Desolate and Forsaken

2 Epiphany, January 20, 2019

St. Mark’s, Burlington, Massachusetts (cancelled because of weather)

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Isaiah 62:1-5
1 Corinthians 12:1-11

John 2:1-11
Psalm 36:5-10

            I wonder if you, like me, have ever felt forsaken and desolate. The first time that I can recall feeling this way was when I was in elementary school. Perhaps it was my first experience of a baby sitter, I’m not sure; but what I do remember was that particular night when my parents went out for the evening. It was similar to my feelings on another night in college, when my parents had temporarily separated. Both nights were dark and stormy, and I was really sad. In the first scene, I was a child standing on my bed, looking out the window at the pouring rain, and crying. In the other scene, I was a young adult, kneeling outside the college chapel, with tears falling onto the ground as steadily as the rain. At both times, I felt desolate and forsaken.

            The prophet Isaiah often described the nation of Israel in human terms, telling their story of judgment and vindication, of grief and joy. They are a people who had felt desolate and forsaken by God, especially when their holy city of Jerusalem was destroyed in war, which Isaiah interpreted as God’s judgment upon them. Many people had been sent into exile, or had run to another country, or acquiesced to the power and culture of their new rulers, and in doing so, forsaking their identity as God’s chosen people.

As a prophet, Isaiah refused to keep silent whenever he saw injustice, or when he thought the people of Israel had strayed from their faithful ways. As their chief advocate, Isaiah railed against their nation’s enemies, refusing to rest or keep silent, as they fought to protect their own people. Isaiah exhorted them to stand firm in their faith, and promised them that they would eventually no longer be termed Forsaken or feel Desolate. God would vindicate them and their salvation would be like a burning torch for everyone to see.

            Our feelings of desolation and being forsaken come to us both personally and communally. A beloved friend or family member dies. We lose a job. We wonder how we can dig ourselves out of a hole, perhaps even of our own making. We wonder if an argument or a sermon or the government shutdown will never end. When despair overwhelms us, when we cannot hear a voice of faith telling us that this too shall pass, what should we do? When there seems to be no light in the dark nights of our soul, how do we get up off our knees or out of our beds, and walk?

            I often turn to scripture at times like these for direction; and yet I must admit that running out of wine at a wedding feast is no cause for such despair. Yes, the barrels have come up empty, but it’s still a party. Certainly the bride and groom, who are surrounded by their family and friends, must be feeling pretty happy. Indeed I imagine this bride the way Isaiah describes Jerusalem, a crown of beauty, and of especial delight to her husband.

And yet, the mother of Jesus, like Isaiah, cannot keep silent. She points to the unhappy fact that there is no more wine. Do something, she tells her son. At first he replies, “It’s not my concern” - perhaps because he's not the groom and this isn't his party; and yet his mother still believed Jesus would do something. Even when we get “no” for an answer or the solution is not yet obvious, we can have faith like the mother of Jesus. Even when it's not “our” problem, we can change our minds and offer to help.

            How do you turn water into wine, I wondered? Let me begin with the obvious. It’s not easy. Often missed in this first miracle story is the difficulty and labor that was involved in the production process. John tells us that there were six stone jars, each holding 20 or 30 gallons of water; and that Jesus told his disciples, who numbered no more than 12, to fill these empty jars with water up to the brim. In those days there were no spigots of running water in the house. No hoses hooked up to city water lines. Just empty buckets, carried one at a time, passed from hand to hand until the mission was accomplished.

            Joanna Harader wrote, “It turns out that even miracles can be hard work. Not just for the person performing the miracle, but for anyone who happens to be in the general vicinity and gets drafted into service. The servants have to fill up the jars. The disciples have to hand out food to more than 5,000 people—and pick up the leftovers. Those who love Lazarus have to push the stone from his tomb’s entrance and remove the grave cloths from his resurrected body. Miracles may be inspired and holy and wonderful, but they are not easy.” December 19, 2018 Christian Century

            Good things take time to brew or ferment or develop. Miracles are moments in our lives, like shooting stars that streak across the night sky, but a steady diet of them would be difficult to bear or become nothing special. Miracles are like those precious minutes after the birth of a healthy child, when we’re exhilarated by the miracle of a new life, and grateful that our labor of love for nine months has borne fruit.

Curiously, Jesus also responded to his mother with the words, “My hour is not yet come.” John is telling us right at the beginning of his gospel that it was not Jesus’ special moment to be glorified; rather this was the bride and groom’s special day. It was only a moment in time for Jesus: a shooting star in the night before the bright sun of Easter morning. At this wedding feast, Jesus’ disciples began to believe that God had sent their messiah, and so their journey together was just beginning.

For us to believe in Jesus as the son of God who came into the world as our Savior is no easy task. It takes time. It needs development. It is a journey of a lifetime that includes hours of desolation and jubilation, of judgment and vindication. From the very start of our lives, we will fill ourselves with bucket after bucket of water, praying that God will turn them into wine.Time and again we will seek refuge under the shadow of God’s wings, trusting that Christ's light will shine in the darkness of our stormy nights. With faith and hope in God’s love, we can trust the daily production process of our own salvation.

My husband Paul and I recently watched the movie Green Book. It is based upon the true story of a gifted African American pianist, who in 1962 hired a white, Italian man to drive him through many southern states for his performances. How do you turn water into wine? By playing beautiful music under the most difficult of circumstances. By traveling down the road with people who are very different from you. By facing times of desolation with dignity and standing tall with courage, even when feeling forsaken. And by keeping family, friends, and God close by, even expecting a miracle. On this Martin Luther King Jr. weekend we remember him and others like him.

            How do we turn water turn into wine? By becoming servants and helping others. By looking beneath the outward appearances of human life for the Christ within each of us. How do we, who feel forsaken and desolate, suddenly come to feel as delightful and precious as this bride on her wedding day?

Simple. Love. God’s Love. And by giving and receiving the love of others.  Even when we endure the cross, or find ourselves stumbling in the dark, when our jars are empty, and we're running scared, God’s promise remains. “I will never forsake you nor abandon you,” said Jesus.

God’s love is priceless. When the cruelties of this world threaten to leave us feeling forsaken and desolate, we will discover that God’s righteousness is like strong mountains. God’s justice is like the great deep; and God’s love saves both man and beast. God’s love reaches not only to the heavens but comes to us on earth, in the person of Jesus and in you and me.

            God’s love was evident on the cross when Jesus spent his last breath being glorified, when His hour finally had come, and God's mission of Love was completed. In Christ, we can see a light in the window that shines brightly on dark and stormy nights. In Christ, we can find a deep well of water that never runs dry. In Christ, God’s grace will never fail us.

There is the story of a woman who always ate dessert first. When questioned about her eating habits, she asked, “Why would you want to save the best for last?” At the wedding feast in Cana, Jesus saved the best wine for last. Today, we share another wedding feast with Christ, who is our bridegroom and the Church is His bride. Happy are those who are called to the marriage supper of the Lamb.  Amen.