Hey friend, welcome back to the semi -seminary
and I'm Pastor Jim. Pull up a chair. If this
is your first time, don't worry. Around here,
we don't check credentials at the door. We'll
just set another plate at the table and let the
conversation unfold. Now, I don't know how you
found us. Maybe it was late at night, the static.
humming on the dial. Maybe a friend passed this
along because they knew you'd been running on
empty. However you got here, I want you to know
the porch light is on. That's the picture I keep
coming back to. A porch light cutting through
the darkness. Says someone's still up. Someone's
still waiting. You're not too late to come home.
And around here, that's what this podcast is.
Porch light in the night. So if the spirit nudges
you today, if something in this old story or
these songs sounds like grace knocking at your
ribs, would you do me a kindness? Hit subscribe,
share it with a friend who might be walking through
their own midnight. Drop a comment, not for the
algorithms, but because words build porches too,
and somebody else might need to hear what you've
got to say. All right, pour yourself a cup. The
story's about to start, and I'll see you on the
other side. So another great story, I think,
to tell you guys today. If you haven't noticed
by now, we're going to be talking about the wedding
at Cana. And let's go ahead and start with where
we are in the story, when the story takes place.
In the book of John. the apostle John, okay,
in his gospel account, he has these things that
he calls signs or wonders. And it's kind of a
portion of the first third of his book. And that
part is actually kind of set aside by theologians.
And it's often referred to as the book of signs
or the book of wonders. And it's these stories.
that John has put together in the first part
of his gospel account. And John says, these specific
things, these signs, these wonders, are my proof,
my evidence, that Jesus really is the Messiah.
Ultimately, John is going to try to argue in
his book, Jesus is who Jesus said that he was.
And John says, I'm going to show you some specific
things that happened to prove it. So in the book
of John, within the book of signs and wonders,
the story of the wedding at Cana is the first
one. First sign in John's gospel. Now, what's
also interesting about the wedding at Cana is
in Matthew's gospel. If you read that account
there. Jesus hasn't even fully got the band yet
together. He has just, Andrew has been called.
They come up from the Jordan back to the Galilee.
Andrew's been called. Andrew tells Peter. Peter
comes along. John and James come along. But the
whole crew that we'll see kind of at the end
in that upper room, whatever, they're not even
fully formed as a group yet. The trip to Cana
is kind of like Jesus and his disciples' first
road trip. This is the first place, this is the
first event where Jesus and his disciples went
somewhere as a group. Okay? So that's important,
right, in the whole series of events because
of what will happen there. So I don't want to
just assume that you know what happened there.
We're going to take the time to actually read
the portion of scripture and listen for ourselves
what actually scripture says about the event.
And then hopefully I want to try to put us into
the wedding feast at Cana and see if we can experience
what that. first miracle of Jesus might have
actually sounded like to our own ears and look
like through our own eyes. I think it's really
a neat story. I hope that you will think so too.
Let's get into the scripture. I'm in John chapter
2 today and it's going to be verses 1 through
11. On the third day there was a wedding in Cana
of Galilee and the mother of Jesus was there.
Jesus and his disciples had also been invited
to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother
of Jesus said to him, they have no wine. And
Jesus said to her, woman, what concern is that
to you and to me? My hour has not yet come. His
mother loved this. doesn't respond to Jesus,
her son, just turns to the servants and says,
do whatever he tells you. Now, standing there
were six stone jars for the Jewish rites of purification,
each holding somewhere between 20 and 30 gallons.
Jesus said to them, fill the jars with water.
And they filled them up to the brim. He said
to them, now, draw some out. and take it to the
chief steward. So they took it. And when the
steward tasted the water that had become wine
and did not know where it had come from, though,
John says, the servants who had drawn the water
knew, the steward called the bridegroom and said
to him, everyone serves the good wine first.
and then the inferior wine after the guests had
become drunk. But you have kept the good wine
until now. Jesus did this, John says, the first
of his signs in Cana of Galilee, and revealed
his glory, and the disciples believed in him.
Thus ends the reading of the word, spoken then
still speaking to us today. You've lived this.
Maybe not a wedding feast in Cana, but in your
own kitchen, in your own bones, that moment when
you thought the thing that you had would last
doesn't. The cupboard is bare. The strength is
gone. The patience is gone. The joy you thought
could carry you for miles sputters out only halfway
home. That's what happens in Cana. Joy collapses.
Shame creeps in. The feast stumbles because the
wine has run out. And into that silence, Mary
whispers to her son, they have no wine. You arrive
there with dust on your ankles and laughter in
your mouth. The room is warm with bodies and
bread, clay cups clink. Someone tells a joke
that seems to get funnier every time it circles
the table. A fiddler saws a tune in the corner.
Perhaps children are practicing the two -step
between the benches. Your cup has a lavender
tint from the crushed skins of the wine, and
you're not even bothering counting the refills.
You're just letting joy do what joy does. Then
the whisper moves like a draft. Under the door,
they're out. You hear it again over your shoulder.
The wine has given out. The music keeps playing,
but softer now, like it suddenly remembered the
price of grapes. No one looks at the groom. The
father of the bride laughs a little too loudly
at nothing in particular. A mother begins counting
loaves with her eyes. You feel the heat rise
in the room, not celebration, but shame. The
kind stains more than cloth. Shame in the air
is thick. Mary leans towards her son and speaks
five words that will, in fact, change the world.
They have no wine. It's not a plan. It's not
a bargain. It's not eloquence. It's honesty.
Listen, prayer is at its holiest when it sounds
something like, Lord, we're out. And Jesus answers
her with a riddle about his hour. My hour has
not yet come. We flinch. Did Jesus just brush
her off? But Mary doesn't argue with him. She
doesn't even look back at him. She turns to the
servants and says, do whatever he tells you.
That, my friends, is a picture of faith. Not
knowing how, not knowing when, just trusting
in knowing who. Now your eyes find the servants.
They're tired already. Flour on their arms, sweat
on their brows, their feet are aching. And against
the wall sit six massive jars, stone, cold, empty.
They're not for wine. They're for purification.
They're meant to wash dirt from your hands. And
Jesus says, fill them with water. Notice them.
Six stone jars hunched against the wall like
oxen at rest. He tells the servants to fill them
up with water. It's not dramatic work, but it
is bucket after bucket. Steps worn deep between
the well and the door. Sandals streaked with
mud. You stand out of the way, but you can feel
the heft of those trips in your own shoulders.
Every splash of water onto the stone sounds like
a prayer that hasn't learned any long words.
And they fill the jars to the brim. It's an unnecessary
detail in the story unless you understand how
grace works. He tells them to draw some out and
take it to the chief steward. No thunder, no
spotlight, just the scraping sound of the ladle
against the stone. And you don't see the moment
that it happens. In fact, no one does. But you
smell it before you taste it. A sweetness like
dark fruit and cedar. Something old and glad
and alive. The steward takes a sip and stops
breathing for a second. He pulls the groom aside,
says most folks serve the good wine first and
serve the cheap stuff later. But you, he says,
you save the good wine for now. The steward tastes.
His eyes widen. This isn't the cheap stuff. It's
velvet rich. It's aged. And he pulls the groom
aside again. Everybody would do this exactly
the opposite way. But you, you saved the good
stuff for last. And the groom doesn't know how.
The steward. Doesn't know how. The guests don't
know. Only the servants, Mary and the disciples
know. Grace here shows up, not in the spotlight,
but in the shadows. Where buckets slosh and jars
stand heavy. Like I had mentioned, we find this.
It's the first of John's signs. And John is using
this very specifically because signs point to
something. And Cana points forward to the third
day, a whisper of resurrection. To the hour,
the cross, where blood will run like wine. To
the Old Testament prophet Isaiah's words on this
mountain. The Lord will make for all peoples
a feast of rich food, a feast of well -aged wines,
and he will swallow up death forever. The jars
themselves preach, made for ritual washing, somehow
to be made clean. Now they're filled with joy
instead. The old way of cleansing gives way to
the new way of grace. Think, too, of Exodus.
Moses turned water to blood as a sign of judgment.
Jesus turns water into wine as a sign of joy.
Judgment gives way to mercy. The law gives way
to grace. And the Old Testament prophet Amos
had promised, the mountains shall drip with sweet
wine and the hills shall flow with it. And at
Cana, that promise begins to pour. And now it's
your turn. Because you know what it's like to
run dry. The parent whose patience snapped before
bedtime. The farmer staring at dust and bills.
The widow at an empty table. The believer whose
prayers feel hollow and it seems like they bounce
off the ceiling. You've heard the whispers. You're
out. You have failed. The party is over. But
Jesus begins where you end. His first sign wasn't
at the temple, but at a table that had run empty.
Listen, his glory breaks in, not at the height
of your strength, but at the bottom of your barrel.
So what do we do? We do what Mary did. We whisper
the truth. We have no wine. We do what the servants
did. Carry the buckets. Obey. Haul water until
your shoulders ache, even if it doesn't make
any sense at all. And then you do what the disciples
did. You taste and you bear witness and believe.
Think of the jars in your life. Not spectacular,
not flashy. Ordinary, heavy, made for washing.
Maybe your jar is your finances. Maybe it's broken
relationships. Maybe it's your grief. Maybe it's
your addiction. Jesus says, fill them with water.
And you think, what's the point? But obedience
is the hinge of this miracle. So fill it to the
brim. Because grace meets us in the ordinary.
Mercy shows up in the slog. Glory hides in the
shadows until suddenly it flickers and flashes.
I've sat with families, swore the cupboard was
too empty to make it another week, and yet somehow
the biscuits stretched. I've seen joy in a hospital
waiting room where there should have been none
at all. I've heard laughter at a graveside that
could only come from hope that's bigger than
death. That's Cana. That's water into wine. But
hear me. Cana is not just comfort. It's a calling
because, and I believe this is ultimately what
John's evangelism to us, the readers, is. Signs
demand a response from us. When we acknowledge
these signs of miracles, we are compelled to
a response. Now, that response is a choice of
yours. And one of those choices is to ignore
it away as some kind of fairy tale. But that's
not the only choice that you can make. You can
believe. You can decide that Jesus is, in fact,
who Jesus said he was. And if that's the case,
then I am compelled to live my life differently.
I am compelled. I must look at the world differently.
I must look at my relationship with God differently.
I must look at my relationship with you differently
because I believe that Jesus is who Jesus said
that he was. You can't sip the wine and decide
to walk away unchanged. And guys, repentance
is not shame. Repentance is simply turning. Repentance
is hauling your jar to the well. It's laying
down your cheap substitutions and just trusting
Jesus with your emptiness. So let me ask you,
What jars are you hiding in your corner? What
emptiness are you afraid to name? What shame
are you dressing up as respectable? Bring it,
name it, obey. Let Jesus make you new. Every
sip at Cana is a rehearsal for the marriage supper
of the Lamb. Revelation 19 says, blessed are
those invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb.
The good wine in Cana points to that final table
where joy will never run dry. The first sign
points to the final victory. And the whisper
of scarcity points to Jesus' roar of abundance.
So, hear the invitation. Whisper your wound.
Carry your bucket. Taste his glory. Repent and
turn. You were there in Cana. You know the ache
of running out. You have seen what happens when
shame creeps in. You've heard Mary's whisper.
You've watched the servants slog the water, but
you have also tasted the wine. Now it's your
turn. Bring your jar. Repent, trust, and drink
deep because the best is not behind you. The
best has been saved for you for the last. Amen?
Amen. Well, that's it for this episode. But before
we turn out the lights, let me leave you with
this. That porch light is still on. Maybe the
story tonight hit close. Emptiness at the bottom
of the cup. Shame when the wine runs out. That
longing for something more. Listen, grace is
still pouring. You're not forgotten and you're
not too late. That's why I keep this mic hot
week after week. Not because I like the sound
of my own voice. I do. Also because someone else
out there, maybe you, maybe a friend of yours.
Stumbling in the dark, looking for a sign that
God hasn't locked the door. And that's what we're
doing here, building a porch wide enough for
weary folks to sit down and catch their breath.
So if this word found you, please don't keep
it to yourself. Share the episode with somebody
who needs a little light on their path. Subscribe
so you don't miss when the porch light clicks
on again next week. And if you've got a thought,
a prayer, a story of your own, please drop it
in the comments. That's how this porch gets bigger.
when all of our voices join in. Until then, keep
walking, keep watching for the light, and remember,
the best wine isn't gone, it's still being poured.
I'll see you next time. therefore he in the principles
and the doctrine of christ let us go on