Second Sunday After Epiphany Year C

Here is my sermon for MLK weekend. I somehow wanted to stay away from the miraculous nature of Dr. King's legacy, and remind us all that we are called to do what he did. Since the lectionary texts for the day included the miracle at the wedding in Cana, I didn't somehow want to compare King to Jesus--so using Colm Toibin's novel The Testament of Mary I was able to instead (sort of) compare Mary to King.  This sermon concludes with King's Letter from a Birmingham Jail. The full text can be found here.          

 The wedding at Cana is one of the most recognizable, or familiar miracle or sign stores in the gospels. Of course it is particular to John’s Gospel. It is not in any of the other three. Surely it must tell us something about John’s gospel then. And it tells us a little something about the relationship between Mary and Jesus. Or as Mary is called in John’s language the mother of Jesus. There is something to that. Remember John’s emphasis on language. The words matter. So Mary, is not called Mary, but is referred to by her relationship to her son. That interaction between them is so fascinating in this passage. First of all we know that Mary is at this wedding before we learn that her son is there. And she speaks before he does in our text too. It is she who notices that the wine has given out. She says to Jesus “they have no wine”—but like all mothers, or maybe most mothers, there is somehow an implication in this observation. Or at least her son perceives it that way. He seems to know, or feel that she is asking something of him rather than just noticing that there’s no more wine.  Jesus’ response seems a little harsh. But commentaries assure me to assure you that Jesus does not mean to be rude to his mother. He is just sort of considering the etiquette. I had never really thought of Jesus as caring too much about etiquette, but this story seems to make a case for it. But just as soon as Jesus has told her it’s not their place to do anything about it, Mary tells the servants to listen to him. It’s a little like that stereotypical bragging mother. “Have you seen what my son can do?” she almost seems to be asking. “Go ahead and let him show you.” What does it mean that the mother of Jesus almost seems to goad him into this first sign? What does this suggest about their relationship? How does Mary know that Jesus can help them? Has he been turning water into wine in their home for years now? Perfecting the art of this sign? She seems to know something about his glory before it is revealed to others in this sign. Perhaps that is just sort of the way that some mothers know things about their children even before they know it about themselves.

I couldn’t help as I read this story to think about a book I read right before Christmas. Fr. John gave it to me as a Christmas gift, and it has sat with me this last month. It is called “The Testament of Mary” by Colm Toibin. It is a novel from the perspective of Mary where she shares her view on her son’s life. It’s just a novel, of course, but novels can have powerful ways of shifting our understanding—or getting us to understand things from a different point of view. Or maybe it’s that novels can tell stories that we didn’t even know were there. All of this is to say that Toibin’s novel is both a logical and difficult novel to talk about in a sermon. Most especially because Mary denies the divinity of her son. But before we get to that part, I wanted to read a small part of the novel from a part about the wedding feast in Cana. I am reading it to you partly because Toibin’s prose is pleasant, but also because I think it adds an additional dimension to the wedding story.

“More of them began to shout that there was no wine left, some of them even focusing their attention on me, as through I could do something about it. I outstared them and when they shouted louder I pretended that I did not hear them. I may have sipped some wine but it was a matter of indifference to me whether there was any left or not […] But my son stood up and spoke to those around him, asking that six stone containers full of water be brought to him. What was strange then was how quickly those containers were carried into the room. I do not know whether each one contained water or wine, certainly the first one contained water, but in all the shouting and confusion no one knew what happened until they began to shout that he had changed water into wine. They begged for the bridegroom and the bride’s father to come and sample the new wine as one of them began to proclaim how strange and unusual it was for the host to have kept the good wine until last. And then a vast cheering went up and everyone at the feast began to applaud. No one noticed, however, that I did not cheer.”

             This mother of Jesus is a lot more wary about what is going on. Rather than a mother who instinctively seems to know what her son might be capable of we instead have a mother who knows what this sign might imply. She is worried about what might befall her son, and is aware of the danger that this sort of miracle might put him in. John’s gospel has a mother prescient about her son’s gift, this novel has a mother prescient about the meaning of that gift. She knows that this gift may lead to his death. I wonder as I look at John’s gospel if when Jesus says “my hour has not yet come” if he is expressing some fear. If he knows what it might mean to do this sign.

            Toibin’s novel ends with some evangelists coming to Mary to ask her to tell her story. They are telling her “He was the Son of God and he was sent by his father to redeem the world. By his death he gave us life. By his death, he redeemed the world.” Mary’s response to this is haunting. She says. “When you say he redeemed the world, I will say that it was not worth it. It was not worth it.” What a fascinating insight into the mother-child relationship. I think what I found so lovely about Toibin’s novel was the way that it gave Mary some humanity. His vision of Mary is of a mother. She doesn’t care about everyone, or the whole world, but instead wishes her son were still alive.

            I have been thinking a lot about the way we remove the humanity of people we admire this week as I have been preparing this sermon. When I mentioned to people that I am preaching on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, their reactions are often “What a saint.” And mine was “He is such a prophet.” And neither of those words are wrong. Dr. King is a saint and a prophet. But both of them distance ourselves from him. Both of those words make it seem like he was capable of things we are not. And of course, he could preach like few people can, and he could rally people like few of us can—but he lived the gospel like all of us are called to do. We are all called to the same things that King was called to. Just as King was called to work for Justice, so are we. Just as King was called to love, so are we. Just as King was called to lay down his life, so are we.

            And so I want to end with a few of Dr. King’s words. These are taken from “A Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” This letter came in response from a request from white clergy in Birmingham to stop his action there, and to be more patient.  This paragraph is from somewhere in the middle of the letter.

Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever. The yearning for freedom eventually manifests itself, and that is what has happened to the American Negro. Something within has reminded him of his birthright of freedom, and something without has reminded him that it can be gained. Consciously or unconsciously, he has been caught up by the Zeitgeist, and with his black brothers of Africa and his brown and yellow brothers of Asia, South America and the Caribbean, the United States Negro is moving with a sense of great urgency toward the promised land of racial justice. If one recognizes this vital urge that has engulfed the Negro community, one should readily understand why public demonstrations are taking place. The Negro has many pent up resentments and latent frustrations, and he must release them. So let him march; let him make prayer pilgrimages to the city hall; let him go on freedom rides -and try to understand why he must do so. If his repressed emotions are not released in nonviolent ways, they will seek expression through violence; this is not a threat but a fact of history. So I have not said to my people: "Get rid of your discontent." Rather, I have tried to say that this normal and healthy discontent can be channeled into the creative outlet of nonviolent direct action. And now this approach is being termed extremist. But though I was initially disappointed at being categorized as an extremist, as I continued to think about the matter I gradually gained a measure of satisfaction from the label. Was not Jesus an extremist for love: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you." Was not Amos an extremist for justice: "Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever flowing stream." Was not Paul an extremist for the Christian gospel: "I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus." Was not Martin Luther an extremist: "Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise, so help me God." And John Bunyan: "I will stay in jail to the end of my days before I make a butchery of my conscience." And Abraham Lincoln: "This nation cannot survive half slave and half free." And Thomas Jefferson: "We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal . . ." So the question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice? In that dramatic scene on Calvary's hill three men were crucified. We must never forget that all three were crucified for the same crime--the crime of extremism. Two were extremists for immorality, and thus fell below their environment. The other, Jesus Christ, was an extremist for love, truth and goodness, and thereby rose above his environment. Perhaps the South, the nation and the world are in dire need of creative extremists.