of his listeners. We are thus forced to focus on the reading and the proclamation: "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favour.

Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.

The passage from Isaiah is part of the vision of the renewal of Zion. It was probably developed during the time of the Exile when the people were far from what they believed God was calling them to be. The vision told a story of hope for the future in a time when Israel's present seemed hopeless. Their hope was initially for the restoration of the nation. Later on, the idea of the Messiah, the anointed one who would bring about the promised dreams of a restored Israel, crept into the interpretation of the passage and the people of Israel had begun to wait for one special person to lead them forth out of their sorrow and oppression. The passage would have had impact in a synagogue in Nazareth of Galilee in the first century. There they were still living under the domination of a foreign power, this time the Romans, and promises of future release would still have been very powerful motifs for the hearts of the people. This grand vision was part of their mythology—the stories that told the people something of who they were, where they belonged, what their purpose was and what kind of journey they were on.

And in the midst of these still unmet dreams and hope and aspirations, Jesus proclaims: "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."
What did it mean for Jesus to say that? The year of the Lord’s favour is now. I don’t expect that people looking around Israel or Nazareth would have been thinking we’ve reached the pinnacle of what our community can be. We often read it as Jesus’ self-proclamation as Messiah; but this vision isn’t simply about a Messiah, it’s about a community. "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."

What would it mean if a community lived towards the vision of the Jubilee year? And I remember the proclamation of John the Baptist in just the previous chapter of Luke: “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise”; “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you”; “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”

"Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." “Today, the kingdom of God is at hand.” Don’t wait for the 49th or the 50th year. Live the life to which God calls you now. The year of the Lord’s favour is now. This vision is really about who you are, where you belong, what your purpose is, and what kind of journey you’re on. Don’t just dream it. Live it! "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." “Go and do likewise.”

Come to the feast of life!

Now there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons (John 2:6 N.S.R.V.)

Now let's just consider this for the moment—six jars each holding twenty or thirty gallons, that’s about 90 to 135 litres for the metricated among you. But let’s just take the mean, the average, which is twenty-five gallons or about 113 litres—multiply that by 6 and you get 150 gallons or 675 litres of water. And the story talks about this water becoming wine. That's 150 gallons or 675 litres of wine. Now if you say that each person could drink a litre of wine—that’s about 4 cups each, but remember they were used to drinking wine in ancient Israel, although they’d already drunk some we’re told. Anyway, supposing that that each person has 1 litre or 4 cups of wine—that’s enough wine for 675 people. But they've already been drinking, so why would they want a litre. How about half a litre or 2 cups? That's 1350 people. And what if we only allocate two of our normal size wine glasses to each guest, that's about 300 millilitres or a very large cup per person? Then there’s enough wine for 2250 people. That's an incredible amount of wine and that's some party that Jesus has got going at a simple wedding in Cana of Galilee! It seems to indicate that there is something more than meets the eye or the ear to this story of Jesus turning water into wine.

It's a strange tale—the story of the wedding at Cana. At first glance, it's a cute story about a bit of a marvel at a village wedding—a kind of fancy party trick, if you like—turning water into wine. There is a certain element of realism in the story: a bit of detail about the physical environment, the number of stone jars and their holding capacity; a bit of colourful characterization drawn in, the steward makes a comment about keeping the best wine till last, a portrait of Mary is painted in a little. Yet the story also has an unreal character about it too: the amount of wine, the setting itself—a wedding. It's hardly the place to pick to make a big splash with your opening gambit in ministry. The celebrant, the local prophet or the newly recognised rabbi are very definitely not the centre of attention at a wedding.

And yet, the story is very obviously considered by the writer of John as having some significance in the story of Jesus' life and work. There could hardly be a more bold statement appended to the story to indicate this than the affirmation made that “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him” (John 2:11 N.S.R.V.). And it is the first of the signs of which John speaks; and the first ministry activity by Jesus following John’s prologue, the recognition of Jesus by John the Baptist and the calling of the first disciples complete with the promise that those disciples will see “great things” (John 1:50 NRSV). The story of Jesus turning water into wine is a very definitely a special story in the Gospel of John and, by the way, the story is only found in that Gospel. It is a special story because it is the very first of the signs of Jesus.

Now John's really into signs or semeia in the Greek: signs of the inbreaking of God's realm and not just of its inbreaking but of its very presence in and through the life and ministry of Jesus. And sometimes with actions of Jesus particularly denoted by John as signs, you get a bit of a clue as to what the underlying meaning of the story really is, but the story of turning water into wine at a wedding in Cana doesn't have many clues that are obvious to us listening to it 2000 years later. We have to go digging about in what we know about ancient Jewish and Christian understandings of religion and religious symbols to discover just why the Gospel of John places such importance on this simple tale. So let’s do a little excavation.

Firstly, we have a wedding. Now as we have already heard today in the reading from Isaiah, the wedding imagery was already firmly established in the Jewish tradition alongside of the promise of land and prosperity for the people. The symbol of a marriage was a symbol of God's promises fulfilled—the fulfillment of God’s intention in the history of creation. In the book of Revelation in the New Testament, we also hear about the "marriage-supper of the Lamb". So the setting very clearly is linked with notions of messianic arrival, with the coming of the Messiah, the one would bring about the fulfilment of God's promises.

Next we have water turned to wine. Ancient Jewish historian, Philo of Alexandria, comments on the story of Melchizedek, a priest, who brought forth bread and wine for Abraham in Genesis (Gen. 14:18). Philo recalls a story of Israel being refused bread and water in the wilderness by their neighbours and then he asserts "but Melchizedek shall bring forth wine instead of water... for he is the priest-logos". (Remember that logos means “word” and the “word” in this connection is the activity of God.) The function of bringing forth wine instead of water belongs to one who is both priest and divine word or wisdom. And clearly a story which has Jesus turning water into wine firmly sets him as priest and mediator, divine word and wisdom—the one who brings forth God's gifts of grace, joy, virtue, wisdom, and all that characterizes what Philo and the ancient Jews saw as the deep realities of the spiritual life. Interestingly, in the story of the wedding at Cana, there is also the allusion to the overturning or the renewing of the law by Jesus since it is from jars of water used for Jewish rites of purification that Jesus is said to have made water into wine.

Finally, we have the timing of the story, the 3rd day. The 3rd day is an ancient Christian symbol for the revelation of Christ in all glory through resurrection on the 3rd day.

So we have a story of a sign which is clearly laid out to indicate that Jesus was the one who came to bring in the new realm of God, superseding the old. The bringing in of that realm is characterised by a depth of spirituality and by the image of celebration—a wedding feast, a party, a festival of a new covenantal relationship made within the community. And, according to the Gospel of John, it was and is some party!!

It is some party because if the coming of Christ could mean that type of celebration of promises fulfilled for the writer of the Gospel around the close of the first century, it has the potential to mean that type of celebration for us today, at the beginning of the twentieth-first century. Jesus' coming, according to the Gospel of John, is marked by celebration, revelation and a depth of spirituality brought about by a renewal of the old into the new. That means a willingess to enter into the new, as Jesus entered into a new phase in his life, prompted by his mother. That means a willingness to be part of the celebration as Jesus was part of the wedding in Cana of Galilee. That means a willingness to see the depth of God's presence in the everyday ordinariness of life, as Jesus is seen to do in the story of turning water into wine. And it means bringing forth our very best for the celebration of God’s realm.

And when you think about the imagery of a wedding is a very apt symbol for all that. For certainly, a wedding is a celebration of the ordinariness of life, of two people choosing to be in relationship and to work at caring for one another—the new emerging from the old; a new relationship and pattern of relating being formally cemented; a new covenant made. A move from one family centre, one orientation, to another being formally acknowledged. And, hopefully, a willingness to acknowledge the depth of the reality of what such a commitment to relationship means.

It is indeed a miracle, the turning of the water to wine at the wedding in Cana of Galilee, but not because of the astonishing transformation of water into wine, nor because of the astounding quantity of wine depicted. Rather, the story points beyond itself to the reality of the coming of Christ into the world in celebration and the revelation of God’s marvellous realm in the very person of Jesus of Nazareth. The reality of the Christ-event is one that is worth a party and it deserves and indeed precipitates some party: a party big enough to satisfy the whole of humanity. And while such a party might need an enormous amount of wine, it only needed one actor and that was the person of Christ.

Epiphany

An epiphany occurs when something is revealed. On the day of Epiphany (6 January), we remembered, the wise visitors and the revelation of Jesus as the light to the nations—the new Israel. In the week following Epiphany, we heard of Jesus’ baptism and John the Baptist as a witness to Jesus being revealed as the Son of God. Last week, we heard about the first of Jesus’ signs in the Gospel of John—the turning of water into wine—and his role as bringer of God’s realm is demonstrated. This week we have the Jesus’ reading of the scriptures and the sermon at the synagogue in Nazareth; and where others have recognised his significance, we find that some people don’t “see” his significance.

“Seeing” the signs of God’s presence isn’t always easy. Christians believe that Jesus is the primary revelation of who God is. Nothing and no-one tells us or shows us more about who God is than the gift we have in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

The scriptures are a witness to that primary revelation. The Church, the body of Christ, is also witness to God’s primary revelation in Jesus Christ. What story does our worship, witness and service tell about who Jesus is and the nature of God? What are we revealing to the world? What epiphany might others have as we engage with them? And what revelations do we discover as we participate as the body of Christ in worship, witness and service together?

The Spirit of the Lord is upon us, anointing us to bring good news to the poor; proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind; let the oppressed go free; and proclaim the year of the Lord's favour (cf Luke 4:18-19; Isaiah 61:1-2a). Do we dare say, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing”? Are we able to proclaim that today this scripture is fulfilled in our midst?

In you, O Lord our God, we find our joy,
for through your law and your prophets
you formed a people in mercy and freedom,
in justice and righteousness.
Pour your Spirit on us today,
that we who are Christ's body
may bear the good news of your ancient promises
to all who seek you. Amen.

(Reproduced from Revised Common Lectionary Prayers copyright © 2002 Consultation on Common Texts admin. Augsburg Fortress. Used by permission.)