At What Cost?

Scripture: John 2:1-12

A sermon is best presented as a smooth stone, something the Holy Spirit has worked on in me and then I present to you, with the Spirit’s help. You can then turn that stone over and over, seeing how it reflects brightness and absorbs shadows.  

A good sermon has heft, as well as tiny flaws- keeping you focused on the perfect God and not the imperfect preacher. If the standard for a good sermon is a smooth stone, as I just said, then today- I do not have a good sermon. Today’s words, with no less help from the Holy Spirit, have a ragged edge. This sharpness has snagged at me this week and resists polishing. 

 

It is not lack of preparation that has retained this unpolished roughness; it is the difficulty of the question at hand. The texts of the day bring us to a question that cannot be answered in this life, not without great risk to integrity and faithfulness. This is my content warning. While there are some smooth edges ahead, this sermon is more of a cutting tool than a polished comfort object. 

 

When Jesus’ ministry formally begins in the gospel, according to John, he is at a wedding with his disciples and his mother. In Matthew, Jesus preaches, heals, and casts out demons. In Mark, Jesus preaches, casts out demons, and heals. Same actions, different order. In Luke, Jesus preaches, escapes a death threat (Luke 4:28-30), casts out demons, and heals people. A little extra excitement there, but same story. 

 

Why, then, does John start with this sign of water into wine?

 

A small segue into vocabulary: The author of the fourth gospel does not use the term miracle, or any similar word, in this book. Instead, the writer employs the term “sign”. Water into wine, healing of a blind man, speaking to a Samaritan woman, raising Lazarus from the dead- all of these are signs of God’s presence in Jesus and in the world. They are not miracles- one-off demonstrations of power. They are signs- indicators of the holy in the world and divine power at work. John 1:16 notes “from his fullness, we have all received grace upon grace”. The author does not use the word grace again but shows what it looks like through the signs Jesus works in the world. 

 

This sign, the sign of up to 180 gallons of good wine, is more than an indicator that God understands hospitality and reveals that understanding through Jesus. The sign of water into wine illustrates two very specific verses from John. 

 

John 1:18 No one has ever seen God. God the only Son, who is at the Father’s side, has made God known.

 

John 10:10 The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.

 

The sign of water into wine is a clear revelation through Jesus of the nature of God and the divine desire for us to have abundant life. God’s will is not for any person or other aspect of creation to scrape by a meager existence with little joy and rare celebration. God’s intention, as revealed through 180 gallons of good wine, is for us to live well, in harmony together, and with our needs met, so much so that we shall not want. 

 

None of this is difficult so far, right?  If I stop here, we have a smooth stone to hold. 

 

… but I’m going to go on. (You’re not surprised.) 

 

Here is the jagged edge in this story, the part that will not let go of me, the place where I continue to wrestle for a blessing in the hopes that I might limp away. 

 

When Jesus’ mother asks him to do something about the dwindling wine supply, he tells her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” And his mother tells the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” 

 

His hour has not yet come. 

His hour has not yet come. 

His hour has not yet come. 

 

The gospel according to John is divided into two sections, the book of signs, which goes through the raising of Lazarus, and the book of glory, which goes through the post-resurrection appearances. In John, Christ’s glory is revealed in his faithfulness through death and God’s same faithfulness through the resurrection, thwarting death’s alleged power. When Jesus speaks of his hour coming, he is referring to this time of glory. Jesus knows, as does his mother, that once God’s presence is revealed in him, human resistance to God’s grace and glory will begin. Are 180 gallons of wine worth that risk? The beginning of what will stir up anger, rejection, and plots to kill him until one succeeds? 

 

His own mother says yes. She knows what her yes means. She knows the cost of this sign of God’s presence. She can look at her adult son, seeing the baby he was, the child, the young man… and still she says it is time. And she knows the cost. 

 

Jesus’ death is not inevitable in terms of being required. It is inevitable because people resist grace, stonewall against repentance, and will run toward false gods like a sense of control, political power in this world, and judgment of others before they will yield to divine mercy and abundant grace. 

 

This water into wine came at a high cost. From the moment the steward sips the wine and calls the bridegroom, the clock (sundial?) has begun toward human rejection of Christ and an attempt to kill God’s presence in the world. 

 

This is the jagged edge of this sermon. Do we truly ever consider what grace costs God? 

 

I have received some excellent questions lately about how we can discern if something that happens is from God. The tension in this question comes from the fact that just because God permits something to occur does not mean that God caused the thing to occur. I will say that again: just because God permits something to occur does not mean that God caused the thing to occur. 

 

In John, the word we use for world is actually cosmos. As in, “for God so loved the cosmos”. God is present in the cosmos. God is active in the cosmos. God is still speaking in the cosmos. 

 

But at what cost to God? 

 

When we are trying to discern what God does and how God acts, we must weigh the cost to the divine, even though we cannot fully understand it. 

 

We know that God in Jesus was willing to begin the dangerous journey to the cross with 180 gallons of good wine. Each healing, each sermon, each exorcism from there on out was a step toward human rejection and divine suffering because of brokenness. Yet, God considered it worth the cost. 

 

What does it cost God to heal some people through death, rather than through medicine or miracles? 

 

What does it cost God when people count material possessions as blessings, but reject the teachings of Jesus about caring for others? 

 

What does it cost God to pour out love for creation, but to see human beings only partially embrace their vocation of stewardship of the earth? 

 

What does it cost God to know that Jesus promised to draw all people to himself, and yet we fight over who is in and who is out? 

 

What does it cost God to witness some people being healed because of their access to medical care, while others suffer or live in fear? 

 

What does it cost God to desire, deeply, abundant life for all of us and to watch us hesitate, hedge, and hem and haw about irrelevant things? 

 

What does it cost God to have brought humanity to deeper and deeper understanding about the wonders and mysteries of all that is, only to see us reject science, medicine, and reason for our own misunderstandings? 

 

What does it cost God to bring forth grace upon grace, in creation, in our relationships, in possibility- over and over, year after year, until the end only God knows? 

 

This is the jagged edge of this sermon for me. It is the side of the solid rock which I cannot smooth out for myself or for you. 

 

What does it cost God? 

 

I have no idea. 

 

I cannot imagine. 

And, in this area, I am not willing to risk being wrong. 

 

All I comprehend, in the end, with this rough edge in my hand, is this small balm: 

 

There are costs to God, beyond our knowing. 

 

And yet God charges us nothing. 

And that alone is the only good sermon. 

 

Amen.