This is certainly one of the stranger mother and son dialogs in scripture. Mary, Jesus and the disciples are at a wedding. The wine gives out, and Mary comments to Jesus: “They have no wine.” Jesus responds: “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” Then his mother says to the servants: “Do whatever he tells you.”
I may be projecting something into the text that’s not there, but Jesus sounds a little cranky to me. We don’t have a recording and so it’s unlikely we’ll ever know what tone of voice he had when he responded to his mother’s comment. Perhaps his response holds softly voiced curiosity, but I don’t think so. Most of us have heard or participated in similar communications and know that the second line is usually spoken in a snappish sort of way.
It’s one of the stranger mother and son dialogs in scripture, but it’s
not unlike the dialogs most of us have had at one point or another with a parent
or child—or with a spouse, friend or colleague.
One person makes an observation. The second person comes back with a retort
along the lines of “It’s not my fault!” or “It’s
not my job!” or “Why should I care?” And the first person
comes back with “Whatever!” or some similar “Sorry I started
this” kind of closure to the conversation.
In most of the situations we’ve experienced, the tone of the response rarely has anything to do with the situation at hand and everything to do with what the second person is bringing to the conversation. Perhaps there’s some history behind the response—some long-standing patterns that are popping up in response to a cue. Perhaps the second person is at the end of a long day or concerned about the next day. Or perhaps life has suddenly taken an unexpected turn.
The wedding and this conversation takes place three days after Jesus’ baptism. John’s gospel doesn’t describe the baptism as the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke do. Instead, on the day after the baptism, John the Baptizer describes the Holy Spirit descending on Jesus like a dove and points to Jesus as the Son of God. On the second day, as Jesus walks by, John again points to him, calling him the Lamb of God. Disciples begin to gather around him, and Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, names Jesus as the Messiah. On the third day, Jesus goes to a wedding, and his mother tells him there is no wine.
Within the last few days, Jesus has been baptized, called the Son of God and the Lamb of God and gathered an entourage of disciples who are following him everywhere, and now his mother is telling him there is no wine. This is probably enough to put anyone over the top. We can imagine that Jesus has been trying to figure out what is happening to him and what he is called to do. In parallel gospel stories, the Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness immediately after his baptism. In the solitude of the wilderness, he has time and space to reflect on the events of his baptism. In the wilderness, he can hear echoes of the voice from above. In the wilderness, he can begin to understand more clearly what it is that he’s called to do.
But there’s no wilderness in this story. Jesus is thrust center stage,
and the entire village is watching every step. His mother tells him there is
no wine, and we can hear her invitation to him to step forward into this new
life. But he’s not ready. “Not yet,” he says. “Not now,”
he says.
“Later. It’s not time yet. I’m not ready.”
Jesus wasn’t ready and sometimes neither are we. How many times have we each been called into a new way of life—a new way of living as Christians? The first step—the step into new territory—is always the biggest, and even when we are anxious to begin, most of us hesitate. There are reasons why this is not the moment. There are reasons why we should learn more—become better prepared—become more faithful—before we step into a new role or a new way of behaving. In those moments when we’re poised to take the next step, we can be full of arguments for the old way of doing things. “Not yet,” we say. “Not now,” we plead. “Later. It’s not time yet. I’m not ready.”
As Paul points out in his letter to the church at Corinth, each of us is given
gifts through the Holy Spirit. However, unless and until we choose to act in
the fullness of those gifts, they are useless.
The prospect of using those gifts can be a scary thing. We may experience an
abundance of fears. We may be concerned that we won’t be able to do what
it seems we’re called to do. We may be worried about what the people around
us will think. We may worry about the change that will happen in our lives.
But when we take that step—when we move into a new way of living and behaving—a
miracle happens—just as it did that day in Cana. We usually don’t
turn water into wine, but a miracle happens nonetheless, as we are changed—transformed—made
more nearly the people God creates us to be.
As followers of the living Christ, we are called to follow. To walk in his path. To risk uncertainty and disapproval. To live our lives in mindfulness of our baptismal covenant. Perhaps most importantly, to trust in God’s help at every step along the way.
Thanks be to God.