The Most Important Thing

In a day when many face, at the least, financial insecurity, and, at most, financial ruin; when many are scraping the bottom of their life savings to pay the electric bill and wonder what will happen in January after there are no more unemployment checks arriving and there's no job in sight; when thousands are occupying cities all over the world to protest the things they don't have, Jesus teaches us in the gospel of John what is most important. So many of the people he encountered felt like the people today: "If only I had this or that or the other thing, life would be good. I could truly live."

And so when the wine at the wedding party runs out, Jesus' mother comes to him with the crisis, and he provides high quality wine in abundance. Problem solved, party saved. Except that the party wine will eventually run out, and the wedding guests probably don't realize that the true source of joy and gladness that will never run out was among them as a guest.

A woman carries her water jar to the town well in the heat of the day. She dreads this daily chore. It's hard work carrying the heavy water jar back home, and her difficulty is increased because she carries out the chore when the sun is the hottest so she can avoid the scathing glares, the whispers of the other women of the town. So when the man at the well offers her his water, the water that will make her never thirst again, she wants it. Problem solved. She will never have to come to the dreaded well to draw water again.

A man sick for thirty-eight years laid by the pool of Bethesda. If he could only get into the pool when an angel stirred the water, he would be well, and his problems would be solved. So when a stranger approaches him and tells him to take up his bed and walk, he does. Problem solved. Except the stranger's question--"Do you want to be well?"--is about something much deeper, much more necessary than the ability to walk.

And there are the five thousand on the hillside, following Jesus around because of the things they see he can do. He looks like someone who could save them from their rulers, the Romans. But their need is much more basic at the moment. They're hungry, and there is no place to get food close by. He provides all five thousand of them, and their wives and children, with what they think is most important--bread--so much that there are twelve baskets left over. Problem solved. He reminds, them, though, that their fathers in the wilderness were also given bread, and they died. Only he is the bread of life, the bread that will stop all hungering and provide true life.

It's not that we don't need water or bread or wine or physical health. All of these things are important--for now. And paychecks, electricity, and affordable college tuition are all important too. But they aren't the most important things. We can have all of those things in quantities greater than we could ever need, and we'll still die, having never truly lived. No, our true needs are truly satisfied when we realize, like Simon Peter, the source of our life, the most important thing: "Lord,  to whom [or what] shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God." Problem solved.

A Study in Contrasts

"But Jesus . . . knew all people and needed no one to bear witness about man, for he himself knew what was in man.”

The man came at night.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

He was an achiever in all that he did. A scholar, he was a religious leader who understood the law and kept it faithfully. He was also a politician, “a ruler of the Jews,” a member of Israel’s highest legislative body, the Sanhedrin. With age had come success, accompanied by much-deserved respect. Nicodemus needed nothing. But, still, he came at night. And it felt odd—calling a younger, uneducated man “rabbi,” asking questions rather than being asked, taking the place of a student. But he wanted to know about the miracles, so he came at night.

“But whoever does what is true comes to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out in God."

The young rabbi made no sense. He spoke about being born again like a baby, about the Spirit behaving like the wind that blows where it wishes, about the ancient story of the snake-bitten people being saved as they looked at a bronze serpent lifted up on a pole. This one who did miracles from God spoke in metaphors of weakness. But the one who came at night was strong, capable, accomplished. And he left in the dark.

“He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him.” 

She came at noon. The sun beat down on the baked earth, and it was hot. But more unpleasant than the heat of the sun at noon were the glares and whispers of the other women. And so she came at noon to fetch her water, an essential, but dreaded, chore.

“For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed.”

And there he was, at noon, by the well, with the sun hot and bright, beating down on the baked earth. This Jewish man was asking an uneducated, immoral, unnamed Samaritan woman for a drink. The young Jewish rabbi made no sense. What was he thinking—asking a Samaritan woman for a drink and then telling her that if she asked, he would give her living water, and she would never be thirsty again? If he really had water like that, why would he ask her for a drink?

“The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life."

It sounded good—never having to come out again in the heat of the day, carrying the now heavy jar filled with water back to the house. And so she asked him to give it to her. But then he asked her to bring her husband. And this was what she was trying to avoid. This was why she had come at noon instead of when all the others were there. She worried that the deal would be off . . . and so she told the truth, kind of. “I don’t have a husband.” “That’s right,” he said. “You have had five husbands, and now you are living with a man who is not her husband.”

“He told me all that I ever did.”

She realized that this was no longer a conversation about water. She was speaking with a prophet from God. Could this somehow all be related to the coming of the Messiah? And then he told her: “I who speak to you am he.”

Poor, shunned, uneducated, immoral—he knew all about her and revealed himself as the Messiah to her anyway. In the light of the sun, she left her water jar behind and went to tell the people of the town about the one who had found her.

It's no coincidence that these two incidents occur back to back in John's gospel. Through a study of contrasts, John shows us that the gospel is for everyone—men, women, rich, poor, educated, uneducated, moral, and immoral—for whoever believes in him.

"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life." 

A New Beginning

Regardless of how many new years we might have experienced, each one, in some sense, marks a new beginning. On January 1, many of us allow our minds to jump ahead to December 31 and guess how life might be different for us 364 days later. Some of us have hopes, and some of us fears. All of us, though, expect that we will experience change.


The book of John reveals a beautiful beginning in chapter 2 that shows the amazing changes that Jesus brought to the world--we still experience the results of this change over two thousand years later. 


In John 2, Jesus is attending a wedding with his newfound disciples. There weren't many who knew yet about Jesus and the history-making, life-changing ministry he was about to embark upon. John the Baptist knew who he was, and John, Andrew, Peter, Nathaniel, and Phillip had been introduced to the Messiah. Jesus' mother, Mary, indicates that she has some notion of her divine Son's capabilities in this chapter.


The wedding is in Cana, and apparently Mary feels some responsibility for coordinating food and drink because when a huge problem arises, she approaches her son for help. Probably worse than any modern broach of etiquette we can imagine has just occurred: the wine has run out, and this will be a tremendous embarrassment for the host.


Mary turns to her son and tells him the problem, and he--seemingly with some reluctance because he reminds her it is not yet his time--instructs the servants to fill six large water jars--about 120 gallons, some scholars believe. Next Jesus instructs the servants to draw some of the water out and serve it to the master of ceremonies, who observes that most people would serve the good wine first, and later the worse. But for some reasons, this host has held back the good wine until now.


As we learn when we study John, nothing is just about what it seems on the surface. It's true--Jesus turned the water in the jars into wine. And yet what happens in this new beginning is about so much more than that. One of the things that John continually reminds his readers is that this Jesus is the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy, and in the Old Testament, wine is often associated with joy. Psalm 104:15 tells us that God gives plants for man to cultivate so that he can bring forth wine to gladden his heart. In Isaiah, we're told that the great feast the Lord will one day prepare for us will include well-aged wine. Wine is associated with joy and God's blessing at times. So in restoring the wine at the wedding in Cana, Jesus brings the joy that would have been missing from the wedding feast.


A couple of other important things to gather from this first miracle at the beginning of Jesus' ministry. He provides abundant amounts of wine. The party went from no wine to more than the hosts and guests ever could have asked for or imagined. The other thing is the wine's quality: Could the Creator of all things, the one who sends good and perfect gifts, provide anything less than the best wine?


We see from his first miracle, that Jesus means to bring joy--abundantly and greater than any other joy we might experience. May the beautiful news of this beginning of Jesus' ministry shape the beginning of this year: despite any changes we may experience in 2011--good or bad--Jesus, by whom all things were created, is the source of our joy--a joy greater than we could ever ask for or imagine, a joy that satisfies like nothing else ever could.


May you have a blessed new year, filled with abundant joy!