Homily: 2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Is 62:1-5; Ps 96; 1 Cor 12:4-11; Jn 2:1-12

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Some years ago in my previous parish on Cape Cod, a couple, both in their nineties, marked 70 years of marriage by receiving a blessing right after the homily at Sunday Mass. It was a brief, happy moment in the life our parish – a moment when we joined together to celebrate both the presence of God's enduring love in our lives and the presence of this couple among us, the example of their faithfulness and perseverance in a world increasingly hostile to these virtues and to the very sanctity of the sacrament of marriage.

I can recall looking into the faces of the congregation as the celebrant administered the blessing and seeing a sea of smiles. And yet, in the midst of that shared joy, more than a few faces had expressions that ranged from impatience to dissatisfaction to outright hostility.

I suppose some, who came to Sunday Mass solely out of a sense of obligation or even habit, were upset because the blessing might have delayed their departure by a few minutes. These are some of the same folks who after receiving our Lord’s Body and Blood head immediately for the parking lot. How sad that they think so little of God's remarkable Eucharistic gift that they don't take the time to thank Him. It's like a dinner guest who leaves immediately after taking his last bite without a word of thanks to his host.

Perhaps others were just the sort of dour, cynical people who can't stand to see others happy, who see no reason to celebrate anything – the kind of folks my mother called "plain old grumps, whose faces would fall off if they ever cracked a smile." Again, how sad; for a cynical, gloomy Christian is a contradiction in terms. Christianity is a joyful faith, founded on the Good News of Jesus Christ: "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life."

Later one parishioner approached me, very upset about that we had, in his words,”interrupted Mass” for the blessing. I won't embarrass myself by describing how I responded, but I totally mishandled the situation, and missed a wonderful opportunity. What I should have said was that, yes, the Mass is a Holy Sacrifice, but it’s also a celebration, a ceremony of thanksgiving. Indeed, that’s what the word, Eucharist, means: Thanksgiving. 

First and foremost, we are thankful for God's gift of the Real Presence of the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ. We are also thankful for His presence in His Holy Word, which was just proclaimed in our presence. And finally, we are thankful for His presence with us as we gather here as a community of faith. "For where two or more are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them."

The Mass, then, is a moment to rejoice, a moment to come together in prayer, to give thanksgiving and praise, to present our petitions to God, to lay our individual and collective worries and fears at the feet of the Father. You see, God wants us to celebrate when we come together in worship. He wants us to share not only in the remarkable gift of the Eucharist, but also in each other's joys and sorrows.

When Jesus taught His disciples to pray, He didn't begin with, My Father. He began with Our Father. And He didn't end by saying, "…deliver me from evil," but with, "…deliver us from evil." He didn't choose one apostle, He chose twelve. And He didn’t send them out alone; He sent them out in pairs. For God, in His infinite wisdom, knows that we need each other to accomplish His Will, that we need His Love, manifested through the love we have for each other, to achieve salvation.

St. Paul recognized this. In today's second reading he celebrates the various spiritual gifts that we, as Christians, receive from the Holy Spirit. Wisdom, knowledge, faith, healing, works of mercy, prophecy, discernment, prayer in the Spirit…all wonderful gifts. But each person, each gift, by and of itself, needs the others to make a whole. Later in that same letter to the Corinthians, Paul states emphatically that the Body of Christ does not consist of one member but of many. He goes to say: "If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together."

We see this as well in today's Gospel reading, in which we find Jesus, accompanied by His Mother and His disciples, at a wedding feast at Cana. Yes, Jesus joins His people in a joyful celebration of marriage between a man and a woman. But more than that, He sanctifies this marriage by performing His first public miracle – not at a time of human sorrow, but of human happiness. 

John draws the picture of a Jesus who could enjoy Himself. Jesus chose to be there, to take part in this very human celebration, this party. It wasn’t beneath Him, but was something He sought. The Christian, who goes through life with a long face, spreading gloom behind him, should meditate long and hard on this Gospel reading.

When, in the midst of the wedding celebration, Mary notices that the wine has run out, she turns to her Son and says, "They have no wine." Mary doesn't tell Jesus what to do, she merely states the problem: They have no wine. Once again Mary is our model in prayer. God expects us to come to Him with our problems and worries, but how often do we insist on our solution? But not Mary. She lays the problem at her Son's feet and lets Him provide the solution. How does Jesus respond? "Woman, how does your concern affect me? My hour has not yet come."

What is this "hour" about which Jesus speaks? – none other than that hour of the Last Supper, that hour of agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, that hour as He awaits death hanging on the cross. It is this "hour" when he says: "This is my body, take it; this is my blood, drink it." It is this hour when He takes us, His people, as His spouse in an unbreakable marriage that nothing, not even sin or death, can overcome.

"I will love you," Jesus assures us, "no matter what." Even if you scourge me, crucify me, and put me to death, I will come back from the grave to love you, because nothing can make me not love you. 

This is the hour that at Cana is yet to come. But even when Jesus apparently turns her down, Mary doesn't give up. No, she simply turns to the waiters and instructs them to stand ready. Her faith and trust in God remain firm and solid.

You see, the dialogue between Mother and Son wasn’t about wine. It was about setting events into motion, events which would lead to Jesus' crucifixion, death and resurrection. Mary, moved by the Spirit, wordlessly tells her Son, "No, that hour has not yet come, but it is time to begin what you are here to do." And as the Gospel tells us, it was at Cana that Jesus "revealed His glory and His disciples began to believe in Him." For once the people saw Jesus' glory, they would proclaim him as Messiah, making his hour, his death, inevitable.

In reality, then, Mary was more concerned about us than she was about herself or the bride and groom. For in asking Jesus to perform this miracle, she is asking him to begin His work of redemption, a mission that can end only on the Cross. And so Jesus changes water into wine, anticipating His gift to us, changing wine into his precious blood. Jesus, then, is a gift in time from the very heart of Mary, and a gift from all eternity from the very heart of the Father.

A gift, yes; but also a demand, an urgency…"Do whatever He tells you," Mary instructs us. For with this gift we are challenged to believe in Him, to do what He does, to be what He is. This, brothers and sisters, is our vocation, the vocation of every Christian: to spend our lives changing the dark waters of despair into the wine of hope; to celebrate our joy over God's enduring love for each of us.

Praised be Jesus Christ!