Advent Lutheran Church

"Ordinary Activities, Extraordinary Joy"

                Grace and peace to you from God the Creator and the Lord Jesus.  Amen.

                Long before there was Conan O’Brien, long before there was Jay Leno – there was Johnny Carson as the long-time host of The Tonight Show.  Carson had a remarkably lengthy run as that program’s host, and one of his most memorable programs involved a very brief, but engaging, interview with an 8-year-old boy.  The boy had been invited onto the show because he had helped rescue two of his friends who had been trapped in a coal mine collapse near their hometown in West Virginia.

                During the course of the interview it became apparent that the little boy was a Christian.  So Johnny asked him, “So, do you go to church?” 

“Oh yes,” the boy said, “my parents take me every week.” 

“How about Sunday school?” 

“Sure, I go to Sunday school every Sunday.” 

“And what are you learning in Sunday school these days?” 

“Well,” he said, “last Sunday we heard the story of Jesus changing water into wine at a wedding.” 

“Really,” Johnny said, “and what lesson did you learn from that story?”

                All of a sudden the boy got that deer-in-the-headlights look.  He obviously had not thought all that deeply about that story.  But then his face brightened; he had come up with an answer! 

“Well,” he said, “I think it means that if you’re gonna have a wedding, you better invite Jesus!”

                Profound bit of advice from an 8-year-old, isn’t it?  If you’re gonna have a wedding, you better invite Jesus.  As I thought about that vignette I realized that that’s exactly the advice I had hoped I was dispensing to the dozens and dozens of couples that I’ve married here at Advent, getting across to them in our premarital conversations the point that, as important as the other realities of marriage are – conflict resolution, communication, attitudes about money and children and leisure time – “if you’re gonna have a wedding, you better invite Jesus.”

                The reason, of course, is universally experienced at one time or another: sometimes, the wine runs out.  I’m not referring to the cabernet sauvignon, but to the deep-down joy and satisfaction that gives life its wonderful richness.

                It was, however, the cabernet, or whatever passed for it in ancient Palestine, that was the initial focus that day when Jesus came to the rescue.  Jesus, his mother, Mary, and the disciples had been invited to a wedding in the little village of Cana, about 9 miles north of Jesus’ hometown.  At that time, a wedding celebration might well involve the entire village, and could last a full week – seven days of celebrating.  And at some point during that time, they ran out of wine.

                This was no small problem for those in charge of the celebration.  To run out of the provisions that kept the party going would be a source of great embarrassment and shame for the host.  Mary spots the dilemma and turns to Jesus for a solution.  Jesus, in turn, essentially says to her, “what is the connection between your earthly worry about wine at a wedding and my divine mission to save humanity?”  Jesus is simply acknowledging that he and his mother come from two distinctly different realities and have very different concerns.  Up to that point, as St. John tells the story, Jesus has performed no miracles, done nothing extraordinary.  He knows that as soon as he does, as soon as he begins to live out his true identity as the Son of God, the Messiah, the clock will start to tick.  He will be brought into increasing conflict with the religious and civil authorities, and it all will lead to his death.  Crucifixion is not far off, and there is much to do, much to teach before that happens.  And so he asks, “What is the connection between your earthly concern about wine and my divine mission of salvation?”

                In the end, of course, Jesus himself makes the connection when he takes that earthly difficulty and turns it into a sign that points ahead to the Kingdom of God.  Water, which had been used in a ritual to comply with religious law, now becomes a joyful means to celebrate God’s free gift of grace and abundance.

                We need signs in our lives.  We need signs like this to point us to a greater, more joy-filled reality.  Because there are times when the wine runs out.  I know of a young woman who dreamed, ever since she was a little girl, of going to medical school and becoming a doctor.  That was her grand vision for her life.  Then, in the first semester of her freshman year in college, she failed organic chemistry.  Her dream for how her life would unfold evaporated.

                I know of a middle-aged businessman, very successful in his company, his feet firmly planted on the ladder of success, four children at home, two college tuitions to pay.  Senior management had assured him time and again that he was safe, secure from the waves of layoffs that occasionally rumbled through his company (no, it wasn’t Sprint).  Then the next layoff came, and it caught him.  Thirty days, that was it.  Not in his plan.

                Sometimes the wine runs out, that sense of safety, satisfaction, joy, fulfillment.  It runs out of our marriages, our jobs, our hobbies, even life itself.  The problem comes, of course, when we decide that we can restore that sense of joy all by ourselves.  We say, “Well, I’ll just get a new job, different car, new house, different spouse – that’ll put me back on top of the world, and I’ll be able once again to say, ‘Life is good!’” 

But it isn’t long before we discover that those changes are only cosmetic, and we’ve only been successful at changing water into – water.  What we’ve failed to do is to honor and trust the fact that the One who changes water into wine, who helps us shift our focus in life from success to significance – that One is in our very midst, and often in some very surprising ways.  And often in some unseen ways too.

                For example: It’s been interesting to see how we Americans are coping with the recession.  It’s been going on for some time now, and it is becoming apparent that we’re responding to it as a nation by focusing more on adding to our experiences rather than by acquiring things.  A recent NBC poll showed that more than half of Americans are spending less money on nonessentials and more time doing activities, everyday sorts of activities like gardening, cooking, other hobbies; and that we’re having those experiences not by ourselves but with friends and family. 

                Surveys by the Department of Labor support those observations.  According to those surveys, in comparison with 2005, Americans in 2008 spent less time buying goods and services and more time in what they called “organizational, civic and religious activities.”  We’re valuing relationships and experiences more than the acquisition of things, and that’s a major shift in this country.

                Those surveys and polls represent real people, people like Barbara, a 73-year-old retired nurse from Texas.  She cut back dramatically on her purchases after she returned from a mission trip to Nicaragua.  She said, “We don’t need half of what we got.  We cannot rely on money and the banking system and the government to come up with all the answers.  People years ago were more self-reliant and more able to take hold of the reins and do things themselves.  I think we need to get back to some of those basics.”

                Those aren’t only the sentiments of the older generation.  They are echoed by 25-year-old Elizabeth, a nurse in North Carolina.  She learned to value experiences over things when she was in college.  Money was tight, and that financial reality forced her out into activities that she shared with friends, activities like gardening and going to museums – free activities – and helped form habits that now she continues.   Now, she says, “I’m having fun working on projects around the house, even if it’s just pulling weeds or taking my dog, Amos, for a walk.”

                We’re turning back to some very unspectacular, everyday activities and finding in them some extraordinary satisfaction.  Jesus took a common element – water – and invested it with himself, his power, his love, his holiness; and it became a source of joy.  Now, Jesus didn’t cause the recession, but I firmly believe that he’s present in this painful reality, offering himself, his love, his power, his compassion and his grace so that we don’t simply survive this time but in fact thrive through it.  The fact is, Jesus is the guest in all of our experiences; whether we welcome and embrace him in those experiences is up to us.

                And we just might take a lesson from what’s happening in Haiti.  You’ve all seen the news coverage of that devastated place.  Last Tuesday an earthquake struck with incredible, deadly power.  The capital of Port-au-Prince is in shambles.  Estimates are that the death toll will pass 100,000, and the full extent of the human injuries and property damage won’t be known for quite some time.  It’s been devastating in a country where, before the quake, 70 percent of the population lived in extreme poverty.

                The day after the earthquake struck, a reporter for The New York Times was on the scene, and he described a city in absolute chaos.  Rubble everywhere, no water, no food, no medical supplies or personnel.  The people were simply dazed, in shock.  That evening he found himself at a compound operated by Doctors Without Borders, and the situation there was one of despair – injured people looking desperately for their loved ones, not knowing if they were alive or dead, not even knowing where to start looking.

                And then evening started to descend over the compound and the surrounding neighborhood.  It became quiet.  People started to wander back into their homes, as damaged as those homes were; there was nowhere else to go.  But then a series of aftershocks sent them back out into the streets, where they found each other and gathered together in small clusters, in the middle of the deserted streets, near the compound walls, in other makeshift shelters.  There was no electricity, so the only light came from the stars above.  Some people lit candles.  And they talked quietly, wondering together what the next hours and days would bring.

                And then, the singing started. 

The songs came from those gathered in small groups in the streets, in small shelters.  They were different songs, but they all carried the same single refrain.  The refrain was, “Blessed be the Lord.”

                “Blessed be the Lord.” 

In a place of despair and death, a place that is so familiar to God, “Blessed be the Lord.”  Those songs were a confession of faith, really; a confession that said that even in the midst of the worst that can happen, even in a place of death, death does not have the last word.  The last word belongs to the God of life, the God of hope and promise and resurrection.

                When we recognize and embrace Jesus as the guest in all of our experiences, from weddings to funerals and everything in between; we grow in faith because we begin to see our everyday experiences for what they really are: filled with the goodness and promise and saving grace of almighty God. 

May it be so for the people of Haiti, and for you and for me.  Amen.