2nd Sunday after Epiphany: January 20, 2013

2nd Sunday after Epiphany: January 20, 2013

John 2:1-11

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

On February 24, 1969, Johnny Cash recorded a live album at San Quentin State Prison, one year after performing a similar concert at Folsom prison. Both albums became hits, despite the fact that record executives put little money or backing into the projects. The San Quentin concert was also released as an hour long documentary, and if you’ve never seen it—please add it to your Netflix queue when you get home. It’s well worth watching!

Near the end of the show, Johnny tells the audience of prisoners about his trip to the Holy Land. He shares how he visited the town of Cana, and saw the church that is built over the very spot where Jesus was said to have performed his first miracle. As he tells it, he was so overwhelmed with emotion at being in the place, that when he walked out he started singing to himself:

“He turned the water into wine. 

He turned the water into wine.

 In the little Cana town, the word went all around 

that he turned the water into wine.” 

It’s a simple song, really. Each verse recounts another of Jesus’ miracles: he walked upon the Sea of Galilee, he calmed the raging tide, he fed the hungry multitude…and each time, returning to that simple chorus: He turned the water into wine.

In the documentary video, you see the prisoners lined up, row by row, staring intently at the man with the guitar. They’re hanging on every word—hungry for entertainment, perhaps, but also hungry and thirsty for something else. These are men who know what it means to need a miracle. At the wedding in Cana, Jesus performed his first miracle because the wine had run out and the guests were thirsty. For the men at San Quentin, it is their freedom that has run out. The chaos and consequences in their lives have caught up to them, and now their supply of choices, liberties, and opportunity—which once seemed so bountiful—are bone dry. These men need nothing short of a miracle, and Johnny is there to give them Good News. He sings to them of the One who not only turned water into wine, but who also walked on water, healed the sick, raised the dead and sets the captives free. The love of God we have through Jesus is the miracle for which we all hunger and thirst. Amen?

Sisters and brothers, let’s talk about miracles. Miracles, by their very nature, are pretty hard to pin down. By definition, a miracle is an event that is unexplainable or falls outside of the laws of nature. St. Augustine once retorted, however, that “Miracles are not contrary to nature, but only contrary to what we know about nature.” And the great Christian author C.S. Lewis expounded, “Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.” Well, that about clears it up!

What can we say about miracles? We seem to know when we need one. “It will take a miracle for the Cubs to win the World Series”, for example. Getting Democrats and Republicans to work together and get something done in the next four years will also certainly take a miracle.

We also seem to know one when we see one. We wax poetic about the “miracle of birth” all the time, in spite of what any woman who has been in labor will tell you. And when we’re in particularly good moods, we are apt to call any number of things “miraculous”: rainbows, sunsets, grandchildren, or even a really amazing touchdown in the playoff game.

Still, we’re never exactly sure when or how a miracle happens. Even miracles we experience on a regular basis remain a mystery. In just a few minutes, we will all come to the table and receive bread and wine that is, at the same time, in defiance of the laws of nature and beyond all explanation, also the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. When exactly does that miracle occur? Does the miracle happen when the pastor prays the appropriate words, or holds her hands in the correct shape and her arms in the perfect angle? Does it happen when the congregation sings the “Holy Holy” loudly, and in tune, even when it’s a new setting that we don’t know and don’t particularly like? Does the miracle of communion happen when Martin Luther said it did: at that very moment when one sanctified sinner says to the other: “This is the body of Christ, given for you”?

Or did the miracle of Holy Communion happen when you walked in the door of the church this morning, hungry and thirsty for God?

What if the answer is simply “Yes” or even “All of the above?” Perhaps miracles are not just a moment in time, but are events that develop and unfold, through the grace of God, in unexplainable ways.

At the wedding in Cana, one could say that Jesus’ first miracle happened when the chief steward tasted the water that had become wine and declared it to be a spectacular vintage, better than they had been served at the beginning of the feast. But it was also taking place when Jesus ordered the workers to fill the stone jars with water and they did so obediently and in faith, with no idea of what Jesus was up to. And the miracle was taking shape at the moment when Mary trusted that her son could handle the problem. The miracle continued to unfold as the party went on, as the guests had more than enough to drink, as the bridegroom’s reputation was saved from certain disgrace, and especially as the disciples came to understand who this Jesus really was. For “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.” John 2:11

I believe in miracles. I believe the love of God that we have seen in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ works wondrous things in the lives of the people around me. And I also believe that we have a part in the miraculous unfolding and multiplication of grace and love that happens when Jesus shows up and sets those miracles in motion.

Tomorrow morning leaders and members of several faith communities will gather to honor the life and legacy of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. We will sing and pray and remember his powerful witness and prophetic preaching. We’ll celebrate the victories of the civil rights movement in our country—miracles, really—and how we’ve come this far by faith, not in Dr. King, but in God.

But I’ll also be mindful of the many others who were part of the unfolding of this miracle in our country. Dr. King has a holiday in his honor; Rosa Parks has books written about her; but there were so many others who sat on busses, who crossed boundaries, prayed, walked, spoke out, endured ridicule, participated in boycotts, were fired, arrested, imprisoned or lynched. And there were those who quietly went about their daily business, like the workers at the wedding at Cana. The chief steward gave the credit to the bridegroom for bringing out the good wine, but it was the workers who hauled the empty jars to the well, filled them with water, and hauled them back to the wedding, hoping beyond hope that their small effort would be part of a miracle.


The truth is, we need a few miracles today, don’t we? We need the massacres of our children to stop. We need people to put more energy into caring for each other than in preserving their privileges. We need leaders who will put aside talking points and start talking to each other, in the interest of the common good. We need some people who, like Dr. King, will remember that the “time is always ripe to do what is right.”

Dear people, we can sit around forever and wait for a miracle to happen—or we can see ourselves as being part of the one, great, always unfolding, ever-increasing miracle that is the love God has shown the world through Christ Jesus.

As Christians, we proclaim that Jesus died on the cross, once and for all, and three days later was raised to new life, giving hope to the whole world. Amen! And yet, as we live out our baptismal covenants, we become part of the story as it unfolds in our lives, in our families, and in our world.

We become part of that ongoing miracle as we live among God’s faithful people, hear the word of God and share in the Lord’s supper, proclaim the good news of God in Christ through word and deed, serve all people, following the example of Jesus, and strive for justice and peace in all the earth.

On this day, we have heard once again the story of Jesus’ first miracle. In a few moments, we will gather at the table and will be fed once again with his body and blood, freely given to us in love. And when we go out from this place, I pray that we will commit to being a part of the ongoing miracle of God’s love for all of humankind: red and yellow, black and white, gay and straight, liberal and conservative, young and old, rich and poor, prisoner and free. And let us always remember:

We've come this far by faith, leaning on the Lord; trusting in his holy word…and He's never failed us yet. Amen.

12th Sunday after Pentecost: August 19, 2012: "This Changes Everything"

August 19, 2012

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie B. Smith

John 6:51-58

This changes everything.

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

I have really great neighbors.

Our little block is populated by two policemen, one fireman, a judge, an addiction counselor, a retired professor, several teachers, and (of course), two pastors. We like to claim it as the safest block in all of Crystal Lake!

But one of our neighbors, in particular, became a fast friend when he moved next door to us this spring. Chris is from Texas, and we were extremely excited to discover that he’s a master meat griller and smoker. Our neighbor Chris owns a state of the art barbeque grill with multiple levels, a burner on the side for sauces, a bottle opener, and quite possibly the ability to achieve a Mars landing, if you know how to work it. Chris…is awesome.

His wife and son are pretty nice, too.

At some point this summer, Chris mentioned to us how he really missed using Texas mesquite for smoking and grilling meat. Robert and I recalled this conversation when we were visiting family down south this July—and you can bet we found a way to smuggle three huge bags of mesquite wood from Lubbock to Crystal Lake, with visions of brisket and chops making our mouths water all the way home.

A day or so after returning home, we saw Chris and Kellie out on their back porch, so we proudly marched over toting the three bags of mesquite to present as a gift. Chris came down off the porch to meet us.

In retrospect, we did notice a funny look on his face when he saw what we were hauling. Robert announced loudly, “Check it out! We brought you some mesquite!”

 To which Chris replied, “Oh, man, you’re not going to believe it, but we went vegan last week.”
Without even blinking, my dear spouse kept on walking toward the grill, saying, “Yeah, right. That’s a funny one! When’s the next party? We’ll provide the pool, you provide the beef!”

It was when I looked at Chris’s wife’s face that I knew this vegan thing was no joke. Our neighbors--our meat-loving, backyard grilling, Texas foodie friends--had decided to become vegans while we were away on vacation.

No more chops! No more brisket! No more burgers or ribs! I’m sure our growling stomachs spoke as loudly as our disappointed faces.

But then, it’s not all about us, is it? So Robert and I exclaimed, “Oh, that’s great! Wow! What prompted this change?” And Chris and Kellie outlined for us the radical shift they were making, in response to a change in values and priorities, transforming their entire relationship to food and to the dinner table. As good neighbors and friends, we offered our wholehearted support for their new lifestyle choice and promised to hold a backyard pool party soon.

Chris and Kellie promised to bring some grilled veggies.

Walking back home, it struck me how sometimes food is more than food. Sometimes eating is more than just dinner. Sometimes, the dinner table itself becomes a place of transformation, changing the way we relate to our neighbors and to the world.

For several weeks now, our Gospel lessons have been focused on the table as a place of transformation.  The Gospel writer, John, has been taking us in circles, expounding on Jesus as the bread of life, Jesus as the bread from heaven, Jesus as the true bread, Jesus as the bread that removes our hunger forever.

But in today’s Gospel lesson there’s one word in particular that stands out, and that is: “eat.”

• Whoever eats of this bread will live forever
• “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?”
•  Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.
• Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life
• Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.
• Whoever eats me will live because of me
• Your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever

Eight times, in just eight verses, Jesus tells us that eating changes everything. Other food is just food, but there is bread we can eat which gives eternal life. There is bread that means life is worth living here and now. There is bread that has the power to transform the world, and that bread is Jesus’ own body.

Communion is such a part of what Christians do on Sunday morning that perhaps its transformative, counter-cultural, subversive nature is lost to us. And yet, when we hear the words, “This is my body, given for you” and place the bread in our mouths, this isn’t a symbol or a reenactment. Instead, as Lutherans we proclaim that Jesus, beyond all understanding and in spite of our unbelief, is present in, with, and under this bread and wine.

And that means that in eating and drinking we become one with a body that touched lepers, consorted with prostitutes, ate with tax collectors, challenged authorities, preached truth to power, suffered next to criminals in a public execution, and defeated the power of death. When we eat the bread and drink the cup, we are ingesting, digesting, and confessing the body of Jesus, who gave his life for the sake of the world.

This is much more than dinner! This is so much more than food. This is transformative eating. this changes everything. Jesus Christ, present for us at this table, in bread and wine, transforms the way we relate to our neighbors and the world by giving us his own body.

On a regular day, dinner is hardly ever transformative.

Martin Luther King, Jr., once said, “It is appalling that the most segregated hour of Christian America is 11 o’clock on Sunday morning.” Sadly, this remains largely true. But coming in at a close second today must be the dinner hour.

Without even discussing the demise of the home-cooked family dinner, it’s easy to see how we are divided by race, age, economics, class, and even politics at the dinner hour.

Children sit at the kids’ table or are left at home with the sitter. The over 65 crowd eats at the buffet or at a completely different hour than the rest of us. Foodies and locavores choose the hippest new local dive. Suburbanites flock to Applebee’s and Chili’s while city dwellers avoid them like the plague. Urban Spoon helps us choose a spot with two dollar signs or four, and offers reviews to help us avoid “sketchy” neighborhoods. Even fast food separates us. Do you buy your coffee at Starbucks or Conscious Cup? Do you go to Chick-Fil-A or Wendy’s? And what will your choice say about you?

And that’s just it: above all else, the dinner hour is segregated by choice. Look around the restaurant or even your dining table and you’re likely to see someone who looks just like you, spends money like you, votes like you. Dinner companions are chosen for maximum comfort and compatibility. On a typical day, we eat the bread of segregation and drink the wine of convenience. There’s nothing transformative about this menu.

But then, on Sunday, we come to the Lord’s table, where Jesus has invited everybody. All y’all come, as my Texas family would say!

While it’s true that our churches still don’t reflect the full beauty and diversity of the kingdom, look around you today and you’ll see that you’re probably sitting next to someone in a different age bracket. When you come to the table, you will likely be standing next to someone with much more—or much less—education than you possess. When you reach out, open-handed, you will receive the same bread as that one church member you need to forgive—and will drink the same wine as the one you hope will forgive you.

This is Jesus’ body, given for you…and for you…and for you…and for you. No matter who you are. No matter how you vote. No matter what you can pay. No matter what you did before you showed up here.

This is the radical, subversive nature of eating the bread that is Jesus. The bread we eat is the flesh Jesus gave for the life of the world—the whole world!—and with this bread and this cup we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

Eating this bread changes everything. Eating this bread means we become a body that unites, not divides. Eating this bread means we become a body that lives for others, not for ourselves. Eating this bread means we go out from this place transformed into a people that sees the world with new eyes.

At this table, for this one moment, we catch a glimpse of what it will be like to dine in the kingdom of heaven. How then, can we ever be the same? How will Jesus, true food and true drink, transform you this week?

Let’s sing together:
Be present at our table Lord. Be here and everywhere adored. These mercies bless and grant that we, may strengthened for your service be. Amen.