The passage you heard is one of the most famous in scripture. Even those who know little of the bible know that Jesus turned water into wine. I saw a social media post recently in which a young woman found $20 in a parking lot, asked herself what Jesus would do with it, and so she turned it into wine.

In the church we have an on-again off-again frenemy relationship with alcohol. In the early 20th century when women got the right to vote they wanted legislators to get their men out of the bar drinking up their paycheck coming home belligerent, and legislators complied with prohibition. Teetotaling has a social justice element to it. I came to faith mostly with Christians who didn’t drink at all. You have to ask them, why would Jesus turn all that water into undrinkable wine? Jesus is often accused of overeating and overdrinking, it’s hard to accuse him of that if he never touched the stuff. And yet I do respect my grandmothers’ generation for making pledges like this: “lips that touch alcohol will never touch mine.” Our grandmothers had some gumption didn’t they?

This story comes early in his ministry as Jesus is introducing himself to the world. He goes to a wedding with no intention of being on the messiah clock. He’s just partying. And his mom comes to say “they have no wine.” Now, there are several ways to interpret this. Some say this couple would have been majorly embarrassed at the start of their marriage to run out of wine in front of the whole village. Bad start for a new household in a world with long memories. And Jesus saves them from that. I don’t know, I prefer to think of this as the totally unnecessary miracle. Jesus supercharges a wedding feast by providing hundreds of gallons of the best wine. He loves a good party. But there’s a third element here. Jesus is annoyed. Our translation has him tell his mother “Woman, what concern is that to me and to you?” That’s overly polite. The translation should be something like “mom, buzz off.” The language here is how Jesus addresses the demons elsewhere, more literally: what do you and I have to do with one another?

Anyone ever have drama in your families? Other-child tension? You’re in good company. The holy family does too.

Mary says this perfect thing. Our Roman Catholic siblings in faith point to this as a treasure from Mary herself, describing the whole gospel: “Do whatever he tells you.” That’s the whole Christian faith in one short sentence. Do whatever Jesus asks. Now look what Mary’s doing here. She takes her son’s rebuke, rolls with it, and then manipulates him into doing what she wanted all along. He objects “my hour has not yet come.” That is, the hour when he’ll reveal his glory. Mama doesn’t care. She also doesn’t argue with him. She just goes and tells the servants, and us, “do whatever he tells you.” He might be God, but he’s still her boy. We don’t learn about the moment of the miracle, but great figures in faith have imagined it. My favourite is this from John Wesley: “water saw her maker and blushed.” Water saw her maker and blushed. There are verses in the bible that condemn drunkenness, and the violence that can ensue. But usually when wine appears in the bible it’s as a sign of blessing. Of delight. You can live without wine. I’ve seen it done. I don’t recommend it, but it’s possible. You can’t live without water. Water is life. Wine is . . . unnecessary. Extra. But delightful. There’s a famous quote from a blind person tasting champagne for the first time who says “wow, I’m tasting stars.” There’s another myth about the beginnings of wine: our forebears noticed when food rotted. A batch of grape juice went bad and was marked “poison.” And a woman with a terrible headache, so terrible she wants to take her own life, goes to the poison, drinks from that poisoned juice and feels better. A lot better. Alcohol is dangerous. But used in the right way—in community, not too much--it’s also good. It’s risky and delightful. Like God. Like life. Like everything else that matters. During COVID we spent years telling one another to “stay safe” “take care”. Maybe it’s time now instead to say “take risks.”

Then this little exclamation from the one who tastes the wine: Everyone serves the good wine first and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the best wine until now.

This is the mystery. On one level sure it means Jesus has saved face for a newly formed family and kept the party going. But there’s always more depths. This is a response to an important question our Jewish and pagan ancestors often asked: if Jesus Christ is so great, how come he came so recently? Like, yesterday? If he’s so important why didn’t God just send him first in the garden of Eden? Now you and I aren’t used to this, Jesus’ life was 2000 years ago, it feels old to us, but it was really too recent for our ancient neighbours. Romans and Jews alike prized antiquity not novelty. We called it the Old Testament to make clear it was the reliable one, the anchor, the foundation. See we have a history. But the question stands if Jesus is so great, why so recent? And only at the end of the book?

And the answer is, dunno. That’s almost always the right answer to any question about God, by the way. For whatever reason, God provides good wine first. And even better wine later, after everyone is past caring. We Christians have an old and terrible habit of saying Judaism is bad to make ourselves look good by contrast. And sometimes Old and New Testament language can sound like a difference between bad and good. God of wrath vs God of grace. Don’t do it. Don’t believe it. John’s contrast is different: good wine and then even gooder wine. Everything in Israel’s story is true. All Jesus does is ferment it. Make it unnecessarily tastier, more drunk-making, more risky, more dazzling. The gospel tastes like stars. It heals not just headaches but everything wrong in creation. When water blushes it’s a sign that all creation will blush: our bridegroom is here and means to marry us.

The church I serve is in a historically prestigious neighbourhood in Toronto called Forest Hill. I asked a mentor of mine, the great preacher Fleming Rutledge, how to grow a historic church like this. I pointed out Forest Hill has some 13 churches in it, all beautiful historic buildings. We probably need 2. It’s hard to move em. If we were starting over we’d spread them out across a city much faster then it was a hundred years ago. Fleming said well two things. One, you need traffic in the building. Get people inside. People only consider coming to church after they’ve been in your building 10 times or more. Look for excuses. Throw parties. Turn water to wine. Whatever it takes. And two, she said, churches are like teenagers. You gotta feed em. I know something about this: each teenager of mine who’s left the house for college, the grocery bill goes down so much it feels like a pay raise. Don’t ask me about the tuition bills. There are six kitchens in the building of the church I serve. Six! It was designed so that five groups could be eating and a sixth could come up and we could say, “Sure we have a kitchen just for you”. And we do feed people all the time. With our food bank program, twice a week, its guests have doubled since covid. We have the standard coffee and cookies on Sunday with little snacks lots of the time. But if you’re lucky enough to be a teenager we’ll feed you a full meal every week. I just think this isn’t enough. We should be eating together more often. And not just snacks, carbs and caffeine, but the sort of good food you have to linger over. I wonder if Jesus’ people could be known again for how great our parties are? The place we are in our city is a desert for coffee and wine. Someone out there knows how to fix this in our great space with one of these kitchens and we could even call it: coffee-to-wine. Somebody trademark that! A pastor I met said his first change in his new church was to get rid of snack food. Every meeting over a proper meal. When you digest things together you settle in to a deeper sort of communion, like Jesus’ people are supposed to. Someone wise pointed out Jesus eats his way through the gospels. You can’t open two pages of the gospels where Jesus isn’t eating somewhere. I like depictions of him as fat. Suits me. In real life, Jesus is the very hungry caterpillar. If there’s not enough food Bam Jesus just makes more. If there’s not enough wine, get ready for a deluge a washout of the world’s best wine.

There are parts of our faith that have to do with renunciation, with sorrow, with death. Jesus is about to enter into this when his hour does come. But this story points to another feature of Christian faith: A party with even better wine later than earlier—excessive extravagant, gushing joy. If one of the bean counters at the religious institution doesn’t complain, “This is a waste!” Then you’re doing it wrong. When Jesus comes among us in flesh, it’s first as a partyer. And we religious leaders say sheesh, he needs to calm down, doesn’t he? Non-religious types say “wow, I didn’t know God is this good!” In most of my experience of communion in church, we treat it like a very solemn ordeal, something to be endured. But stories like this make me think it should be more like a wedding feast. The cup tastes like a party where the wine just keeps getting better. I heard someone say recently that food is God’s love made edible. In the Lord’s Supper we take these simple tiny gifts, bless them, break them, and give them away, and everybody eats. This isn’t enough food or drink I realize at the Lord's table. We all still go home and have lunch. But one day it’ll be a feast without end, with the poor in the places of honour, the establishment and religious authorities at the foot, but still at the table I hope, and Jesus himself as host. And guest. And food. And wine. And that will be one serious party. Do whatever he tells you, Mary says, and when mama talks, she means it. Amen.