Can Dry as Dust Religion Be Saved?

Isaiah 62:1-5; John 2:1-11

          I have a book in my office titled The Two Faces of Religion. The author, a psychiatrist, argues that religion is the greatest force in the world for good and evil—the two faces of religion.  The good face we have all seen.  People coming together to build affordable housing, programs that instill healthy values in children and youth, soup kitchens that feed the homeless, missionaries that go around the world to teach sustainable farming practices and to open medical clinics, and many other things.  We’ve seen and participated in the good face of religion.

          But we’ve also seen the evil face, haven’t we?  Religious people can become so convinced that their religion is correct that they use violence to spread it.  People have murdered and tortured in the name of religion.    We could go back in time to the Crusades and the Spanish Inquisition.  Or we could look at our current day to see how religion motivates some of the most violent and hate-filled groups in America.

          Yes, we’ve seen both faces of religion: the good and the evil.

          However, I want to argue this morning that there is a third face to religion, a very wide middle ground that is a threat to the best of religion.  We could call it the dry as dust middle.  The dry as dust middle does not have enough fire in it to do either good or evil.  Its patron saint is named St. Duty.  It is a kind of religion that checks the boxes.  Go to church: check.  Give a token to the old folks’ fund: check.  Read the lesson for the week: check.  Dry as dust religion is a hollowed out form of religion.  It is religion by rote, a mechanical repetition of holy activities.  It is more concerned with form than substance.  It highlights rules and neglects grace.  It doesn’t sing.  It has no joy.  It is dry as dust.

          That is what Jesus confronted at a wedding in Cana of Galilee.

          John is the only gospel writer to preserve this rich, fascinating story, and he actually opens his gospel with it.  The first chapter of John is a prologue, and the last chapter is an epilogue.  So, John’s account of the life of Jesus begins with this wedding in Cana of Galilee, so we must assume that this story says something important about Jesus.  Interpreters have to pay close attention to everything in the Gospel of John.  John writes on two levels: the literal story and the symbolic story.  Even the minutest details may have symbolic significance.  For example, why were there six water jars at the wedding?  Why not five or nine?  Did it matter that the jars were stone rather than earthenware, which was more common?  And what about that awkward dialogue between Jesus and his mother, who, by the way, is never called by her name, Mary, in the Gospel of John.  She’s always “the mother of Jesus.”

          Let’s begin with the somewhat awkward dialogue between Jesus and Mary. It is especially awkward in our English translations.  Jesus and his mother were at the wedding, one of the most festive occasions in their culture.  Families would scrimp and sacrifice to provide a splendid celebration at their children’s wedding, much the way some of us do today.  Now John says that the wedding hosts ran out of wine—right in the middle of the festivities.  This would have been awfully embarrassing to the hosts.  Imagine hosting a bone-dry party.

          Rather matter of factly Mary said to Jesus, “They have no wine.”  Jesus rather matter of factly responded, “Woman, what concern is that to you and me?  My hour has not yet come.”  As harsh as that translation sounds, it’s even worse in the Revised Standard Version where Jesus says, “O woman, what have you to do with me?”  Someone has said that this was a “surly” response from Jesus (Larry Greenfield, EthicsDaily.com).  Others assure us that this language was common, and no disrespect was intended. And apparently none was taken because Mary ignored Jesus’ response and said to one of the servants standing nearby, “Do whatever he tells you.”

          What happens next is a part of the story that we need to examine carefully.  John says that there were six empty stone water jars nearby.  They were stone rather than earthenware because stone jars were less porous and believed to be ritually pure.  These jars were used for the Jewish purification rituals.  When guests arrived at the wedding, they purified their dusty feet and hands, made them clean and acceptable, by washing them with this holy water.  The jars held twenty to thirty gallons each, the text says, so that would have been about 150 gallons of water.  That’s a lot of water!  Now, the careful reader of this story would expect seven jars, not six.  Seven was a sacred number in Hebrew thinking.  The number six represented incompleteness, insufficiency.

          Jesus told the servants to fill the six stone jars with water.  That amount of water—150 gallons— must have been drawn from a nearby well.  Here’s a question to ponder.  Was the well the “seventh jar”?  Is that what John is suggesting here?  The well, the seventh jar, made the six complete.  The servants filled the jars.  Jesus then said, “Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.”  Here’s another question to ponder.  Draw some out from where?  From one of the six jars?  That’s the most natural assumption, but which one?  Or did he mean to draw some from the well, the seventh jar?  Draw some from the well, a source that never runs dry, and take it to the chief steward.

          John says that they drew a cup of wine and gave it to the chief steward.  I guess he was like the caterer.  He was shocked, amazed.  He called to the groom and said,

Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk.  But you have kept the good wine until now.

          In other words, “You old scoundrel, you.  You saved the best for last.”

The final sentence in this text is the key to understanding this story.  John says,

Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

          This story, positioned at the beginning of the Gospel of John, is an epiphany, a revelation of who this man named Jesus was.  It occurred at a wedding, but this story is not about weddings.  It involved a mother and son, but it’s not about family relationships.  Water turned into wine, but it’s not about water or wine.  It is about Jesus, the Living Water, who brought joy, life, a song, to the bone-dry party of life.

          No, his hour had not yet come, but it would come.  His words to Mary were respectful but let there be no mistake.  His mother would not control his destiny.  His Father would.  His actions would be governed by an hour set by God, not his mother. 

          Here’s what I think John was saying.  Those six empty water jars represented a religious system that was failing the people of Jesus’ day.  Because of the legalism of their leaders, it had become as dry as dust, checking the boxes, all about rules without grace.  It was number six, incomplete.  If the life of faith is supposed to bring the deeper levels of joy, meaning, and hope to one’s life, then the old forms of religion were failing.  Perhaps they did bring joy and meaning and hope at one time, but somewhere along the way the party ran dry.  It ran dry, and in this epiphany story Jesus brought new wine to their dry as dust religion.

          Now, let’s be very careful here.  This story is not about Jesus’ rejection of Judaism any more than it is about his rejection of his mother.  No, it is about how Judaism, Christianity, or any religion is vulnerable to losing its heart and soul.  It’s about how the forms of religion, the creeds and institutions and orthodoxy—checking the boxes— can smother out the spirit of religion.  It’s about getting into a religious rut and becoming so comfortable there that the party becomes bone-dry, and we lose our joy.

          That day at the wedding in Cana of Galilee Jesus was saying that there is a well nearby that’s deeper than any water jar, regardless of how big the jar is.  There is a well nearby that has a constant supply of fresh and refreshing water.  Yes, we can call it Living Water, and it can save dry as dust religion.

          This text calls us to take a close look at our own faith journey.  It happens to us too. The journey begins with deep and passionate love of our Lord and becomes love of our church.  Then it becomes a sense of duty, obligation.  And then one day we’re washing our hands and feet with “holy” water—just because that’s what’s expected.  It’s my job to remind you that there is more than that.  There is a well nearby, a well filled with Living Water, and we are invited to drink freely.  You may have been on this journey for a long, long time, so it’s also my job to tell you that Jesus still saves the best for last.  So let us drink deeply from the well that never runs dry.

 Closing Prayer 

Lord, we peer into that well.  We can hear the waters moving, splashing.  We can smell its freshness.  We want to feel it pour over us, but this rut has become comfortable.  Help us to risk a sip of new wine.  Amen.