To-day we have been celebrating the feast of the Epiphany, a Greek word meaning manifestation or striking revelation. It has become associated by tradition with the coming of the Magi or Wise Men to Bethlehem. Three Kings from Persian lands afar …
St Matthew’s account of their epiphany, their journey to Bethlehem, may rest on shaky foundations, but St John’s gospel is framed from start to finish as his account of the greatest epiphany that ever was. In his prologue he declares that we, his disciples, have seen his glory, the glory of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth (John 1.14). That’s what his gospel is all about. The wedding at Cana, which might at first glance seem an odd choice of reading for the Feast of the Epiphany, is in fact the first of seven signs, seven moments or events revealing that glory, which St John shares with us as he lifts the veil of revelation.
The changing of water into wine tells us something about the difference which Jesus makes in our lives when we put our trust in him. The water used for washing the dust off the travellers feet is so changed that it tastes like the very best wine; just as our ordinary humdrum experience of life is transformed when it is blessed by his presence. For St John, this was the first sign which began to open his eyes to the great epiphany or revelation which will be revealed more and more clearly in the whole succession of seven signs.
The second sign, which St John also places at Cana – probably to make sure that we don’t miss the significance of the connection – concerns the healing of a young boy whose father has such faith that he does not need to ask Jesus to come to his house. Jesus’ word is enough. Amazing. He doesn’t even have to touch the boy. The third sign features the healing of a man who has been ill for 38 long years. For all those years he has lain beside the pool of Bethesda, awaiting the healing moment when the water will be ruffled and the first to see it and step into the pool will be healed. When Jesus asks him whether he wants to be made well, he explains sadly that he is too slow getting into the water, since he has no one to help him, but when Jesus tells him to pick up his mat and walk, he does just that and is healed.
And so it goes on through the feeding of the five thousand, Jesus walking on the stormy water, the healing of the man born blind and finally the raising of Lazarus from the dead. In nearly every case there were those who were unaware that a miracle had taken place. No such possibility seems to have occurred to the chief steward at the marriage feast; he was just surprised that the wine offered to the guests at the end of the feast was so good. Most of the five thousand who were fed in the wilderness probably didn’t ask where so much food had come from. When the blind man was healed at the pool of Bethesda there was so much fuss about Jesus healing him on the Sabbath that noone seems to have stopped to ask whether the healing itself was miraculous. Many of the
people outside Lazarus’ immediate circle who heard about his being raised from the dead may well have wondered whether he ever really died.
St John doesn’t insist. He just tells the story, leaving it to his readers to decide whether to be sceptical about the facts, or to join with him in seeing in these stories the signs of Jesus’ glory. There is no way we can test the water which was turned into wine, nor can we now determine forensically whether any of the other miracles actually took place. That is still the case when we hear of miracles attributed to the ongoing power of Christ at work in the world to-day, and unlike St John, we cannot physically accompany Jesus as he goes about Palestine showing signs of his glory.
St Paul offers us a different insight into the ongoing activity of Christ in the world. He draws our attention to three things that last forever – faith, hope and love. By faith we know that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Faith and Love; but what about Hope? Many people would dismiss hope as a feeble crutch which we should not trust, but our hope is not a denial of the facts on the basis of blind optimism. Our Christian hope is something different. It persists in the face of clearly recognised facts, because it is anchored in something beyond those facts. As Christians our hope is anchored in the love of God, whom we can trust to help us to find the way to face any facts, to deal with any crisis that may come our way. I sometimes worry about the world we may be leaving to our children and grandchildren, but what I should really be concerned about is whether we – and they – know where to find help in navigating the stormy waters that may well lie ahead.
This is where we need to hold fast to St John’s perception of the glory which is only visible to the eye of faith. When Jesus began to reveal his glory, the steward at the feast failed to see it. But to his disciples, to those who could see what was really going on, he revealed his glory, and they believed in him. That was the glory which was revealed at the wedding feast in Cana, in all the other signs which St John lays out for us, and supremely in the light which shines in the darkness around the Cross.
What a journey now lies before us, from Cana to Calvary, a journey of epiphany, that great epiphany of revelation leading to faith, which St John invites us to share.