Sermon for the Second Sunday after the Epiphany
Fr. Richard G. Cipolla
St. Mary's Norwalk
January 17, 2016
Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Strasbourg The Wedding Feast of Cana |
“At a certain point the wine ran out, and Jesus’ mother told him, ‘They have no more wine.’ Jesus replied, ‘Woman, how does this concern of yours involve me? My hour has not yet come’. His mother instructed those waiting on table, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’” (John 2: 3-5)
The changing of water into wine, always the
gospel for this Sunday, the third sign of the Epiphany: the adoration of Christ by the Wise Men, the
Baptism of Christ, and the changing of water into wine. This is the first miracle of Jesus and the
first of the seven signs in the gospel of John, the signs that point to who
Jesus is, the signs that show forth his glory, in a hidden way, for his glory
is only shown forth finally on the cross.
This is a most homely miracle: no healing here, no miraculous feeding,
no casting out of demons. It surely pales before the raising of Lazarus, the
final sign before the glorification of the Passion and Resurrection. But it is
such a wonderful miracle. It is purely gratuitous; it is overflowing with
extra. The water changed into wine gives
pleasure to the wedding guests; the choice wine was saved for last. And so much of it! Six jars of twenty-five gallons apiece.
But that is not the heart of this gospel. The heart of this gospel is the manifestation
of Christ to his disciples. But close to
this heart, beating simultaneously with it, is the meaning of Mary’s role in
our redemption. The heart of this gospel
is Jesus Christ; but the wedding feast at Cana is where the biblical
foundations of devotion to Mary are found, those foundations that end as they
must, as all devotions must, at the foot of the Cross. One of the fundamental differences between
Catholicism and Protestantism is the role of Mary in faith and piety. Devotion to Mary is one of the constants of
the Catholic faith, and it is this devotion that is the evidence of a living
faith in Christ. The rejection in Protestantism
of Mary’s role in Christian faith has had the result of a widespread loss of
understanding of who Jesus is. For without Mary, the reality of Jesus Christ is
compromised.
They have no more wine. Woman, how does this concern of yours involve
me? My hour has not yet come. Does not this exchange between Jesus and his
mother give us pause? His address to
her: Woman. Not Mother: Woman. We can rush to point out that this was a
polite form of address in Semitic culture. The problem here is the
translation. There is no way to say this
in English as it would have been said in Aramaic. But the meaning of the gospel does not
ultimately depend on language and culture. The conversation between Jesus and
his mother—and please note that John the Evangelist never calls Mary by her
name: he always refers to her as the mother of Jesus—this conversation is
important to Christian faith because of what it says about Mary and the
therefore about Jesus, for Mary always points to Jesus.
Where do we begin in understanding this
conversation? We begin with the Revelation
of St. John, where the Woman—that is the term used—is that mysterious, symbolic
figure who is a key figure in the drama of salvation. She is the Woman who gives birth to the male
child and enters into conflict with the dragon serpent. The imagery here forces us back to the third
chapter of Genesis, to the Fall, where enmity is place between the serpent and
the woman, between the serpent’s seed and her seed. In Revelation the Woman in
birth pangs brings forth a male child who is the Messiah and is taken up into
heaven. The great dragon, identified as
the ancient serpent of Genesis by Revelation, frustrated by the child’s
ascension, turn against the Woman and her offspring. Tradition understands this Woman as the
people of God, the new Israel. Tradition
understands this Woman as the Church who continues on earth after the
Ascension, persecuted but protecting her children. But the Tradition of the Church identifies
this woman, the Woman, also as Mary, the mother of Jesus, the mother of the
Messiah. For it is Mary who is the symbol
of the Church in the deepest sense, Mary who is the mother of the Church, but
above all, Mary who is the new Eve, who by her Yes overturns the bondage and
death of Eve’s No.
This is the context is which we must
understand the conversation between Mary and Jesus at the wedding feast at
Cana. It is Mary, the mother of the
Messiah, the new Eve, who utters the words:
they have no wine. This is not
only a fact; it is a request to perform a sign that will show the glory of God
in the Savior of the world. But before
Jesus performs this sign, he must make clear his refusal of Mary’s
intervention—how does this concern of yours involve me? She cannot have any role in his ministry. His
signs must reflect the absolute sovereignty of his Father, not any human or
family agency. What he must do, he must
do alone, he who was born not by blood, not be carnal desire, nor by man’s
willing it, but by God. But it is the
new Eve who makes this request. It is the handmaid of the Lord who makes this
request. And so just as Eve’s request of Adam brought sin into the world, so
Mary’s request is the occasion of Jesus’ epiphany to his disciples, the first
manifestation of his glory. And this
request is granted: the water is changed
into wine. But Mary’s ministry, her role
in the redemption, must wait, must wait until the glorification of her Son, the
final manifestation, the final epiphany. It is only at the final battle between
the Son and the serpent that is waged on the Cross: it is only the hour of passion, death, and resurrection
and ascension. Here is Mary’s
fundamental role, her ministry. It is as the Woman: Woman, behold your
Son! Here is the final struggle of the Woman
with the serpent. It is here that she is entrusted with offspring whom she must
protect in the continuing struggle between Satan and the followers of the
Messiah. Here at the foot of the cross is Mary, mother of the Church. Here Mary is our mother, our protector, we
who are the offspring of the Church, we who have been born again at the font by
water and the Holy Spirit. Here is our Lady of Perpetual Help, here is our succour,
our light, our sweetness and our hope, here is the Mother of all Christians,
enveloping us in her mantle, the mantle that warmed the hillside of Tepeyac so
that roses bloomed in the winter.
So many words, too many words, all of this,
so much breathing out into the void! But how else to say this which must be
said? Much better to go to Chartres to
see who Mary is in the stone of the vaulting that soars to heaven and in the
windows filled with the deep blue and blood red glass that speak so eloquently
of beauty, of the Woman, and the glory of her Son. Much better to go to
Torcello to see the Byzantine mosaic in the apse of the cathedral and see in
that severe gold and blue the steely courage of the Theotokos, the bearer of
God. Much better to go to my
grandmother’s parish church in Campagna to see the heartbreaking statue of the
Madonna Addolorata, our Lady of Sorrows, her heart pierced by swords, lovingly
dressed in her liturgical outfits, her fragile porcelain face marked by tears,
and here understand the deep suffering love that is Mary’s love for her Son and
for the Church. Much better to join in singing the solemn tone of the Salve
Regina, for it is the act of singing this hymn that the deepest understanding
takes place, that water into wine makes sense, that my life in Christ makes
sense—that Love makes sense.