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This homily was preached on Tuesday, February 23, 2016 at Princeton Theological Seminary as part of my "When Sundays Come Quicker Than Sermons" course. Inspirations for this short sermon included scripture, commentaries, and a modern interpretation of The Parable of the Barren Fig Tree.

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1 Corinthians 10:1-13

1 I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that our ancestors were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, 2 and all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, 3 and all ate the same spiritual food, 4 and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank from the spiritual rock that followed them, and the rock was Christ. 5 Nevertheless, God was not pleased with most of them, and they were struck down in the wilderness.

6 Now these things occurred as examples for us, so that we might not desire evil as they did. 7 Do not become idolaters as some of them did; as it is written, “The people sat down to eat and drink, and they rose up to play.” 8 We must not indulge in sexual immorality as some of them did, and twenty-three thousand fell in a single day. 9 We must not put Christ to the test, as some of them did, and were destroyed by serpents. 10 And do not complain as some of them did, and were destroyed by the destroyer. 11 These things happened to them to serve as an example, and they were written down to instruct us, on whom the ends of the ages have come. 12 So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall. 13 No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.

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There once was an apple tree. Legends were told about this apple tree. People came from miles and miles to see this apple tree. It was a mighty apple tree. It was a sturdy apple tree. It was the apple tree of all apple trees. For years, it produced the biggest and juiciest apples. Every bite came with the satisfying crunch of delicious freshness. As I said, this was the apple tree of all apple trees.

But somewhere in time – somehow – this apple tree quit producing apples. Just one spring, no flower buds filled the tree. No apples would come that year. The tree was empty and barren, and its branches were like a lonely shadow of desolation across the night sky. Surely this was a mistake! An apple tree must produce apples! The people assumed they must wait for the next year! But once again, spring came and there were no flower buds. There were no apples. It was just a mighty tree, void of its purpose. The next year was also the same. For three years, the apple tree did not produce any apples. For three years, the apple tree of all apple trees was just a tree.

People came to the gardener of the apple tree. “Chop it down! Why waste good ground with it any longer?!” The gardener looked from the people and then up to the tree. He remembered what the apple tree had once done for them. Would he let this tree wither and die? Every apple – red, yellow, and green – had mattered to him. But the tree hadn’t provided life in three years; for three years the tree seemed dead. What should the gardener do? I’m asking you to consider this for yourself: what should the gardener do? I want us to continue to reflect on this question as we explore our passage from today.

In Paul’s letter to Corinth, we see Paul sending the people a spiritual warning. His message is abrasive and straightforward and blunt and slightly offensive. Okay, not even slightly offensive; it is flat-out offensive to the people of Corinth. Paul is telling them that they are on a path of spiritual destruction. The weak have already turned away from their life in Christ and returned to their former religious practices. They have once again indulged in their wicked and evil ways. Even the best among them are on the path of becoming idolaters. Paul warns even the best will soon fail Christ if they continue on with their ways. Therefore, he warns them that none of them are better than the other. They are all – both the weak and the strong – falling short of their new life in Christ. They will soon be dead trees producing no life or any fruit.

The Corinthians, however, are not the only ones who have fallen short. Paul has them recall the Israelites. After the Israelites were brought out of Egypt, after they passed through the sea, and after they escaped into the desert, many of them tried to put God to the test, but it was the Israelites who failed the test of their own making, and as Paul puts it, “God was not pleased with most of them, and they were struck down in the wilderness.” Paul has the Corinthians recall the Israelites to serve as an example. The Israelites were the chosen race – God’s own people – and yet they still failed God and they fell and they were destroyed. If it happened to the Israelites, what does the mean for the Corinthians? And if it happened to the Corinthians, what does that mean for the people of today?

In an initial reading, one might assume that this text is saying bad things happen to bad people. One might assume that tragedy is the punishment for one’s sins. But if we assume that this text says anything along those lines, we fail to address other common questions we may have or have known to experience. These include “why do bad things happen to good people?” and “why do good things happen to bad people?” What is the relationship between good things and bad things with good people and bad people? Where is God in all of this? An initial reading would not answer any of these questions, so therefore this passage must, in fact, not be about punishment or the consequences of sins. Maybe this passage is not only about how we are unfaithful to God; maybe this passage is also about how God is faithful to us.

Faith is the greatest journey we will ever experience. It also might be the most difficult. This journey will include temptations and tests – everyday challenges – that will cause us to stumble and fall. The truth is, we will stumble and we will fall. We will constantly fall short of the grace that has been extended to us. Even after years of life-fulfilling progress, we will experience moments of temptation and spiritual deadness. Our trees may occasionally fail to produce fruit. To paraphrase Paul, “Even when we stand we have the possibility of falling.” The comfort, though, is the assurance that God is the constant rock, a source of refuge and strength; and the gardener, a source of care and nourishment. When you fall, God will stand for you. When you are weak, God will be your strength. When you are unfaithful to God, God will be faithful to you. You are not expected to make this journey alone. Christ walks with you.

Let us return to the apple tree. What should the gardener do? What would you do? Would you cut it down or would you let it stand? What if you were the tree and you now failed to give life to your fruit? Would you want the gardener to give up on you or would you want the gardener to work on your behalf?

Jesus gives us the answer. Give it another year. Let Christ be the one to dig around the tree and to fertilize it. Let Christ be the one to care for you. Let Christ be the one to stand with you. Because for every great and mighty apple tree, there is one greater and mightier Gardener who watches over and tends to them all. Thanks be to God. Amen.

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            Faithful Creator, you are our gardener and our rock. We give you thanks for your everlasting faithfulness to your people. We are sinful and broken, but our greatest joy and praise go to you for loving us in despite of this. We ask that you continue to bless our lives with your presence. In Christ’s name we pray, Amen.

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From the Top of the Mountain

            “From the Top of the Mountain” was preached at Lawrence Road Presbyterian Church on Sunday, February 21, 2016. Inspirations for this sermon included scripture, personal experiences, commentaries, and discussions covering biblical interpretations & studies.

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Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18

1 After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” 2 But Abram said, “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” 3 And Abram said, “You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.” 4 But the word of the Lord came to him, “This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir.” 5 He brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendants be.” 6 And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.

7 Then he said to him, “I am the Lord who brought you from Ur of the Chaldeans, to give you this land to possess.” 8 But he said, “O Lord God, how am I to know that I shall possess it?” 9 He said to him, “Bring me a heifer three years old, a female goat three years old, a ram three years old, a turtledove, and a young pigeon.” 10 He brought him all these and cut them in two, laying each half over against the other; but he did not cut the birds in two. 11 And when birds of prey came down on the carcasses, Abram drove them away.

12 As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him.

17 When the sun had gone down and it was dark, a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces. 18 On that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram, saying, “To your descendants I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates.”

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I once asked myself the question, “Am I afraid of heights?” It just so happened that I asked myself this question as I was riding a ski lift up a mountain. In that moment everything became just a bit scarier. The ski lift seemed just a bit more shaky. The mountain seemed just a bit higher. And the probability of me falling to my death seemed just a little bit more likely. Just a little bit. I rode with this newfound fear until I arrived at the top of the mountain. It was then that I easily exited the ski lift and looked out across the view. I saw the beautiful peaks covered with snow and trees and people and exhilaration. It was in that moment, I realized I was – in fact – not actually afraid of heights. I have never been afraid of heights. Sure I am afraid of other things but not heights. Rather I realized I was afraid of something else: it was the feeling of something foreign to me. I had questioned something new during a time of unknown expectation, and it scared me. That and I was being just a little bit dramatic. Again, just a little a bit. However, I realized it was in this moment that I gave a notice to my fear, and for just one small moment as I rode the ski lift; I let the fear control my thoughts. But here I was, I was on the top of the mountain – top of the world really – and that was a beautiful sight. The view from the top was worth the fear I had to endure. Anyway, I was now more afraid of getting down the mountain. I learned that day it’s a lot easier to go up a mountain on a ski lift than it is to go down the mountain on your skis, or in my case, my back, my knees, my stomach, even my face. Despite my difficulty getting down the mountain, I learned something that day. If you don’t let fear control you and you embrace it for what it is worth, fear can bring on quite the promise.

We are already in the second week of Lent. The second week! Now I don’t know about all of you, but some part of me is on the verge of just begging God to slow it all down. I’m sure a part of it is this is my last semester of seminary before I graduate in May and I’m slightly worried about the things to come, but I know another part is I want to live in this moment and take full advantage of what is happening around me, right here and right now. Eventually we will get to Maundy Thursday – and we know this will come sooner than we think – but when we get to Maundy Thursday, we will spend the evening sitting in darkness. Then the next day we’ll have Good Friday where we’ll spend the afternoon siting in silence. The promise of Easter will come that Sunday where we will spend the day rejoicing and celebrating and lifting up God’s glory to the heavens, but some part of me is not ready for the promise of Easter yet.  Some part of me is content to sit in the darkness and in the silence. It is not because I don’t want to Easter to come – I want Easter to come, I need Easter to come, I am actually beyond thankful Easter will come – but it’s because I’m still wrestling with these fears and I need a moment and a time and a place to sit down and lift them up to God. We know the promise is coming, but right now I believe we could all use a moment to just acknowledge our fears and embrace them for what they are worth.

That is how I believe Abram felt in our passage today. In Genesis 15, we have a back-and-forth exchange of words between Abram – later better known as Abraham – and God. This is not the first time for God to talk to Abram. In every previous occasion, God had promised to give Abram prosperity and land. What makes this time notable, however, is this is the first time that Abram talks back to God. The two actually held a conversation. But it makes me ask the question: why? Why did Abram talk back? What is the fundamental issue that brings Abram to speak? Why this time?

I ask myself, “How afraid he must have been…” To question God and to question life. To question his visions and to question the promises. How afraid… Afraid when God comes to him in the night. Afraid as he looked out among the infinity of the stars. Afraid of sacrificing the animals. Afraid as the birds of prey came down on the carcasses. Afraid as the deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him. Afraid of the smoking fire pot and the flaming torch.  Afraid as God promised him descendants of multitudes and afraid as God promised him a new land of uncertainty. Most of all, afraid because he did not yet understand what was coming or how it would come to him. I imagine Abram – surrounded and overwhelmed by his fear – taking a moment to embrace all that was happening around him. Hesitantly but still surely responding to God’s call – to God’s promise.

Now we know God’s promise to Abram comes in two parts. One, Abram will be given an heir and a multitude of descendants. Two, Abram will be given land “from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates.” However, these two promises won’t be given right then and there to Abram, and so they don’t quite make sense. At least not yet anyway. William Yarchin, a professor of Biblical Studies at Azusa Pacific University, writes it like this, “Possessing no actual heir, Abram is given not a substitute or even a son, but rather a prophetic experience of a promise that there will be one. Owning no actual estate to pass on, Abram is given no possession but a covenant commitment that the vast land will ultimately go to his descendants.” Let me put that into my own words: “Abram, you don’t have a descendent. Abram, you also don’t have an inheritance to give to the descendent you don’t have. And although you don’t know when, where, why, or how this will happen, someday – one day – you will have both in abundance.”

It is in this where we see a fundamental issue that we can relate to in our passage: it is the problem of making sense out of divine revelation when it doesn’t make sense in the actual life of the recipient. In other words, when we don’t understand how God is acting in our lives, we become afraid. That is the cause of our fear, but it is through this fear where we can learn about the promise of what God has done and what God will do. But to do that, we must first acknowledge that we do – in fact – have fears. Just take a moment, ask yourself, “What are my fears? And where is God in my struggle?”

What are you afraid of? Is there something you’re afraid of upcoming in the next couple of years? How about this next year? The next month? Even tomorrow? Are we afraid of death? The end of something? The death of a job? The death of a passion? How about physical death? The death of a loved one? Or the death of one’s self? Or are we afraid of new life? A birth?  A moment of transition? The start of something new? Even the resurrection? Do we pray for good health, good fortune, and a good life? Are we afraid of what happens if the “good” doesn’t always come? What are you afraid of?

It is okay. It is okay to be afraid. God is with you. God is with you in your fears, and God is with you in the promise to follow.

I don’t know what your fears are. We all have are own. You have yours, and I have mine. Some are rational and some may seem irrational, but it doesn’t mean they are not true. They are there; they are present. While I may not know what your fears are, I do know this. God is with you in your struggle. That’s the meaning of Lent. God is right there with you in your struggle. Our God knows our fears. Our God has felt our fears. Our God knows the feeling of going up and experiencing something new. It was in the waters of the Jordan where the baptism took place in the form of a rising dove. It was on the top of the mountain while the Lord was transfigured before the eyes of three of his disciples. It was on the cross where nails pierced our God’s flesh as he was lifted high into the air. Each was a moment of great fear, and I have to believe that the fully human Christ was afraid. But Christ isn’t only fully human, he is also fully divine. Therefore, I also have to believe that while Christ may have been afraid, Christ was also the promise telling us this, “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Abram was lifted up in moments of fear. Christ was lifted up in moments of fear. You too shall be lifted up in your moments of fear. This is the view from the top of the mountain!

Our fears may not make sense. The divine revelation of God may not make sense. But that is okay. It is okay because at least we know God is present with us at all times, especially in our moments of fear. It is okay to doubt and to ask questions. It is even okay to want a clarification to what is going on around you. After all, Abram did all these things. But where there is no doubt or no question is whether God promises to secure your future and be present with you during your times of fear and uncertainty. This much is true.

Sometimes the way that God works in our lives is hidden. We do not understand it then. We might actually never understand it. We might even fear where it will take us. But while God’s work in the world may be hidden at times, it is also unstoppable. It is an unstoppable forced filled with love and grace and life. It is filled with wonder and glory. It is filled with promise. Even if we doubt this promise due to the midst of overwhelming situations, God will deliver. Even if we have trouble believing the promise due to our fear, God makes the promise even better. The resurrection? The new life found in Christ? This has been promised to you! This is no greater gift extended to you! Believe and hear the good news! Do not let your fear control you. Embrace it for what its worth. It means something is coming. It means you will be lifted up. Soon you will see the view from the top of the mountain!

          It is okay to be afraid, but if we let of the feeling of going up the mountain stop us, we lose the beauty of the view from the top. In the same sense, if we ignore our fear, we lose the strength found in the promise. Hold onto the place in which your fears come. It is telling you something. It is telling you this. Your future has been secured by a covenant made with God promised in the resurrection. Thanks be to God. Amen.

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Holy God, we give you our highest thanks and praise for your presence among us today. We are human, and we are afraid. Comfort us, O Gracious Savior. Let our fears be lifted up to you for you are the One who has always been with us in our journey. The promise found in you is mighty and true. May your Spirit lead and guide us delivering all of humankind into moments of divine revelation. In Christ’s name we pray, Amen.

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An Unexpected Time

“An Unexpected Time” was preached at First Presbyterian Church in Sterling, Colorado on Sunday, January 17, 2016. Inspirations for this sermon included scripture, confession & forgiveness, class discussions, and an article written by Christian singer/songwriter Derek Webb.

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John 2:1-11

1 On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. 2 Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3 When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” 4 And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” 5 His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” 6 Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. 7 Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. 8 He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.” So they took it. 9 When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom 10 and said to him, “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.” 11 Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

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This past fall I took one of my favorite courses during my time at seminary. The class was titled, “Preaching Paul,” – a course dedicated to exactly that – Preaching from the Pauline Epistles. While I’m not doing that today as the reading comes from the gospel of John instead of one of Paul’s letters, it had me thinking about a focus of one of our discussions. One of the weeks – probably about a third of the way into the semester – we spent a three-hour class period discussing the authority of preachers and the rights of what they can preach. For example, because I’m male, can I preach on a text that says “Women submit to your husbands” or because I’m white, can I preach on a text that says, “Slaves obey your masters”? We spent hours going back and forth on this idea, and I won’t speak for the rest of my class, but I made the conclusion preachers do have the right and authority to preach upon passages foreign to them only if they are considerate to their own personal identity and to the context and audience in which they are preaching. I also made the conclusion sermons that are best received are ones where the preacher stays true and authentic to themselves while also staying true and authentic to the audience. If I were to preach a sermon on God’s abundant grace, I must actually believe in God’s abundant grace and live my life in a way that best displays that. Truly, it’s the epitome of practicing what you preach. This could be easier said than done sometimes. Especially if the text is hard to swallow or if the text reveals some sort of weakness in humankind.

Which brings us to our lesson today, Jesus turning water into wine at a wedding in Cana. When I first read this passage, two images instantly stood out in the text: weddings and wine. Unfortunately, these are two images I’m just not okay to preach about each for their own reason. First, I’m not married nor do I plan on being married anytime soon, so I’ve never experienced my own wedding. I’ve never even helped prepare for someone else’s wedding or the reception for that matter. I’ve never had to worry about how much food to order or how much wine to get. I’ve just been someone in the audience witnessing the celebration. So there from this perspective, if I’m staying true and authentic to myself as a preacher, the best message I can give you is not about a wedding. Second, while I do enjoy a glass of wine every now and then, the unfortunate truth is, wine gives me heartburn. The worst heartburn. One of the best things about preaching to my home congregation is that you all can check my facts, go straight to the source. Ask my parents how many times I complained about having heartburn this break. The number is astounding, and I swear it gets worse and worse every time. So while I enjoy the taste of wine, it’s usually not a good experience for me. Even the thought of Jesus turning six jars of water, each holding thirty gallons, into wine gives me heartburn. So again from this perspective, if I am to stay true and authentic, I cannot preach a message about overflowing jars of wine. So where does that leave us? A passage about weddings and wine, and this sermon doesn’t focus on either of them.

This is where we begin to dig and explore. If we remove the images of weddings and wine from a passage about weddings and wine, we see at its very core, this text is a model of what humankind failed to do and Christ’s reaction to it. See, the hosts of the wedding ran out of wine. They weren’t prepared. They weren’t ready. They fell short. They made a mistake. The hosts ran out of wine. They failed. A task so small and simple, and they failed. In addition to that, Jesus lets them fail. He lets them run out of wine, and when his own mother lets him know that the wine gave out, he replies with a question blunt and straight to the point, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me?” This question hits hard, and it hits home. A mistake was made but mistake was not Jesus’. The hosts failed. Jesus didn’t. This was not his moment to take the blame as Jesus says, “My hour has not yet come,” as he alludes to the moment where he will take the blame and die by crucifixion on the cross. But here – here in this moment – here in this one, small moment perhaps even for a few minutes – he’ll let the hosts take the blame. Jesus will let the hosts know that they’re human, and it’s only human to make mistakes. Failure and the mistakes we make are a part of human life.

But it’s also in this moment – a moment so trivial such as running out of wine at a wedding – that Jesus does one of his greatest acts. It’s in this moment where Jesus performs the first of his seven signs as portrayed in the gospel of John. The first of his seven miracles. And honestly, it seems the smallest of his miracles in comparison. It’s not the feeding of the 5000 or Jesus walking on water. It’s not the healing of the royal official’s son, the paralytic, or the blind man. And it’s definitely not Jesus raising a man from the dead. It’s just water into wine. Jesus turning water into wine. But I love this sign because again, if we look at the very core of this text, this passage is about how humankind failed to do something – how they made just a tiny mistake – and how Jesus reacted to it.  And it was a reaction of wonder and glory and magnificence. Jesus transformed six jars of water, holding twenty to thirty gallons each, into the best wine, overflowing and ever pouring. Wine so great and so delicious that all at the wedding noticed. This is how Jesus started his career in ministry. It was here in an unexpected time in an unexpected place that Jesus revealed his glory, so that all might believe in him. This is the God we have. This is the God we worship. A God that reveals Godself when we fall short. A God where no mistake is too small or a failure too great that it could ever separate us from God’s love.

We are now in the third Sunday in January, and it’s roughly about this time when the New Year resolutions we’ve set for ourselves start to falter and fail. Are you still going to the gym? Have you been snacking less? Have you started that book you finally wanted to sit down and read? Are you spending more time with your family? Have you tried something new or stepped out of your comfort zone? Are you a better person? Will 2016 still be your year? Whatever you’ve set yourself to do, are you still doing it? How are your resolutions going? Whatever your answers may be, it’s okay. If you’re still going strong, great! Push yourself! Keep working at it! But if your resolutions have failed or you’ve let them go, that’s also okay. You tried! You gave it an effort! You challenged yourself! Now I personally don’t set resolutions for myself because I can’t handle the failure it brings. Last time I set New Year resolutions was back in 2011, where I set twelve goals for myself to be completed on a monthly basis. I only accomplished five that year, and five out of twelve on any test or exam would be considered failing. But maybe that’s the point from this text. That it’s okay to fail. It’s okay to make mistakes. That your failures or your mistakes aren’t the end. What weighs you down now won’t weigh you down forever. There is this sign of Jesus turning the water into wine.

When the New Year came this year, I saw an article written by Derek Webb, a well-known Christian singer-songwriter. While I never have listened to any of his music, I was captivated by the title of the post. Webb titled his post, “On Failure, Liturgy, and New Years.” I’m not sure part drew me in, was it my love of liturgy or was it the idea of reflecting on one’s failures during the New Year? So I went ahead and read the post. It was about Webb’s divorce from his wife, and how it was caused by a mistake he made – or rather, a series of mistakes he made, the largest involving having an affair. Webb spent an entire year trying to fix these mistakes before he finally wrote this post as a moment of confession. A year after his divorce and now he was working on moving on. He acknowledged his mistakes – he wasn’t ignoring them; he was embracing them for what they were. He put them up front and let them hang out there for the world to see. Webb ended his article with honest words of confession as he was trying to believe them for himself, “I’ve said recently that my songs feel like my personal liturgy, things I don’t necessarily or always believe but I show up to recite again and again in hopes of believing them. If I'm honest, most of the time, I don't believe the words in my songs. I have a hard time believing in a God that could make, let alone love a man who could do such things. So I’ll go on reciting and adding to my liturgy in hopes of believing the words, because I wish to. More than ever, I wish to.”

This is Webb’s moment of practicing what he preaches. Webb was seeking forgiveness that he wasn’t even sure that he deserved.  But again, that’s the God we serve. A God that breathes forgiveness into us. No matter the mistakes we make or the failures we endure. God is there, changing the water into wine. You are forgiven. You got to say it; you got to say it again and again. Hopefully you will start to believe it. You will know you are forgiven. You will accept that you are forgiven. You will give thanks for you are forgiven. You’ll believe God is there, revealing Godself to you. You’ll make mistakes here and you’ll fail there, but that’s human nature. It’s not the end. You will never be the mistake of all your mistakes, and you will never be the failure of your greatest failure.

So this New Year, reflect where you’re going and reflect where you’ve been. Let it be a model of epiphany. Be your true and authentic self. Acknowledge what you’ve done and what you haven’t done. It’s okay to make mistakes. It’s okay to fail. It means you tried. It means you’re human. But when you make a mistake, when you fail, when the wine runs outs, keep going. Live and learn. Challenge yourself. Grow into someone better. Let your jars overflow with the best wine. A wine so rich and great that all take notice. It’s never too late to try to fix something broken or to become a better person.

The transformation of water into wine has already taken place, and it continues to take place inside of you. Maybe the water was the place where you’ve been. Your baptism. The confession. And maybe the wine is the place you’re going. The resurrection promised in communion. The blood shed for your forgiveness. This was how Jesus started his career in ministry. This was the first of his miracles. A sign to show humankind that their mistakes will be replenished and their failures forgiven. It was an unexpected time. It was an unexpected place. Christ transformed the water into wine. Thanks be to God. Amen.

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Christ, Savior of the World, we have sinned against you, but our greatest sin is that we have believed our sins have separated us from your love. Remind us that nothing in creation will separate us from you. We give thanks for the transformation of water into wine, the first of your signs to reveal your glory. Let it be a model of how we should live our lives. Be with present with us, eternal God, from this day to the end of days. In your name we pray. Amen.

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