stone and water

 

The Gospel set for the Second Sunday of Epiphany is John 2.1-11, the account of Jesus turning water into wine at a wedding in Cana of Galilee.

It is a favourite passage of mine, and paired with my favourite Collect (or Prayer for the Day, the day in question being the Second Sunday of Epiphany).

I want to pay attention to the details. There are six stone jars, for holding water for ritual purification, that is, a physical and bodily action that invites us to pause and to experience our body as holy, something that is both inherently good and chosen by God for his good purposes for his world, truths we lose sight of in the business of daily life. Such rituals are a gift, bringing us back to our body as gift, and are especially relevant to those of us who have been shaped by the Enlightenment and the Cartesian view that ‘I think, therefore I am’ without reference to my body or the bodies of my parents and indeed my ancestors from whom my body was given me.

There are Jewish water-purification rites relating to the menstrual cycle, not because women are a contaminating presence but because they have a body that experiences cycles to be attended to, not only on a practical level; cycles that connect them deeply to all creation. There are Jewish water-purification rites relating to eating bread, inviting us to pause and wonder at our hand, and the intimate connection between labour and food. There are rites of cleansing when laying out the dead, to remind us of the gift of a living, breathing body, for we bring nothing into the world and will take nothing with us when we leave it; and rites of cleansing before a priest declares a blessing, to remind us that a blessing is not merely words but a physical thing, a hand stretched out, air passing through a voice-box, matter connecting with matter in ways that matter.

The water used for water-purification must be living water, that is flowing, directly from a spring. But some took the view that living water could be stored and carried – though not directly touched – in stone jars. Unlike the more common (cheaper, readily available, disposable) clay jars, stone does not become ritually unclean when it comes into contact with something ritually unclean – such as blood, or a corpse. The family hosting the wedding in Cana used stone jars, which suggests that ritual purity was essential to them. This in turn suggests that they were a priestly family. We know that priests lived in Cana, and, along with other priests scattered in Levitical towns across the land, took their rostered turn serving at the temple in Jerusalem. If so, they would also have a spring-fed mikveh (a bath used solely for ritual submersion) in their home, and it would be from this water that the servants filled the jars at Jesus’ direction. (We once owned a house that had a stream flowing through the basement and occasionally flooded and had to be pumped out.) That there are six jars is a matter of biographical detail – the reason there were six jars was because there were six jars – not some theological symbolism – six days of creation, for example. The significant detail is that they were stone.

Mary, the mother of Jesus, and Jesus himself are invited guests, and the kind of close-circle guests expected to stay for the duration. Mary herself is thought to have been from a priestly family, and these may be her relatives. As she is not the host but nonetheless keeps a close and interested eye on proceedings, it is possible that this is the wedding of one of Jesus’ siblings. It is possible – though this is entirely speculative – that it is the wedding of one of Jesus’ sisters to Nathanael, after Nathanael has discovered that good things can come out of Nazareth after all, and Jesus has vetted Nathanael and declared him to be ‘a true Israelite in whom there is no deceit.’

Everything about this account – the jars, the water, the wine – is gift. It is not the case that the wine is better than the water (though it is better than the wine that had already been consumed). Jesus is not superseding anything here. We are not doing away with Judaism. Everything is gift and everything matters. The servants must manoeuvre heavy stone jars, fill them from the mikveh, carry them back, dip a ladle into the water, which is now wine. The master of ceremonies must lift the wine to his lips and drink, and declare it very good, though he does not know from where it came or why it is only now being brought out. The servants know where the wine came from, but not how it came to be wine. It is gift, and mystery. It is participation.

The Collect for the Second Sunday of Epiphany declares:

Almighty God,
in Christ you make all things new:
transform the poverty of our nature by the riches of your grace
and in the renewal of our lives
make known your heavenly glory ...

The phrase ‘the poverty of our nature’ is a recognition that we do not make ourselves – do not summon ourselves into being by our own power and authority – but receive our life as a contingent gift, wondrous, deeply connected to others. We do not need to make ourselves acceptable to God; nor does Jesus need to make us acceptable to God (though he may need to open our eyes to see). Yet, as if this were not wondrous enough, what is already gift is transformed into another – a different – gift ‘by the riches of [God’s] grace’ – that is, through the act of another gift-giving. This is grace upon grace.

You are a gift, and that gift is embodied. That body will age, and experience limitations, and is intended to become thoroughly inter-dependent with others, who are themselves also gifts who enjoy the gift of life. The gift you are is a gift that will undergo transformation, many times over, as your personal story is woven into the big story God is co-authoring with humanity. Like the servants and the steward, we will both know and not know what it is that has happened, for it is a mystery, not to be explained but to be entered. Like the disciples, we will be given a glimpse of Jesus’ glory and are encouraged to respond by affirming our belief in him. The occasion of our transformation may be a running out of some resource, as the wine ran out; or the abundance of a resource, as the water filled the jars to the brim. The ebb and flow of our lives is full of endings and beginnings. In all things, may Jesus be glorified.