Springwood Presbyterian Church: Whitsett, NC

Isaiah 25: 6-9

I Corinthians 12

John 2: 1-11                                                                                                1-24-10

O Taste and See!

During January, the scriptures have revealed God to us in Jesus Christ, and have told us how much God loves us.  In the first chapter of John, we read, the Word became flesh and lived among us, full of grace and truth; and from his fullness, we have all received grace, piled up on grace.  Last Sunday, reading about Jesus’ baptism, we considered that all who are baptized into Christ are saturated not only with water, but also with grace, with love, with redemption.  And today, we see Jesus bring forth a super abundance of wine out of ordinary water.

…

Paris, 1871: Babette was no mere cook.  She was an artist with food.  Her elaborate gourmet meals were in great demand in Paris before the French Revolution.  But in the violence of the civil war, both her husband and her son were murdered.  She barely escaped with her life, seeking sanctuary with friends of friends in a little village on the desolate west coast of Denmark.

The community was founded by a Puritan pastor—dead many years--for his small congregation.  His elderly daughters, Martina and Phillipa, took Babette in as their house servant.  The sisters never asked about Babette’s past—they and the rest of the villagers were too wrapped up in their own business, and too isolated from the outside world to be the least bit curious about events in a foreign country.  Babette  gratefully accommodated to their way of life, squelching her culinary gifts and cooking only the simple, lackluster fare the sisters had always eaten: fish soup and ale-bread—every single day.

The entire community lived a simple life—and a somber one.  Although they spent time each day doing good works, looking after the sick and disabled among them, it wasn’t out of compassion so much as out of duty—something God (and their founder, the pastor) demanded.  Their worship always included a hymn that begins, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, my heart’s true home”, sung in a dreary monotone.  They lived only for Jerusalem—that is, for heaven, and tolerated life on earth as a miserable but necessary bridge to eternity.  Fun—playfulness—joy could wait until they got to heaven.

As years passed and the old pastor’s influence waned, they began quarreling and sniping at each other.  Martina and Phillipa, dismayed that their father’s disciples had so little Christian charity toward one another, decided to make the 100^th anniversary of his birth an occasion for the congregation to recommit themselves to his dream of a community of peace and service.

About that time, word came to Babette that the civil war in France was over, and  that she had come into a large sum of money: enough to pay her passage back to France-- enough even to buy a house, open a new restaurant, live comfortably.

But before she left, she asked if the sisters would let her provide a meal to celebrate the pastor’s anniversary.  They agreed, and she planned the feast to end all feasts, sending all the way to France for the ingredients.  A few weeks later, a ship arrived in the harbor, and to the astonishment of everyone, off came boxes and crates filled with spices—truffles—cheeses—caviar--live quail--a live turtle for soup--figs and dates and pineapples and other exotic fruits never before seen in the village—and bottles and bottles of fine wines and champagnes.

Martina and Phillipa were horrified at the extravagance—and even more at the thought of drinking spirits.  Yet, they were kindhearted and didn’t want the others to hurt Babette’s feelings by scorning the meal she offered in thanks for their hospitality.  So, the sisters gathered the congregation--dwindled to just 11 souls—to discuss how to keep uncorrupted by the gluttony and wine drinking that was about to happen.  One member suggested that meditating on the pastor’s frugality would keep them from enjoying the food, and thus, keep them from sinning.  Another proposed they pretend not to have taste buds.

On the evening of the meal, they entered the parsonage sitting room—usually dim and gloomy—and now brightly lighted with many candles.  The table was beautifully set with a starched cloth, matched dishes, gleaming silver.  They refused to take notice, seemingly oblivious to the beauty of the room and the enticing smells wafting from the kitchen.  During the first several courses, their conversation swung between recollections of the pastor’s sermons and the backbiting that had become second nature to them.  But as time—and dishes—passed, you could see, in this film made from a story by Karen Blixen, their faces soften.  Warmth crept into their voices.  By the meal’s end, they were asking each other’s forgiveness, and granting it.

Why?  Because, as discontent melted away, it was replaced by the recognition that God is the source from whom all blessings flow--that they were alive only by God’s grace—that everything good is a gift—and they began to loosen up.

It’s too easy to think we could find God in a sumptuous meal or a bottle of wine.  That would be a misuse of God’s good things.  And yes—there is much evil and ugliness that spoils God’s creation.  How might this scripture be heard by people in Haiti—or those whose loved ones have died in terrorist attacks—or those here who are unemployed--those whose homes are in foreclosure or whose retirement income has dwindled because certain banks and mortgage lenders wanted too much and whose greed left others with too little?

Yet these are the very people this passage speaks to—people like the ordinary couple at the wedding feast who ran out of what they needed to celebrate.  The story is a sign of hope—of God’s abiding faithfulness and abundant love.  We see it predicting God’s new age in the middle of the old—demonstrating joy in the midst of hardship—kindness in the midst of despair—love in the midst of hatred.  And especially in a time of scarcity, sorrow, grief, this may be heard as good news, because it reminds us that, while the world still falls short of God’s will for it, God invites us to live by hope, and to work for a world where abundance is the norm for all God’s people.

We needn’t scorn the pleasures of life.  That would narrow our appreciation of the goodness in the world and reduce our capacity to appreciate God our Creator.  It reduces our capacity to believe great things of God.  It reduces us and limits what we can do for God.

In his book, Christian Doctrine, theologian Shirley Guthrie reminds us that God promises us not only a new heaven, but also a whole new earth.  The Holy Spirit enables us to live in the world in a way that our personal lives, as well as the world around us, begin to be made new.  The interest you have in mission outreach is a sign that you, too, understand the part each of us has in making the world new by using the inner gifts Paul describes in I Corinthians 12 for God’s glory and for God’s work in the world.  A characteristic of truly spiritual people is not how suspicious we are of physical needs and pleasures, but rather, how joyfully we acknowledge them as gifts of God—how thankfully we receive them—and how responsibly we treat them.

God’s generosity extends well beyond meeting our needs for health or safety or food.  It encourages us to celebrate life itself in the present moment.  Jesus came that we may have life, and have it abundantly.  At Cana, Jesus commanded the servants to fill the jars to the brim.  God is extravagant in love, and never does anything by half-measures.

Just look around at the extravagance of creation: not one kind of flower—not five-- but thousands.  Animals: cows and sheep and goats provide meat and milk and leather; horses and mules pull plows and help with farming; dogs and cats and fish and birds for pets; even such animals as the rhinoceros and the platypus, whose only purpose may be to amaze and amuse us.  Water for bathing and drinking and irrigating and swimming found in the form of oceans and rivers and lakes and ponds and creeks and puddles and waterfalls.  One kind of terrain isn’t enough—there are mountains and hills, plains, valleys, deserts—dry climates and wet, temperate zones and arctic deepfreezes.

Much greater even than the grandeur of creation is God’s extravagance in giving Jesus to the world.  Clarence Jordan suggests that, in the miracle of turning water into wine, God who gave the law at Sinai now fulfills the law by giving grace—grace symbolized by the wine, which is itself the symbol of Jesus’ shed blood.  People taste of the law and say, “that’s good.”  Then they taste of grace and say, “You’ve saved the best for last.”

The miracle at Cana is a glimpse into God’s kingdom: no grapes of wrath, and God doesn’t destroy the world in anger; instead there is wine and good fellowship, to celebrate God saving the world in love.  

It’s January, and the year is still new.  At a wedding in Galilee and at a feast in a lonely Scandinavian village, life is new.  The old order has passed away.  The new has come.  O taste and see that the Lord is good.