In our media-driven world, no news story is complete without the photo opportunity, even if it has to be contrived. If the Prime Minister wants to grab attention for a speech about education policy, he has to be seen in a classroom. This is not a new phenomenon. Concrete images help us to grasp abstract concepts. So when Isaiah is inspired to see the whole world coming together to praise and worship God, his vision takes the form of whole nations and even their kings streaming in procession towards the holy city of Jerusalem bearing gifts of gold and frankincense. Matthew reports the fulfilment of these prophecies by the kings or magi bringing such gifts to Jesus in the stable at Bethlehem. His gospel, written for Jewish Christians, aims to show that Jesus’ life fulfils the prophecies of the Old Testament. Writing about 100 years after the events in question, there was no way he could check the facts for himself. Similar stories are reported by Dio and by Suetonius, so he is not alone, even if the tale does not figure in any of the other gospels. For Matthew the visit of the three wise men was a legitimate confirmation of the truth as he understood it. If it didn’t happen, it should have done, for there it was in the book of the prophet Isaiah, in the very passage we read this evening. There is no verifiable independent evidence, so the story may or may not be factually true, but the image of kings on camels, trekking through the desert bearing gifts, remains a strong favourite in the iconography of Christmas cards – and of course Christmas carols.
However, the Feast of the Epiphany, which we celebrate to-day, is not so much an annual celebration of the possibly fabulous appearance of the Magi or three Kings in the stable at Bethlehem, as an occasion to celebrate the much more important truth, which their visit symbolizes – namely the revelation of the truth about God to the Gentiles, that is to say to people like you and me who are not Jews. The magi were drawn to the stable by the light of a star, but the light which draws us into the presence of Jesus is the light which shines from the manger itself, where the tiny child lies in all his messy dependence and vulnerability. As St John recognises in the prologue to his gospel, and in his frequent references to glory, light is a wonderful symbol of the presence of God, who is the source and essence of all true life. That life, that word, that ground of our being is the light which shines on and in us all, but it was most fully present in Jesus, who in John’s gospel is revealed as the ‘light of the world’ (John 8.12).
The dawning of that glory was foreseen in our Old Testament reading. The last few chapters of Isaiah were written at a time of spiritual darkness. The spirit of euphoria that accompanied the return from exile, had worn off. The city and the temple were still pretty much a ruin, without even a wall. Progress was painfully slow, and those who had returned to Jerusalem were weak and few in number. Morale was low, and the people disillusioned. In these circumstances the prophet’s vision of a new Jerusalem is all the more remarkable. The opening verses are like the coming of a new day, with the glory of the Lord, like the first rays of the low sun lighting up the hill tops, while the valleys are still in darkness. But as the sun rises, and the glory of the Lord lights the scene, they and their city have become so attractive that their sons and daughters come from afar to join them, and a vast procession from other nations comes streaming in by land and sea, laden with gifts to rebuild the city and enrich its inhabitants, who are no longer an oppressed minority but rather a confident ruling elite. Far from requiring 12 foot high security fences, the gates of the new Jerusalem are open day and night (v 11) so that the endless stream of supplies and tributes can continue to be brought in. What a vision, which influenced not only Matthew’s gospel but our book of Revelation as well. And how far it still is from being fulfilled if we understand it as applying to what must surely be the most sadly contested city in all the world.
But just as the truth about the Wise Men may not be found in any literal reading of their story, so too the glory of the new Jerusalem does not depend on its physical realisation. Our New Testament reading, about the wedding feast at Cana, offers an alternative clue. For the better part of thirty years Jesus has been growing up and living with his family in Nazareth. There is no further mention of Joseph, so it is generally assumed that he has died, and Jesus as the eldest son of the family has probably been running the carpentry business to support Mary and his younger brothers and sisters. But the thirty years he spent as part of a working family in an obscure corner of Galilee are almost over. Encouraged by the preaching of his cousin John the Baptist, he has just begun to assemble the group of disciples in whose company he will embark on his own public ministry, sharing with others his profound understanding of the nature of God whom he already knows as his Father, as well as the healing of body mind and spirit which flows through him from his Father.
The wedding feast at Cana marks an important stage in the realisation of his mission and his destiny. I think it unlikely that his extraordinary powers will have developed very suddenly. Almost certainly there will have been occasions at home when his compassion called forth from him smaller acts of healing and loving power as he turned to God his Father for help in various crises, and he will have become aware that such power was available to him. John’s gospel does not include an account of Jesus’ temptations, but since the wedding at Cana follows the account of his baptism, we may assume that he has already wrestled with the devil about the use of his powers. If he has refused to turn stones into bread for himself, he is understandably cautious about intervening miraculously to produce wine for a feast. Mary, who seems to have been in a position both to know that there was a problem about the dwindling supply of wine, and to give instructions to the servants, turns to Jesus for help. They have no wine. What’s to be done? To run out of wine on such an occasion would bring shame on the young couple and all their family. So Jesus responds cautiously. Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come (v 4). The translation makes his mode of address sound rather brutal. In fact the Greek word translated as ‘woman’ is perfectly respectful. But the substance of his remarks makes it clear that he is far from certain whether he should intervene, and so take a step towards a public ministry drawing on his miraculous powers, from which there would be no turning back. Wisely, Mary does not press him, perhaps she senses something of his dilemma, but she leaves the problem in his hands, and tells the servants to do whatever he tells them. A rapid prayer must have assured him that this was a legitimate use of his power, and I don’t need to repeat the rest of the story.
By way of conclusion, there is just one point that I should like to emphasise. Both in quantity and in quality the wine that came out of those great waterpots was by a wide margin better and more generous than anyone at the wedding could have imagined. The quality was way beyond expectations and at approximately 180 gallons there was a joyful superabundance of supply. John tells this story at the very beginning of his account of Jesus’ public ministry because he wants us to understand that life with Jesus was and is like that. Jesus revealed his glory … and his disciples believed in him. John himself is remembering that when he became a follower of Jesus, as he did at about this time, there came a change in his life which was like water turning into wine. And he tells these stories in his gospel, as he must have told them many a time to his friends, so that they and we may be led to bring to Jesus the issues in our lives, to believe in him, and so to allow him to turn the dull water of our lives into the exhilarating wine of a life lived in the glorious light that shines from his face.