Seeing the Light

Text: John 2:1–11
Other texts: 1 Corinthians 12:1-11, Isaiah 62:1-5, Psalm 36

Note: This sermon prepared and preached by Craig Simenson, vicar at Faith this year.

Jesus did this—turned water into wine—the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory.

“Revealed,” from the Greek, efanerôsen, which might more literally be translated, “made manifest” or “made known.”

In Greek, its root word—faneroô—is related to words like the adjective meaning “light,” the word for “torch,” and the verb fainô, which means “to bring to light, to make appear, to make clear.”

According to the Gospel, turning water into wine, Jesus made manifest his glory. According to the Gospel, by this, he brought his glory out into the light.

The same root word in John is used in 1 Corinthians 12, verse 7, used to describe the presence of the Spirit of God among us. “To each is given the manifestation (ê fanerôsis) of the Spirit.”

We can pick up the notes of manifestation and of things brought into the light in the prophet Isaiah, as well:

For Zion’s sake, I will not keep silent,

For Jerusalem’s sake, I will not rest,

until her vindication shines out like the dawn,

her salvation like a burning torch.

The nations shall see your vindication,

and all the kings your glory.

And in Psalm 36:

For with you is the well of life;

and in your light we see light.

Epiphany and these days that follow it is a time of growing light. A time when we as a church body look for the light that grows stronger and brighter among us with every new day.

Epiphany, from epifaneia, another word for “manifestation” in Greek. A word derived again from the root verb fainô, “to bring to light, to make appear, to make clear.”

Epiphany is a time when we look to the God revealing Godself to us again in the Word made flesh. When we look to the God who steps out of the cold darkness into the marvelous light.

This Epiphany and these days that follow it is the story of our own journey into the growing light of a new year. And although we have seemingly come a long way in a few short weeks, from Christmas’ nativity to the visit of wandering magi, to an adult Jesus being baptized in the Jordan and now a wedding feast—we are still at the beginning of this new day.

Jesus did this—turned water into wine—the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory.

Listening closely to the details of the Gospel this morning, however, we understandably might puzzle over just what exactly is revealed in John’s account. In the end, it seems that few know what has happened or who is responsible for it. The Gospel even makes it an explicit point that, though the servants who had drawn the water know where the wine has come from, the chief steward does not. So that when the steward tastes the water become wine, he calls not to Jesus but to the bridegroom.

And there is no indication that anyone but the disciples and perhaps Jesus’ mother recognizes the significance of what Jesus has done.

No, curiously, the gospel’s account ends quite abruptly. There is no public pronouncement, plain and clear, that Jesus is anyone but another wedding guest or that the good wine served last is anything but a bridegroom’s atypical wedding plan. Noting that the wine has previously run out and the steward’s comments about drunken guests, we might even wonder if anyone at the party realizes just how good that wine tastes.

Listening closely to the details of the Gospel this morning, it is not abundantly clear what, if any, kind of glory Jesus has revealed. The world it seems remains in the dark. Jesus’ glory seemingly has little to no impact on those around him.

And, yet, the Gospel declares boldly: Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

Epiphany and these days that follow it is a time when we as a church body look to the God who steps out of the cold darkness into the marvelous light of a new age. Yet, even after the glimmer of Christmas’ morning light, the world is still waiting.

We are still looking for the light to break out from above the horizon.

We are still surrounded by darkness, still left to wait in the cold and gloom of this present winter. Still left to wait in a world that seems even darker now than it did just five days ago.

And, yet, the Gospel tells us boldly this morning: Jesus did this… and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

The irony of John’s account of the wedding in Cana for us, of course, is that when we hear and step into the storyline this morning, we perhaps know more about the one who turns water into wine than anyone else does. The irony of John’s account for us is that our eyes, from the very first moment, are consistently turned to Jesus. Like the disciples who believed, we see what few others notice. We know the story and who sets it into motion. We know that the true light, which enlightens everyone, is coming into the world.

The irony of John’s account for us this morning is that, even though the world remains largely in darkness. Though millions in Haiti, in Afghanistan and elsewhere lie surrounded by death. Even though we ourselves in the struggles and pain of our own lives are still waiting for the light to break out from above the horizon. Still, we see and know that the light for all people, radiant and full of grace and truth, is now beginning its rise.

In Epiphany and these days that follow, we are given this gift—to see the light that is surely coming though darkness surrounds us still, though clouds threaten to dim our view.

Listening closely to the Gospel this morning, recognizing ourselves in the midst of its details, we see the one turning water into wine. Jesus, the one who finally listens to his mother—though the hour of his most radiant light has not yet come—and gives away the best wine abundantly—to a crowd that will not recognize it for what it is.

Our gift this morning is that we taste the good wine and know exactly where it comes from: the abundance of the house of God being built up around us,.. the river of hope and joy from which we drink, the well of life, the light by which we see light.

The glory revealed to us this morning is a glory not only made manifest before us but given to us—that we might believe and follow faithfully, that we might be one body, sharing in common. That we might give to our worlds as abundantly as God gives to us.

There remains darkness, and there will be more on the journey ahead of us—in the footsteps of a crucified Christ.

Yet, this God is already in our midst. This water become wine, this Word become flesh dwells among us here and now.

A new world is coming into being—though the shadows of a forsaken and desolate world remain.

But if we know what to look for—as subtle as it often may be. If we know who we are following. If we recognize that the Spirit of God that turned water into wine dwells also among us. If we look to the glorious and good light illuminating our dark skies already, we will see that we are being called to give ourselves away to a needing world.

The sun has not broken over the horizon yet, but we know that it is coming. And if we give ourselves to the darkened places, there will be enough light and life for all of us, enough healing and resurrection for all of creation.