Miraculous

Miraculous

The next day there was a wedding celebration in the village of Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there and Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the celebration. The wine supply ran out during the festivities, so Jesus’ mother told him, “They have no more wine.”

“Dear woman, that’s not our problem,” Jesus replied. “My time has not yet come.”

But his mother told the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”

Standing nearby were six stone water jars, used for Jewish ceremonial washing. Each could hold twenty to thirty gallons. Jesus told the servants, “Fill the jars with water.” When the jars had been filled, he said, “Now dip some out, and take it to the master of ceremonies.” So the servants followed his instructions.

When the master of ceremonies tasted the water that was now wine, not knowing where it had come from (though, of course, the servants knew), he called the bridegroom over. “A host always serves the best wine first,” he said. “Then, when everyone has had a lot to drink, he brings out the less expensive wine. But you have kept the best until now!”

This miraculous sign at Cana in Galilee was the first time Jesus revealed his glory. And his disciples believed in him. (John 2:1-11)

Let’s pretend you’re an angel. (I know, I know. Humor me.) You’re an angel in the era before the Messiah. God has not yet sent his Son to earth, but he soon will and that’s where you come in. You receive notice that you’ve been given a special assignment. A once-in-an-eternity opportunity. You’ve been asked to serve on a special committee. Quite an honor, don’t you think?

Michael chairs the heavenly task force. “Let’s begin by choosing the first miracle,” he says. “The first miracle is crucial. It’s the lead-off proclamation. It’s the forerunner of things to come. It must be chosen carefully.” “It’s gotta be powerful,” another volunteers. “Undeniable.” “Unforgettable,” chimes in yet another. “We are in agreement, then,” Michael says. “The first miracle of God’s son on earth must have clout. Now, do you have any ideas?”

Angelic creativity begins to whir. “Have him raise a person from the dead.” “Or a whole cemetery from the dead!” “Yeah, vacate the place.” “What about feeding every hungry person one meal?” “Too easy. How about removing all disease from the planet?” “Bingo. I like that idea.” “I know,” the voice is yours. All the other angels turn to look at you. “What if he rids the earth of all evil? I mean, with one great swoop all the bad is gone and just the good remains.” The group is silent.

“Not bad,” says one. “Good thinking,” says another. “Get it done once and for all,” agrees Michael. “It’s settled, then. The first miracle will be to obliterate evil from the earth!” Wings rustle with approval and you smile with pride. (Who knows? You could get a promotion out of this.) “Now let’s move on to the second miracle . . . .”

Far-fetched? Sure. But the story is not without a couple of threads of truth. One is that Jesus had a plan. You can tell by some of the phrases he uses. “The right time for me has not yet come.” (John 7:6) “The time has come for the Son of Man to receive his glory.” (John 12:23) “The chosen time is near.” (Matt. 26:18) “The time has come for the Son of Man to be handed over to sinful people.” (Mark 14:41) “He looked toward heaven and prayed, ‘Father, the time has come….” (John 17:1)

Look at those words. “The right time has not yet come.” “The time has come.” “The chosen time.” What do those phrases mean? Well, they seem to imply a schedule. They represent an order of events. The mission of Christ was planned. Now, my hypothetical angel committee never existed, but a plan certainly did. And there’s a second shred of truth in this little scenario. Not only was there a plan in Christ’s ministry, there was also a first miracle.

The plot is almost too simple. Jesus and his disciples are at a wedding. The host runs out of wine. All the stores are closed, so Jesus, at his mother’s encouraging, transforms six jugs of water into six jugs of wine. That’s it. That’s the lead-off hitter. Pretty low key, don’t you think? Certainly doesn’t have the punch of calling a person back from the dead, or the flair of straightening a crippled leg. Or does it? Maybe there’s more to this than we think.

You see, a wedding in the day of Christ was no small event. It usually began with a Wednesday sundown ceremony at the synagogue. People would then leave the synagogue and begin a long, candlelight procession through the city, winding their way through the soft evening sunlight of the city streets. The couple would be escorted past as many homes as possible so everyone could wish them well. After the processional, however, the couple didn’t go on a honeymoon; the honeymoon came to them.

They would go home to a party. And for several days there would be gift-giving, speechmaking, food-eating and — you guessed it — wine drinking. Food and wine were taken very seriously. The host honored the guests by keeping their plates full and their cups overflowing. It was considered an insult to the guests if the host ran out of food or wine. In fact, hospitality at a wedding was a sacred duty. So serious were these social customs that, if they were not observed, lawsuits could be brought by the injured parties.

“Without wine,” said the rabbis, “there is no joy.” Wine was crucial, not for drunkenness, which was considered a disgrace, but for what it demonstrated. The presence of wine stated that this was a special day and that all the guests were special guests. The absence of wine, then, was a social embarrassment. And Mary, the mother of Jesus, is one of the first to notice that the wine’s run out. So, she goes to her son and points out the problem: “They have no more wine.” And Jesus’ response? “Dear woman, why come to me? My time has not yet come.” (v. 4) It’s almost as though Mary said, “Jesus, they are out of wine. We really need to do something,” to which Jesus responds, “Ma’am, what do you mean ‘we’”? It’s kind of like that joke about the Lone Ranger and his faithful Indian companion, Tonto. The Lone Ranger and Tonto are surrounded by a tribe of Indians and greatly outnumbered. Turning to his companion, the Lone Ranger says, “Tonto, I think we’re in trouble.” Tonto looks back at the Lone Ranger and responds, “What do you mean, ‘we,’ White man?”

But, there are those words again. “My time.” Jesus is aware of the plan. He has a place and a time for his first miracle. And this isn’t it. And about now the angelic committee on the miracles of the Messiah lets out a collective sigh of relief. “Whew, for a minute there, I thought he was going to blow it.” “Me, too. Can you imagine Jesus inaugurating his ministry with a water-to-wine miracle?” “That’s it, Jesus, just say no. Stick to the plan.”

Jesus knows the plan. And at first, it appears he’s going to stay with it. But as he hears his mother and looks into the faces of the wedding party he reconsiders. The significance of the plan is slowly eclipsed by his concern for the people. Timing is important, but people are more so. As a result, he changes his plan to meet the needs of his friends. Incredible. The schedule of heaven is altered so some friends won’t be embarrassed. The inaugural miracle is motivated — not by tragedy or famine or moral collapse — but by concern for friends who’re in a bind.

Now, if you’re an angel on the committee of Messianic miracles, you’re not liking this too much. You don’t like this move on the part of Jesus. Everything about it is wrong. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong miracle. “Come on, Jesus. Remember the schedule,” you urge. “Remember the strategy. This isn’t the way we had it planned.” No, if you’re an angel on the committee, you don’t like this move. But if you’re a human who has ever been embarrassed, you like this a lot. Why? Because this miracle tells you that what matters to you matters to God.

Now, you may think that’s true when it comes to the big stuff. You know. When it comes to the major-league difficulties like death, disease, sin, and disaster — you know that God cares. But what about the smaller things? What about grouchy bosses, or flat tires, or lost dogs? What about broken dishes, late flights, toothaches, or a crashed hard drive? Do these matter to God? I mean, he’s got a universe to run. He’s got the planets to keep balanced. He’s got wars to worry with and famines to fix. So, who am I to tell him about my ingrown toenail? I’m glad you asked. Let his Word tell you who you are.

You are an heir of God, and a co-heir with Christ. (Rom. 8:17) You’re eternal, like an angel. (Luke 20:36) You have a crown that will last forever. (1 Cor. 9:25) You’re a holy priest (1 Pet. 2:5), a treasured possession. (Ex. 19:5) You were chosen before the creation of the world. (Eph. 1:4) You are destined for “praise, fame, and honor, and you will be a holy people to the Lord your God.” (Deut. 26:19) But more than any of the above — more significant than any title or position — is the simple fact that you are God’s child. “The Father has loved us so much that we are called children of God. And we really are his children.” (1 John 3:1)

I like that last phrase. “We really are his children.” It’s as if John knew some of us would shake our heads and say, “Naw, not me. Mother Teresa, maybe. Billy Graham, all right. But not me.” If those are your feelings, John added that phrase for you. “We really are his children.” As a result, if something’s important to you, it’s important to God.

If you are a parent you know that. Imagine if you noticed an infected sore on the hand of your five-year-old son. You ask him what’s wrong, and he says that he has a splinter. You ask him when it happened. He says last week! You ask him why he didn’t tell you, and he says, “I didn’t want to bother you. I knew you had all those things to do around the house and all, and I didn’t want to get in your way.” “Get in my way? Get in my way! I’m your dad. You’re my son. My job is to help. I hurt when you hurt.” And because you are God’s child, if it’s important to you, it’s important to God.

Why did Jesus change the water to wine? To impress the crowd? No, they didn’t even know he did it. To get the wedding master’s attention? No, he thought the groom was being generous. So, why did Jesus do it? What motivated his first miracle? His friends were embarrassed, and what bothered them bothered him. If it hurts the child, it hurts the father.

So go ahead. Tell God what hurts. Talk to him. He won’t turn you away. He won’t think it’s silly. “For our high priest is able to understand our weaknesses. When he lived on earth, he was tempted in every way that we are, but he did not sin. Let us, then, feel very sure that we can come before God’s throne where there is grace.” (Heb. 4:15-16)

So, does God care about the little things in our lives? You better believe it, because if it matters to you, it matters to him. I’d say that’s pretty Miraculous.

Grace,

Randy