Jesus Pours Out Abundance

We begin Lent with this first story about Jesus in the Gospel of John - chapter 2

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Transcript

Sermons from 

Mission Hills UCC

San Diego, California

Rev. Dr. David Bahr

david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org

February 2, 2026

“Jesus Pours Out Abundance”

John 2: 1-11 – Common English Bible

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, and 2 Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the celebration. 3 When the wine ran out, Jesus’ mother said to him, “They don’t have any wine.”

4 Jesus replied, “Woman, what does that have to do with me? My time hasn’t come yet.”

5 His mother told the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” 6 Nearby were six stone water jars used for the Jewish cleansing ritual, each able to hold about twenty or thirty gallons.

7 Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water,” and they filled them to the brim. 8 Then he told them, “Now draw some from them and take it to the headwaiter,” and they did. 9 The headwaiter tasted the water that had become wine. He didn’t know where it came from, though the servants who had drawn the water knew.

The headwaiter called the groom 10 and said, “Everyone serves the good wine first. They bring out the second-rate wine only when the guests are drinking freely. You kept the good wine until now.” 11 This was the first miraculous sign that Jesus did in Cana of Galilee. He revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him.

There’s an old wisdom story about a king who announced a wedding feast for his son.  He gathered village elders and had one simple request:  Please bring a jar of fine wine and pour it into a great stone vessel prepared for the feast.  They all agreed that it was a splendid idea.

One elder returned home and told his wife.  She paused, however, bothered by the idea.  “The king is wealthy,” she said.  “Why should we be asked to contribute?  There’ll be plenty of wine.  We can just bring a jar full of water.  One jar won’t hurt anything.”  Her husband agreed that sounded reasonable.
 
 

On the day of the wedding, a mood of great anticipation filled the air.  Each of the elders came forward one by one and held their jar high as they poured it into the great vessel.  The people cheered after each one finished.  Everyone was eager to taste what would certainly be wonderful wine created from such extravagance.  

Servants then moved around the tables filling each cup.  The king and the elders held their cups up and drank first.  

Each elder took a sip and nodded their heads with delight, but only pretending that the rich blend of their combined wine was the best thing they had ever tasted.  The surprised king faked it too, secretly burning with anger.

Then the eager guests lifted their cups. But one by one, when they tasted it, they stopped. Their smiles faded and conversation thinned into murmurs.

You see, in the privacy of their own homes, each elder had made the same quiet calculation. It won’t matter.  Someone else will provide what I myself will withhold. 

Now, if the elders hadn’t made such a big deal of grandly pouring their “generous” jars of wine into the great vessel, everyone would have suspected the king had cheated them.  Such a scandal would have been whispered behind the king’s back for years.  Because when a public celebration fails, the host carries the shame.

Well, in today’s gospel, those hushed voices would have forever talked of shame behind the back of the groom’s family.  That is, if Mary had not spoken up.  

But first, let’s look at the context of this story.  John doesn’t start his gospel with the birth of Jesus in a manger or with shepherds and angels.  John places Jesus at the the birth of the cosmos:  

In the beginning was the Word
     and the Word was with God
     and the Word was God.
 

John presents Jesus as the very life of God entering into the world as light.  He continues; however, the world didn’t recognize the light.

The prologue moves from sweeping cosmic theology to something concrete and visible. John the Baptist stands as a witness to the light, pointing and saying, “Pay attention. God is doing something here.”

And so, naturally, people begin to ask questions. Who is this? What’s happening?  Slowly, without fanfare and without explanation, people begin to follow him. One by one. Andrew. Simon Peter. Philip. Nathanael. They do not fully understand him yet. They just sense that something of God is unfolding in him.

But we do not learn who God is from abstract doctrine. We learn by watching what Jesus does.  And what is the first revelation of God in the flesh?  He fixes a wine shortage and keeps a party from collapsing in shame.

That’s the very first story. John called it the “first sign.”

What a way to begin.  He keeps the joy going.  He doesn’t demand belief.  He doesn’t organize a religion.  He creates more abundance than necessary.  And just as importantly, he protects a family from humiliation.

Here’s the story:  On the third day, there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee. Jesus and his disciples were there. And so was his mother.  His mother sets everything in motion when she tells him, “they’ve run out of wine.”

Funny thing is, Jesus reacted to his mother like she was bothering him – “Mom!  Why is that my problem.”  Or perhaps better, “It’s not time yet.”  But she didn’t respond to his hesitation.  She saw that family’s crisis looming and took action.  

You see, running out of wine wasn’t just socially embarrassing, it could mark your family’s reputation for years.  Maybe even generations.  

Don’t think of this as ego.  Honor and shame were matters of survival. In a small village world without banks, contracts, or safety nets, your reputation determined everything. 

Who would lend to you. Who would stand with you in a dispute. Who would welcome your children into their families. A public failure at something as important as a wedding feast could haunt a household for years.

Despite whatever reluctance Jesus had, he acted. And because he acted, the wine did not run out.  Only the servants knew what had happened. The head waiter didn’t. In fact, he complimented the groom, saying that this wine was better than what had already been served. That detail, too, would be remembered for years.  No one pours the best wine last.

Remember, in that old wisdom story, every elder concluded that someone else would provide what they themselves withheld.  The celebration collapsed into murmurs.  But at Cana, the opposite happens.  Abundance overflowed. 

So, who is Jesus?  Begin with the first sign:  At simple village wedding where joy is just about to run out, God is revealed as dignity-protecting, abundance-creating, and radically generous.  

When the wine runs low, God does not tighten the flow.  Doesn’t calculate who deserves help.  Doesn’t lecture the family about better planning. God multiplies what is needed.  More than what is needed.  Joyfully.

And once you recognize the difference between a world organized around fear and scarcity and a world shaped by a God who keeps creating joy, how can we not line up to follow Jesus?

And what would that mean? We would begin by noticing who is about to run out and share what we have. Not guarding or hoarding, but reversing the logic of scarcity. Instead of the elders’ response, we would joyfully proclaim: “I will provide what someone else may withhold.”

Giving up the logic of scarcity is our deeper work in Lent. Giving up the lie that those with more would be harmed if everyone had enough. Or that abundance for all is somehow a threat to those who already have plenty.

We are constantly told the economic reality is that there is not enough for everyone to live with dignity. But that is not an economic reality. It is a moral decision.

When those with much more than enough insist on fiscal responsibility, claiming that caring for the least would cost them too much, that is not fiscal responsibility. It is a moral crisis.

At a time of staggering inequality, it is America’s moral failure to insist there is not enough for everyone to live with honor rather than shame.

Lent invites us to expose those falsehoods and retrain our instincts so that when the wine runs low, our first reflex is not fear, but to pour more.

But wait. There’s more.  John then does something fascinating. He moves straight from this scene of overflowing wine at a village wedding to Jesus standing in the Temple in Jerusalem, flipping over tables and driving out the money changers.

Yes, in John, the cleansing of the Temple comes immediately after the wedding at Cana. That’s not accidental. It is theological.

We’re just being introduced to who this Jesus is.  In his first story, Jesus protects a family from public shame.  In the very next story, he is now at the Temple confronting an economic system that creates shame in the name of religion.  Both stories are about access.  To joy and dignity.  Access to God.   Who has it.  Who is denied it.  And who claims the right to control it.

In the Temple courts, worship required the proper currency and approved sacrifices. The system had a purpose. But in practice it burdened the poor. It turned prayer into transaction and made worship something to be purchased.

Jesus draws the line when worship becomes another place where people are told they don’t have enough.

Because no. There is abundance for all. And in a few minutes, we will watch it happen right here.  Our annual Souper Bowl.  A handful of soup pots becoming thousands of meals for neighbors to be fed with honor. The quiet miracle of abundance multiplying in real time.

There will be no stone jars or overturned tables, unless someone is really upset about not winning the Golden Spoon. 

Whenever people refuse the logic of scarcity and refuse to leave anyone in quiet shame, they are a living sign of God’s first act in Jesus, pouring out joy and protecting honor with extravagant generosity.

This Lent, let that be our story too.