The wedding at Cana, the first of Jesus’ “signs,” as John calls them, is appropriate for the season after Epiphany, or Ordinary Time. Let me say at the outset that this passage is about Jesus. Everything that happens is done in relation to him. The story tells us of his mission and his purpose. These verses give us insight into the nature of this person we call Christ. That is what John wanted to do above all else: tell us about Jesus. So, a true study of this passage would focus on Jesus, on what he said and why he said it, on what he did and what it meant that he did it, and on the implications of all these things. I’m not going to do that here. Instead, I’m going to take a moment and look at Mary.

First, did you notice she doesn’t get a name here? Only a role, “the mother of Jesus.” John never calls her by name in his gospel. From beginning to end, she is nothing more than “the mother of Jesus” (or she is nothing less than...). Often, when someone’s name is left out of the story, it is a slight; it diminishes that person somehow. However, from John’s point of view, it is an honor in the first place. It is a way of elevating her to a special level. Unique among all of Jesus’ followers - the mother of Jesus. Second, John’s theology says we are all defined in relation to Jesus. In John’s mind, it is an honor to be so identified with Jesus that your name isn’t needed. The disciples strove to be defined as disciples, but sometimes they were obstacles (“Get behind me Satan”); sometimes they were reluctant; sometimes they were just Peter and James and Andrew - identified only in relation to themselves and thereby missing something important.

But Mary, in John’s book anyway, is nothing but “the mother of Jesus.” Nothing less. But she has a role in this particular story. Mary identifies the problem; instead, Mary states the obvious. As John writes: “When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’” Is this a “duh” kind of statement? Is it the typical biblical habit of repetition? No wine, “no wine!” Or is something else going on here?

Now, I should take a moment and deal with Jesus’ response. I don’t really want to, to be honest, but I probably should. “Woman,” he said. “Woman!” It offends us, even when the translators and biblical scholars scramble to tell us that this is indeed a respectful form of address and that we shouldn’t take it the way it reads. OK, maybe so. But still, they will also admit, it is a form of distancing. Not “mom,” but “woman.” And then, “What concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” Excuse me?

In John’s remembrance, Jesus was focused on one outcome. Over and over, he remembers Jesus saying, “It is not my hour.” A lot of the things he does, he seems to do while saying, “No, not yet. Not this. Not that.” All that he does, and he does a lot (John says the world couldn’t hold the books if everything Jesus did was written down), pales next to the thing he came to do. When does he finally say, “This is it. My hour has come”? When he faces the cross. So, this wine moment is not that moment. But it is a moment worth 180 gallons. Apparently. “What concern...?” About 180 gallons worth, I guess.

Here’s another general Gospel of John tip - it is hardly ever about the miracles. That’s why John calls them “signs.” They point to something else. So, what’s left? The party? The fact that what Jesus perhaps reluctantly makes is really good stuff? The rather odd little concluding verse – “and his disciples believed in him.” (Does that mean they didn’t before? Or just sorta did and now really do? Or what?) Is John’s point really about Mary, after all? Is the point that our call, as followers of Jesus, is to say, “They have no wine.” Maybe in the face of need, great or small, our task is not to ask who is to blame or who might benefit from this terrible situation, but to state the obvious and then be about the business of meeting that need. Mary simply said two things: “They have no wine” and “Do whatever he tells you,” and a miracle happened. Awareness, faith, and a commitment to see change happen— that’s what Mary had, maybe because of her relationship with Jesus.

What is our concern? That is the driving question of our discipleship. It is not really about what Jesus’ concern might have been in this text but about what our concern might be. And in an overfamiliar world, what are we overlooking? What obvious truth, obvious reality, is staring us in the face? And too often, we believe that it isn’t our concern (whatever it is). Someone else will do this. Someone else will meet this need. It is too risky to wade in these waters, too political, too woke, too right-wing. This is not our concern. But … they have run out …