Been to Cana

John 2: 1 – 3, 5 - 11

            On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there; and both Jesus and his disciples were invited to the wedding. When the wine ran out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” . . . His mother said to the servants, “Whatever he says to you, do it.” Now there were six stone waterpots set there for the Jewish custom of purification . . . Jesus said to them, “Fill the waterpots with water.” So they filled them up to the brim. And he said to them, “Draw some out now and take it to the headwaiter.” So they took it to him. When the headwaiter tasted the water which had become wine . . . (he) called the bridegroom, and said to him, “Every man serves the good wine first, and when the people have drunk freely, then he serves the poorer wine; but you have kept the good wine until now.” This beginning of his signs Jesus did in Cana of Galilee.

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            Once we’ve been to Cana, once we’ve tasted the wine, once we’ve danced with Jesus, we are never the same again.

            There’s a wonderful sequence of scenes in Martin Scorsese’s film, The Last Temptation of Christ. It’s the wedding feast at Cana. The headwaiter is pointing to the jars, shaking his head at Jesus, and insisting that it’s only water. Jesus is smiling and telling him to go and taste it. The waiter finally does and yells over to Jesus, “You’re right! It is wine!” Jesus raises his cup and playfully salutes the waiter. In the next scene Jesus is dancing joyfully with the other guests. He is singing and laughing and clapping his hands in the air.

            This is the Jesus that I know: a Jesus who is not only with us in our pain and sorrow, but who longs to celebrate each moment of our life with us; who dances with us joyfully and playfully; a Jesus who dances with me — the real me that exists now; not with some idealized me-that-I-should-be, but with me with all my blemishes and imperfections; all my failures and my shame. All he asks of me is that I step into the dance.

            Once we step into the dance with Jesus, we are never the same again. Dancing with Jesus changes us forever: it transforms us — sort of like changing water into wine. It doesn’t matter to Jesus how well we dance, or if we keep stepping on his toes. He’s just happy that we’ve come to the dance; that we keep trying; that we never give up no matter how many times we fall flat on our backs.           

            I recently read a short story that speaks about this dance in a very moving way. It is by the Japanese Catholic novelist Shusaku Endo. The story is entitled The Final Martyrs and it is set in 17^th Century Japan during the persecution of Japanese Christians. The Shogun had declared it a capital offense for a Japanese to practice Christianity.

            At first hundreds of people were crucified, burned at the stake, broiled on wooden gridirons or thrown alive into sulfur pits. As the persecution wore on and countless Japanese martyrs held to their faith, the government became more and more enraged and sadistic. It tried to make Christians deny their faith by the cruelest of tortures, and those who renounced Jesus publicly were allowed to go free.

            Endo’s story is about a group of young adult Christian men who have known each other since childhood. They belong to a village that has secretly practiced Christianity for more than 100 years. One member of the group is named Kisuke. As a child he was big, awkward and accident-prone. Being ridiculed often, Kisuke reached adulthood with no self-esteem. As they grew up secretly practicing their faith, the other young men often predicted that if they were ever caught by the government and tortured, Kisuke would quickly renounce his faith and betray Jesus.

            The government learns about the village from an informer and it is raided and burnt to the ground. Kisuke and his friends are arrested and confined to a tiny cell to await torture. His friends remain steadfast in their faith and urge Kisuke to pray to Jesus and Mary for strength. But listening to the screams of those being tortured becomes too much for Kisuke. Before his turn comes, he cries to the guards that he is ready to renounce his faith. He leaves the cell in shame never able to look back upon his friends. The other young men are tortured brutally but no one renounces his faith.

            For the next two years they are moved around Japan from prison to prison. One by one they begin to die until only two remain. After witnessing so much suffering, their faith has weakened and they are close to despair. And then one day they see a tall awkward figure being led to their cell — it is Kisuke.

            After he is shoved into their cell by the guards, his friends ask him how he ended up being brought back for torture after having renounced his faith. Kisuke tells them how he wandered around Japan for two years filled with shame for betraying Jesus. Until one night he could no longer bear it. He stood alone weeping on a desolate beach preparing to end his life. He cried out to the ocean: “Oh, if only I had been born a different person. If only I could have been strong and brave like my friends instead of the worthless coward that I am.”

            From behind him, Kisuke heard a whispering voice. It was the voice of Jesus: “It’s alright, Kisuke. I understand. Just go back to be with the others. Even if the fear and the torture are too much for you to bear and you have to betray me again, it’s alright. Just go back to be with the others.”

            And Kisuke did go back. His friends’ faith was renewed by Kisuke’s story along with their love for him. As his turn comes to be led to torture, his friends tell him, “It’s alright, Kisuke. Even if you have to betray him again, the Lord Jesus is happy. He is happy that you just came back.”                       

            There have been many times in my life when I felt like Kisuke standing on that beach. When I looked at my life and reflected on the times that I have betrayed Jesus; the times I have failed to love others; to be present to the people that God has entrusted to my care. But it is at those painful times of self-revelation that I can hear Jesus whispering to me, asking me to dance.

            He asks that I empty myself like one of those stone waterpots at Cana; that I let go of all the old wine that fills my mind; that I join in the dance with him and let the process of transformation unfold over time — his time not mine; that I understand that the miracle of Jesus is not immediate perfection but rather a lifelong process of tripping on the dance floor and getting right back up again.

            Like Kisuke was filled with shame and self-doubt, we sometimes hear a voice in our own mind that keeps putting us down; that tries hard to make us stop dancing by telling us that we are not good enough, that we are filled with blemishes, that we are worthless — a voice that keeps trying to change Jesus’ wine back into water. But we know that voice is lying. You see, we’ve been to Cana; we’ve tasted the wine; we’ve danced with Jesus — we will never be the same again.           

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Readers of this blog might enjoy these books by Deacon Lex. Both are available on Amazon.com:

Just to Follow My Friend: Experiencing God’s Presence in Everyday Life

Synchronicity as the Work of the Holy Spirit: Jungian Insights for Spiritual Direction and Pastoral Ministry