John 2:1-11
1 Corinthians 12:1-11
Isaiah 62:1-5
Psalm 36:5-10
My commentary on these texts focuses on the Psalm and on the Epistle.
John 2:1-11
1 Corinthians 12:1-11
On the third day there was a
wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his
disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the
mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’ And Jesus said to her,
‘Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.’ His
mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’ Now standing there
were six stone water-jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding
twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, ‘Fill the jars with water.’ And
they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, ‘Now draw some out, and take
it to the chief steward.’ So they took it. When the steward tasted the water
that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants
who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to
him, ‘Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the
guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.’ Jesus did
this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and
his disciples believed in him.
This
is the first miracle attributed to Jesus in John’s Gospel. I think a lot about
miracles. Patients ask me to pray for miracles.
Sometimes I bear witness to miracles. But a lot of the time, I bear
witness to unfulfilled prayers for miracles. And sometimes, I wish I could
order up a miracle.
I
care for pediatric patients in one of the hospitals where I work. I got to know a patient who will likely not
make it into the double digits. It seems so miraculously unfair. This vibrant
soul, who is precocious and hilarious and gentle, needs a miracle. But this
little patient will most likely not see a miracle.
And
this hurts. I wish I could order up a miracle like Jesus ordered up wine for
this wedding. There’s very little comfort in saying, “God is with you.” I
wrestle with faith and what God is up to in so much pain. But in all my frantic
grasping, one of the few things I can hold onto is, “God does stuff.” God makes something out of nothing. I don’t know
how it works, but God does stuff. In the form of water into wine and in the
form of joy in ICUs, despite all evidence to the contrary. God does stuff.
1 Corinthians 12:1-11
Now concerning spiritual
gifts, brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be uninformed. You know that
when you were pagans, you were enticed and led astray to idols that could not
speak. Therefore I want you to understand that no one speaking by the Spirit of
God ever says ‘Let Jesus be cursed!’ and no one can say ‘Jesus is Lord’ except
by the Holy Spirit.
Now there are
varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services,
but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same
God who activates all of them in everyone. To each is given the manifestation
of the Spirit for the common good. To one is given through the Spirit the
utterance of wisdom, and to another the utterance of knowledge according to the
same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing
by the one Spirit, to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy, to
another the discernment of spirits, to another various kinds of tongues, to another
the interpretation of tongues. All these are activated by one and the same
Spirit, who allots to each one individually just as the Spirit chooses.
I
spend a lot of time working with patients experiencing cognitive decline. Who flicker in and out of awareness. Whose spirits are still whole, but whose
minds are fragmented into memories of now, then, and never.
To each is given the
manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.
Every
once in awhile, I see a flicker of vibrant spirit and of the beautiful soul
that exists behind the wall of the dementia. The gifts bestowed by the Holy
Spirit that are still there. I visited a patient recently who was a pianist.
Who was in the grip of dementia, frantically pacing the halls searching for the
world, and would sit down at the piano and play a perfectly executed minuet or
sonata in between laps. The river of music trickling down the hall of the
memory care unit, bringing beauty into such a dark place.
All these are activated by
one and the same Spirit, who allots to each one individually just as the Spirit
chooses.
Our
elders with dementia, tucked away in euphemistically named “gardens” and
“villas” and “neighborhoods” for their own protection and the protection of our
sensibilities, have abundant gifts of the Spirit. The mystery of what the Holy Spirit is up to
never ceases to amaze me. And sometimes inspires me to sit down at the piano
and play a minuet myself.
Psalm 36:5-10
Your steadfast love,
O Lord, extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds.
Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains,
your judgments are like the
great deep;
you save humans and animals alike, O Lord.
How precious is your
steadfast love, O God!
All people may take refuge in the shadow of your
wings.
They feast on the abundance of your house,
and you give them drink from
the river of your delights.
For with you is the fountain of life;
in your
light we see light.
O continue your
steadfast love to those who know you,
and your salvation to the upright of heart!
I
get the honor of seeing steadfast love in action all the time. Of adult children who care for their aging
parents in living rooms. Of nurses and aides who wipe foreheads and offer water
tenderly. Of elderly parents who sit at the bedsides of their middle aged
children. Of people who show up day after day in love.
Human
love is imperfect, but it is beautiful. And I think it is God’s steadfast love
that helps us love one another. This psalm is one of praise, but I think it is
also one of pleading with God to continue to show up. Of begging in the dark of
night, “Continue your steadfast love!” Because caretaking is love all jumbled
up with pain.
A
son asks me, “Does it mean I love him less if I resent him sometimes?”
A
daughter weeps, “I wish sometimes she would just die in her sleep, and then I
don’t have to worry about her anymore.”
In your light we see light. All
people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
I
pray a lot for deep peace and rest. For families and patients to know the deep
comfort that can only be found in the divine, because comfort on this side of
heaven can be so fleeting.
Lord,
shelter your beloved under your wings. Help them take refuge from the burden of
loving. Love them steadfastly.
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