2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Contrary to the other gospels, John does not pepper his gospel with many stories of Jesus’ miracles. We know Jesus worked many miracles, many of which are not even recorded in any of the gospels. But John decides to recount only seven miracles of Jesus in his gospel. Furthermore, John totally avoids the word miracle, and prefers instead to use the word “sign.” At the time John was writing his gospel he had become disillusioned with people who sought out Jesus and the Christian faith simply for the miraculous power that came with it. John regarded a Christian faith based simply on miracles as being superficial, shallow and ultimately dangerous because it risked missing the point. This is the reason that he decides to talk about signs instead of miracles, because a miracle can all too easily become an end in itself, and people can simply stop at the miracle without questioning it’s deeper meaning. A sign on the other hand always points to something larger, deeper and more meaningful than itself. The sign is not an end in itself, it is simply there to point us in the right direction. If we stop at the sign, we have failed to understand the meaning of the sign. Jesus’ first sign, performed at the Wedding at Cana is programmatic for the rest of his signs and indeed his whole ministry. It is a rather unique miracle also, a point that emerges from a close and special analysis of the story using what is called “narrative analysis.”

Recent biblical scholarship has aided our understanding of the richness of the biblical text by applying to the text the same scholarly methods we subject other literary texts, especially with regard to the tools related to narrative analysis. The Gospels, being full of narratives about Jesus’ life, lend themselves particularly well to this type of analysis. The backbone of narrative analysis is premised on the observation of how narrative normally functions by introducing a problematic that needs to be solved. The French have a far better set of words to describe the formulation of the problematic and its concomitant resolution – the problematic is described as a nouement (the tying) and its resolution as the denouement (the untying), a word so apt for what it describes, that we have adopted it in English. So you have, for example, in the typical healing narratives a problem or a nouement when a sick person is brought to Jesus. This problem creates a narrative tension: will Jesus heal the leper or not? Will the leper’s faith be sufficient for Jesus to heal him?. The denouement happens when Jesus heals the leper and tells him to go and show himself to the priest.

If we turn to today’s gospel – we can immediately see where the problem is that creates the narrative tension – they have run out of wine. Mary’s plea to her son apparently falls on deaf ears and we are none the wiser with his curt reply to his mother whether he intends to resolve the problem. What is unique about this miracle story is that when we look for the actual denouement, the actual act that resolves the tension in the narrative, we draw a blank. The act by which Jesus transforms the water into the wine is not recounted – the author is deliberately silent on this matter. John does not recount the actual miracle, we do not read the words “And Jesus touched the water and it changed to the colour of wine.” We are only given an indirect clue as to the existence of a miracle in the words of the steward to the bridegroom. There is a gap in the narrative that masks Jesus’ actual turning of water into wine.

The gospel ends with the words “This was the first of the signs given by Jesus: it was given at Cana in Galilee. He let his glory be seen, and his disciples believed in him.” But what glory did the disciples actually see? They didn’t see anything more than the other guests, but because they knew Jesus, because they were able to put two and two together, they were able to arrive at belief. They didn’t let the gap in the narrative hinder them. Because what this gap actually points to is the hallmark of discipleship – namely believing without seeing. The hallmark of the disciple is to be able to see the action of God in your everyday experiences. The hallmark of discipleship is to be able to recognize the good experiences in our lives as signs that point us beyond the mere experience to the deeper reality of God’s overflowing grace and presence in our lives.

The disciples of Jesus are contrasted to the other guests at the wedding who were simply content to just swill back gallons of excellent wine. Not one of them bothers to find out the origin of this great wine. When congratulated by the steward on the quality of the wine, the bridegroom doesn’t say: “hey this is strange, we had run out of wine, and now we have the best wine I’ve ever tasted in my life.” Instead he basks in a glory that is not his own and takes all the credit for the excellent wine he had absolutely no part in procuring. The other guests at the wedding represent those people who simply exist on the surface of life, skating about from one superficial experience to another, never digging deeper to question who or what is the source of the joy that the experiences of life offer them. Only a few good deep experiences are needed for a happy and fulfilled life. This is why John is so sparing with his narration of Jesus’ miracles. You only need seven (which was the Jewish number that symbolized completeness). In fact I would say, you only need one sign, because once you’ve got to your destination, the sign-post is no longer necessary.

This is the challenge being extended to us today – can we commit to fewer experiences in our lives – live them deeply, dig in the narrow space we are given, and therein recognize communion with God as the experience that we most deeply long for. Digging in the narrow space given to us is an attitude that must be cultivated from day to day in our lives. If we are to be people of depth who are able to resist the temptation of dissipation that comes with multiplying novel experiences, and avoid the emptiness that comes with the satiety of empty pleasure, then we must follow Jesus’ invitation to take the little miracles of our lives as invitations to a deeper communion with Him. His promise of fullness of life is a real one. Do we have the courage to follow in his footsteps and let him be for us the Good Shepherd?

Questions for reflection

1. What kind of guest am I at the wedding feast of my life? One who swills back the wine and doesn’t bother to ask where it is coming from or one who takes one sip of the wine, savors it and then asks where it comes from?
2. Are there any narrative gaps in my life? Inexplicable sources of grace and goodness that invite me to dig deeper?
3. How do I combat the temptation to multiply experiences in search of an ever-elusive fulfilment?