"The Good News Is...So Good It Catches Us By Surprise"

Texts: John 2:1-11 & Matthew 13:31-32

When was the last time you were surprised by something holy? For me, it was about a week or two ago during an argument with our five-year-old. Before sharing this story, I need to clarify two things. First, Hazel Grace, as many of you know, is in kindergarten in the Spanish Immersion Program at Jones Elementary School. Second, I asked her for her permission to tell this story, and she kindly agreed.

A week or two ago, Tricia, Hazel Grace, and I had an argument. I don’t remember what it was about - probably something life-or-death, like shoes or snacks. All I remember is that Hazel Grace was throwing down; whatever boundary Tricia and I had imposed in that moment was not to her liking. Voices were raised. Blood pressure was going up. Our four-year-old, Winnie, was in the next room watching Bluey without a worry in the world.  But the other three of us were having it out.

And then something changed suddenly. All at once, Tricia and I realized that Hazel Grace was no longer speaking English. Almost imperceptibly, Hazel Grace had switched from English to Spanish. Tricia and I stood stunned in front of our bilingual kindergartener. She was on a roll! Tricia and I couldn’t understand very much, but we did catch “Mamá y papá no son buenos!”

Tricia and I really wanted to be angry at Hazel Grace, but we couldn’t help but be impressed! The two of us stifled a laugh, not wanting Hazel Grace to think we were laughing at her. When I asked her yesterday if I could share this story with y’all, she laughed and said, “Yeah, that was pretty funny, wasn't it?”

That was the last time I remember being surprised by something truly holy. Because I believe it is a holy thing that Hazel Grace is learning a language spoken by 50 million people in this country, and she’s getting the chance to learn it much earlier than her mother or I ever did. I believe it is a holy thing that Hazel Grace is learning, at such an early age, that English isn’t the official language of the Kingdom of God. It’s a holy thing that she is growing up in a learning environment much more diverse than the one I grew up in. It’s a holy thing that God has given us such a smart child and that our public school system is teaching her to be creative, kind, and bilingual. Now, I’m sure there will come a moment when I’m less thrilled about the fact that my child can argue with me in Spanish, but for now, Tricia and I are grateful, surprised, and delighted.

When was the last time you were surprised by something holy? We start this season of Lent with that question to shake things up a bit. Usually, we begin Lent with stories from Matthew, Mark, or Luke about Jesus being tempted in the wilderness by Satan. But this year, our Lenten theme is “Tell Me Something Good,” so we’re kicking off Lent with a party and a mustard seed. The Wedding at Cana, which one of our college students, Hannah Moore, read, is how John’s Gospel introduces Jesus’ ministry. Rev. Lizzie McManus-Dail introduces the passage perfectly in her commentary on it: “People didn’t think Jesus could boogie like that. It took them by surprise—his dance moves, undoubtedly, but also how much Jesus, Prince of Peace, Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God… loves a good ol’ fashioned Electric Slide.” I love how John introduces us to Jesus through the most ordinary event, a normal wedding. A wedding with ordinary people just like you and me, celebrating love in a way that really hasn’t changed much over the two millennia since.

Therefore, I want us to pause today and acknowledge that the Good News of the Gospel is, above all, about joy. The joy God finds in us. The joy we find in each other. The joy that surprises us when the wine runs out, the party may suddenly come to a halt, and the myth of scarcity rears its ugly head. I, for one, am grateful for this different perspective on Lent this year because, honestly, there’s enough “heavy” in the world right now without Lent adding to it. So together, you and I will spend this Lent following Mary Oliver’s advice in her poem “Instructions for Living a Life: Pay Attention. Be Astonished. Tell About It.”

And so, this story reminds us that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is a joyful, perhaps even playful, thing. In her artist statement for the liturgical art inspired by this passage, Rev. Tanya Denise Anderson says: “The Wedding at Cana is my favorite text because there is a lot of humor in it. There’s humor in a mother approaching her son and telling him to do something without ever actually telling him to do it. There’s his pouty resistance to his mother’s non-demand while she completely ignores him and paints him in a corner. There is humor in a raucous wedding reception where the people are so “lit” that the wine has run out. And, for me, it’s particularly humorous that there’s this huge, beautiful secret of which only a few people are aware.”

You and I are stewards of this “huge, beautiful secret” in today’s texts. A secret, admittedly, that we don’t (or shouldn’t) hide. This secret is summarized in two stories, one about a wedding and another about a mustard seed. It’s a secret that makes us laugh, brings some lightness and relief in a world that sometimes feels less like a dance at a wedding and more like a dirge at a funeral.  The huge, beautiful secret in both Cana and the mustard seed is this: wherever we see not enough or too little, Jesus sees the possibility of joy and abundance.

Evil, you see, is ultimately predictable. We have become quite accustomed to the voices in our culture that try their best to drive a wedge between us and our neighbors. Evil’s predictability is, ultimately, its greatest weakness.  The Gospel of Jesus Christ, on the other hand, is filled with upended expectations and a disturbed status quo.  In a world that says there’s not enough, Jesus says, “Here’s more joy.”  In a world that tells us that “might makes right,” Jesus says, “Here’s a mustard seed; it’s enough.”  In a world that teaches us to fear the stranger, hoard what we have, and brace for the worst, Jesus says, “Come to the table. There is room. There is enough. Stay for the celebration.” That is why the Gospel remains forever holy and forever surprising: evil may be predictable, but grace never is.

Rev. Lizzie McManus-Dail puts it this way: “Because this… this is who Jesus is. Jesus doesn’t have to begin with defeating evil because he knows ultimately evil doesn’t stand a chance against a God who loves disco and his mother. Evil doesn’t stand a chance against a God who is not only not afraid of scarcity, but laughs in the face of it. Evil doesn’t stand a chance against a God who will never let an empty cistern or full tomb have the final word. Evil is predictable. But our God loves a surprise because God knows the plot twist is the same every time: God’s goodness will overflow. Every single time.”

Therefore, this Lent, I hope we begin by laughing together. Because you and I are midwives of a story of salvation by a Prince of Peace who isn’t afraid to make his debut at a lively wedding celebration. Such a story is subversive and dangerous to those who benefit from the current system. A Jesus who stays within the halls of power and privilege can be twisted to justify any form of state-sponsored violence and terror. But a Jesus revealed to us at an ordinary wedding? That’s a disturbing truth for those who want to keep us divided. Because a joy like that is nothing less than an act of nonviolent resistance in a callous culture.

And I want to be clear, friends: practicing joy isn’t a selfish act. Our consumerist culture has taught us that joy, and its close cousin, rest, is a luxury reserved only for those who can afford it, or those who have “earned” it, or those who “deserve” it. Joy is a renewable resource that reorients us toward new possibilities when the voices around us say all is lost, or, at least, that all is not new. Yes, there is suffering in the world. Yes, our neighbors are being terrorized in the streets. Yes, there is much that needs our faithful work. But taking joy out of that recipe makes for a bad dish that nourishes no one.

Mary Oliver once famously said, “Joy is not meant to be a crumb.”

And thanks be to God for that. Because at Cana, Jesus does not hand out crumbs. He fills jars to the brim. In the parable, God does not despise small things. God grows a mustard seed into shelter. And in our own lives, the Holy Spirit keeps interrupting our fear, our frustration, and our scarcity with flashes of grace we did not see coming.

So, no, joy is not denial. Joy does not pretend that suffering is not real. Joy does not erase grief. Joy does not ignore injustice. But joy does refuse to let evil have the final word. Joy refuses to surrender our imagination to fear. Joy refuses to believe that scarcity is the truest thing about the world.

This Lent, then, let us practice joy as a form of discipleship. Let us pay attention to the jars being filled. Let us pay attention to the tiny seeds in the soil. Let us pay attention to the moments when laughter breaks through in the middle of a hard day, reminding us that grace is still alive.

And maybe that is one answer to the question we began with: When was the last time you were surprised by something holy? Maybe it was not in a sanctuary at all. Maybe it was in your kitchen. In the middle of a family argument. With blood pressure rising, Bluey playing in the next room, and a five-year-old suddenly switching to Spanish to let you know, in no uncertain terms, that mamá y papá no son buenos.

And somehow, right there — in the frustration, in the laughter, in the love, in the surprise — grace broke in.

That is the kind of thing Cana teaches us to look for. That is the kind of thing the mustard seed trains us to trust. The holy does not always arrive in the places we expect, and it rarely arrives on our schedule. But it does arrive — in ordinary rooms, in ordinary people, in moments that seem too small to matter, until suddenly they are filled to the brim.

And when the world tells us to hoard, to harden, to despair, may we hear Mary’s words at Cana: “Do whatever he tells you.” Fill the jars. Make room at the table. Plant the seed. Stay for the celebration.

Because the huge, beautiful secret is still true: wherever we see not enough or too little, Jesus sees the possibility of joy and abundance. So, church — when was the last time you were surprised by something holy? This Lent, pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s beloved children, say: Amen.