The Wedding at Cana
Second Sunday after Epiphany
January 20, 2019
Isaiah 62:1-5, 1 Corinthians 12:1-11, John 2:1-11
I fell in love with the South in the most peculiar of places: South Woodstock, Vermont. The occasion was one of my best friend’s weddings. My beautiful friend Gena was marrying the handsome Wallace, who was from a long line of Southern gentlemen from South Carolina. He is not too distantly related to Betsy Ross. Gena and Wallace met in seminary in Virginia.
The southern women whom I met during the wedding weekend were both gracious and elegant. It was the first time I had seen grown women in dresses drink beer from bottles. I was impressed. I resolved then and there to move south immediately upon retirement.
I was lucky enough to be sitting at a table with my husband, and a number of guests from South Carolina. One of the groomsmen stood up to give one of the many toasts at the rehearsal dinner. He quoted from memory this poem I will read to you in a moment. He had an accent that made you wish he could record bedtime stories and send them to you to play at night when you were trying to fall asleep. I cannot do it justice in the way this groomsman did, with a southern accent that could make you swoon. In fact, I only talk unwavering Providence, RI with a smidge of Vermont, and a smattering of Iowa. But with that caveat, here is my rendition of this beautiful poem. It is called the Wedding Toast by Richard Wilbur and it is inspired by our gospel lesson for today.
St. John tells how, at Cana’s wedding feast,
The water-pots poured wine in such amount
That by his sober count
There were a hundred gallons at the least.
It made no earthly sense, unless to show
How whatsoever love elects to bless
Brims to a sweet excess
That can without depletion overflow.
Which is to say that what love sees is true;
That this world’s fullness is not made but found.
Life hungers to abound
And pour its plenty out for such as you.
Now, if your loves will lend an ear to mine,
I toast you both, good son and dear new daughter.
May you not lack for water,
And may that water smack of Cana’s wine.
It sounds so much better in South Carolinian.
But this poem was not written in the South. In fact, it was written by Richard Wilbur who lived a great part of his life in New England, teaching at Wellesley, Wesleyan, and Smith, dying only recently in Belmont, Massachusetts in 2017. If you are not familiar with his works, what Wilbur is best known for is for being a poet who dedicated his life work to writing poetry in conventional metered verses and rhyme patterns. Wilbur was loved by many, but he also had his critics who found him too optimistic, too traditional, and perhaps, not edgy enough. However, despite these criticisms, he won dozens of awards, including becoming poet laureate from 1987-89.
Between earning a Bachelor of Arts at Amherst College and a Master’s at Harvard, Wilbur served in the US Army in France and Italy during World War II. It was said that the experience of war butted up against Richard Wilbur’s most cherished beliefs, “that love is more powerful than hatred; that nature is a source of values and of reassurance; and there is a strong creative urge in both man and nature which constantly finds expression in images of graceful plenitude.”[1] Wilbur dismissed this criticism, especially the criticism that he was a poet of praise and not complaint who ran from reality. He said instead, “I feel the universe full of glorious energy.”[2] He went on further to explain that “energy tends to take pattern and shape, and that the ultimate character of this is comely and good.” He acknowledged that this belief flies in the face of significant evidence around us, but he defended himself saying that he saw things in this manner “purely based on [his] temperament and partly on faith…and attitude.”[3]
And I believe this is what we are called to be as Christians. To see the world through our faith. We are called to see life in the midst of death; to see hope in the midst of despair; to see light in the darkness. We are called to channel all God’s glorious energy and amplify it into the blessings on this world and each other.
Although the story of the Wedding at Cana works on many levels – to show that Jesus was a miracle worker; to show that he had a human mother; to show that his hour had not come, and that hour of true glory was not to be found in this somewhat trivial miracle, regardless of how spectacular it was, the really spectacular event for John, the evangelist, was the death, crucifixion and resurrection of Christ. That was Jesus’ crowning glory.
But for me, and maybe for you, particularly at this time in history, is that this miracle at Cana is a poignant reminder that Jesus does indeed show up in the small details of our lives – our relationships, our duties and obligations, our work, and our struggles big and small. Jesus seeks to bless us in all of our doings. Again:
It made no earthly sense, unless to
show
How whatsoever love elects to bless
Brims to a sweet excess
That can without depletion overflow.
Which is to say that what love sees is true;
That this world’s fullness is not made but found.
Life hungers to abound
And pour its plenty out for such as you.
The point of this poem, the poem Richard Wilbur wrote for the occasion of the marriage of his son to his daughter-in-law, is undergirded by this fundamental belief – divine love can transform the water of our lives into the best wine.[4]
But I believe it also has another application in our lives as well. Next week we will be holding our annual meeting when we will be talking about the year gone by here at St. Michael’s – its ministries, its finances, this building and grounds. And we will pivot to look toward our future by electing new members to the vestry, deanery assembly representatives, and diocesan convention delegates, and we will also be voting on our next year’s budget.
In St. Paul’s First Letter to the
Corinthians, we hear that each member of the church is blessed with a particular
charism which we are invited and expected to use to build up the church and to
promote the common good. The church needs each and every one of you. St. Michael’s will go from strength to
strength because you are here, and each of you have wonderful, unique gifts to
offer this house of God. The church,
God, Jesus, we need each of your particular gifts – that
way we will radiate the love of God, and demonstrate the work of the Lord, as
we offer up to God our water, and let God bless it and turn it into the best wine.
[1] [1] www.poetryfoundation.org/richard-wilbur. This criticism was leveled by John Reibetanz in Modern Poetry Studies
[2] ibid, originally quoted in Paris Review in an interview with Peter Stitt
[3] ibid
[4] https://betterlivingthroughbeowulf.com/cana/
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