ON THE THIRD day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, 2and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, “They have no more wine.”
4“Dear woman, why do you involve me?” Jesus replied. “My time has not yet come.”
5His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”
6Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons.
7Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water”; so they filled them to the brim.
8Then he told them, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet.”
They did so, 9and the master of the banquet tasted the water that had been turned into wine. He did not realize where it had come from, though the servants who had drawn the water knew. Then he called the bridegroom aside 10and said, “Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now.”
11This, the first of his miraculous signs, Jesus performed at Cana in Galilee. He thus revealed his glory, and his disciples put their faith in him.
12After this he went down to Capernaum with his mother and brothers and his disciples. There they stayed for a few days.
13When it was almost time for the Jewish Passover, Jesus went up to Jerusalem. 14In the temple courts he found men selling cattle, sheep and doves, and others sitting at tables exchanging money. 15So he made a whip out of cords, and drove all from the temple area, both sheep and cattle; he scattered the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. 16To those who sold doves he said, “Get these out of here! How dare you turn my Father’s house into a market!”
17His disciples remembered that it is written: “Zeal for your house will consume me.”
18Then the Jews demanded of him, “What miraculous sign can you show us to prove your authority to do all this?”
19Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.”
20The Jews replied, “It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and you are going to raise it in three days?” 21But the temple he had spoken of was his body. 22After he was raised from the dead, his disciples recalled what he had said. Then they believed the Scripture and the words that Jesus had spoken.
23Now while he was in Jerusalem at the Passover Feast, many people saw the miraculous signs he was doing and believed in his name. 24But Jesus would not entrust himself to them, for he knew all men. 25He did not need man’s testimony about man, for he knew what was in a man.
Original Meaning
IN THE INTRODUCTION I suggested that knowing the structure of the Fourth Gospel helps us to understand the literary and theological profile of Jesus that John is building. For instance, we saw that the book is divided into two main parts: the Book of Signs (chs. 1–12), where Jesus works public “signs” conveying to Judaism the nature of his identity; and the Book of Glory (chs. 13–21), where Jesus interprets the “hour of glorification,” namely, his departure through the cross. Some scholars see this division anticipated in 1:9. The Book of Signs describes how the light shines in the darkness (1:9a), while the Book of Glory tells how the darkness attempts and fails to overcome it (1:9b).
Within these sections, however, John has introduced further subdivisions in each half of his Gospel that organize his thought and allow him to analyze particular features of Jesus’ messiahship. The key here is to see that while John is using historical material, he is organizing this material topically (or theologically) in order to give an interpretative presentation of Jesus. The backdrop of each presentation is cultural and religious themes from Judaism.
John 2 opens one such section for us. Within the Book of Signs, John concentrates on both the festivals and institutions of Judaism, using them as interpretative vehicles that give clearer insight into Jesus’ personhood. While not all scholars would organize chapters 1–12 this way, it is fully defensible as an effective means of viewing this section of John.1 Throughout the section, we watch Jesus appearing at important events in Judaism, exploiting symbols that are associated with these events (in order to make his own identity clear), providing something in abundance that the event promises, and generally being misunderstood along the way.
For instance, Jesus appears at a Passover in John 6 (a festival commemorating the miraculous departure from Egypt and the food miracle of manna), feeds his Galilean audience miraculously with an abundance of food, announces that he is living bread—a food that surpasses anything in the Jewish tradition—and meets with incomprehension not only among the crowds but also among his disciples. When Jesus talks with Nicodemus in John 3, the same thing happens: Jesus is now the Teacher who instructs the rabbi, offering not simply wisdom but utter transformation. In both instances Jesus is misunderstood, which opens the way for irony and humor: At the Passover, the crowds wonder how they can “eat” Jesus (6:52), and Nicodemus wonders how he can reenter his mother’s womb and be reborn (3:4).
Many of the units that make up the Book of Signs will follow this four-part literary organization; recognizing them as each episode unfolds will add meaning and delight as we study them. A brief outline of the episodes helps to make clear John’s literary agenda:
Institutions in Judaism (chs. 2–4)
• A wedding in Cana (2:1–12)
• The temple in Jerusalem (2:13–25)
• A rabbi in Jerusalem (3:1–21)
• A well in Samaria (4:1–42)
Festivals in Judaism (chs. 5–10)
• Sabbath (5:1–47)
• Passover (6:1–71)
• Tabernacles (7:1–9:41)
• Hanukkah (10:1–39)2
Far from being an exhaustive list, John has selected a number of representative settings in which Jesus’ appearance bears some symbolic theological meaning for Judaism.3 The story of Cana, therefore, is far more than a story about a wedding and some wine. It is a story that carries remarkable symbolism for Jews and their Messiah. Moreover, it is a story that makes a sweeping commentary on the world into which Jesus is coming. “They have no wine” is not simply a comment by Mary about the panic of the wedding’s host. It is a theological statement about the Judaism that is now meeting its Messiah in his very first miracle. Technically, it is about messianic replacement and abundance. In fact, John’s entire section—from Cana to Cana (2:1–4:54)—recalls Jesus’ Synoptic saying about new wine and old wineskins (Mark 2:22), or Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 5:17, “The old has gone; the new has come!” Jesus is about to demonstrate the obsolescence of Judaism’s religious forms.
The Cana Story (2:1–12)
FROM THE REGION around the north shore of the Sea of Galilee (Capernaum and Bethsaida), the scene now shifts to the hills in the west, to a small village north of Nazareth called Cana.4 Jesus and his disciples appear at a wedding, and when asked, he performs his first “sign,” changing water into wine. Earlier we learned that Nathanael was from Cana, and the village’s proximity from Nazareth makes it natural for members of Jesus’ family to be there as well.
A number of exegetical questions have always surrounded the story. What is the relationship of Mary (Jesus’ mother) to the wedding? Why does she feel responsible for the lack of wine? Why does Jesus seem to treat his mother so abruptly? Others have wondered if this text is here to legitimize either Christian use of wine or the institution of marriage. At center is how much John intends us to see the story symbolically. In 2:1 he mentions “the third day.” For some, it is an innocent and simple chronological reference to Jesus’ progress through Galilee. For others, the “third day” suggests an inevitable reference by John to the coming “third day” of the resurrection.5 Still others count from the beginning of chapter 1 and find seven days (Cana occurs three days after the Nathanael story, day 4) and thus John is reporting a week of activities, much like God’s week of creative work in Genesis. But these conclusions are far from certain.
In the village culture of Palestine, weddings were important events, announced well in advance and recognized by the entire village. In some respects, they were the chief celebrations enjoyed in the year and thus provided the imagery for messianic celebration and joy as well (see below). When Jews reflected on what heaven or the arrival of the Messiah would be like, they thought about banquets, and the wedding banquet was the foremost model that came to mind.
Following a public betrothal that was far more permanent than a modern engagement, the family announced the wedding date, and elaborate preparations were made for a ceremony that could last for as long as a week (Judg. 14:12). The parable of the wise and foolish maidens (Matt. 25:1) supplies a useful backdrop for the nighttime procession of the groom, who would walk with his friends to the bride’s home, collect her, and then lead a procession back to his home, where celebrations would begin.
Gift-giving was carefully considered, not as a simple gesture of goodwill, but as a means of bringing honor on the couple and their families.6 In fact, legal ramifications followed when appropriate custom was not followed because it implied public shame on the couple. This gives us an interesting insight into the concern of the servants when the feast suddenly runs out of wine (2:2). This is not merely an embarrassing situation; it is a dishonoring crisis for the host. Since these festivals could go on for days, it is no surprise that such a calamity might happen.
Mary’s statement in verse 3 (“They have no more wine”) prompts Jesus to respond in an unexpected way, “Woman, why do you involve me?” The English tone of this seems harsh, but it is simply formal—Jesus uses the same form of address (“woman”) for the woman of Samaria (4:21), the woman caught in adultery (8:10), his mother at the cross (19:26), and Mary Magdalene at the tomb (20:15). Nevertheless, it is unusual for him to address his mother this way when other titles would be preferred. In some sense, Mary is presuming on her relationship with him as her son (Luke 2:51), yet Jesus is redefining this: He cannot act under her authority but must instead follow the course that has been determined for him by God.7
Jesus’ response is not rude, simply inflexible. “Why do you involve me” is literally, “What do we have in common,” or as a paraphrase, “How can this matter that concerns you be of mutual interest to us?” Jesus’ orientation for activity is elsewhere: “My time has not yet come.” The NIV’s “time” obscures the important Greek word “hour” [hora] used throughout this Gospel to look forward to Jesus’ important work on the cross (5:28; 7:30; 12:23; 13:1). Mary’s request for activity is thus given an ironic spin inasmuch as Jesus will act on behalf not simply of this wedding, but of the entire world. His death on the cross will provide far more than wine.
Nevertheless Jesus indicates that he will act since his mother directs the servants to obey him (2:4). The story gives us an important clue as to its meaning when we discover that six stone jars will now be the source of the new wine. These are not merely jars for holding water. The note that they are stone is a signal that they are for Jewish purification washings (see Mark 7:1–4). Clay jars could become ritually contaminated and have to be destroyed (Lev. 11:33); but stone jars, according to rabbinic law, could not. Because this is a large feast, the six jars hold considerable volume, each with a capacity for over twenty gallons. Since Jesus has the stewards fill them to the brim, his miracle is about to produce over 120 gallons of wine.
The stewards are then told to take some of the water-now-become-wine and bring it to the head steward. Many think that this person cannot possibly be a servant because he can summon the bridegroom. He may simply be a trusted friend, an honored friend of the family who is playing the role of banquet host. Either way, the head steward makes a pronouncement with telling significance: Common sense teaches that in most banquets, the best wine is served first; then, when the guests have drunk their fill, the cheaper wine can be served (2:10).
It is unwarranted to speculate about the degree of intoxication implied by the saying. It simply observes that when palates are more sensitive, superior wine will be more fully enjoyed (and cheaper wine more quickly noticed). But Jesus is delivering something to the banquet quite unexpected. It is superior to anything the banquet has witnessed. John’s emphasis, therefore, is on the quality of this wine and its timing; things served before this wine are inferior.
John offers a summary comment about the episode in 2:11–12. Rather than using the Synoptic term for miracle (Gk. dynamis), John consistently refers to Jesus’ mighty works as “signs” (Gk. semeion). A miracle underscores power and is generally received with awe (cf. Mark 6:2: “Many who heard him were amazed. ‘Where did this man get these things? . . . What’s this wisdom that has been given him, that he even does miracles!’ ”). A sign is revelatory, disclosing something from God, something hidden before. The signs are not merely acts of power and might, they unveil that God is at work in Jesus and indeed is present in him. Thus John remarks that through this sign Jesus reveals his “glory.” This is an essential affirmation for John, and it moves to the center of what he affirms about Jesus. Jesus is not merely a man; he is more, he conveys the presence of God in the world (1:14), and since he radiates the presence of God, he appropriately shows forth God’s glory.
Following the wedding, Jesus departs with his followers and his family, returning to Capernaum (2:12). Capernaum is “below” Cana (he goes “down”) in the sense that Cana is located in the mountains of upper Galilee while Capernaum is a coastal town on the northwest shore of the Sea of Galilee. John does not make clear the reason for the trip since we are told earlier that Jesus is from Nazareth (1:45). However, the Synoptic picture helps make clear that throughout his public ministry, Capernaum was the base of Jesus’ work. Matthew even refers to it as “his [Jesus’] own town” (Matt. 9:1). As a small village on the main north-south highway through Galilee, Capernaum enjoyed wide recognition and easy access to travelers.
That Jesus is accompanied by his “brothers and his disciples” has led to a wide variety of interpretations. The most natural view is to say that Joseph and Mary had more children following Jesus’ birth. This is often the plain meaning in the Synoptics (Mark 6:3, “Isn’t this the carpenter? Isn’t this Mary’s son and the brother of James, Joseph, Judas and Simon?”) and fits well here.8 However, when the perpetual virginity of Mary became an affirmation in the second century, other views of verses like this came into use: These were either Joseph’s children by previous marriage or Jesus’ cousins. Protestants generally believe that Jesus had genuine siblings (cf. John 7:1–8).9
The Temple Story (2:13–25)
IT IS VITAL to keep the story of Cana in mind when we turn to Jesus’ cleansing of the temple in 2:13–22. The literary and theological themes we saw in 2:1–12 occur here as well. In the first section, Jesus was in a home attending a wedding party; because of a crisis concerning wine, he worked a miracle on Jewish purification vessels. Now Jesus comes to Jerusalem for a major festival in the city. He enters the temple (a place of sacrificial purification) and likewise does a symbolic work demonstrating that it too will experience replacement and fulfillment (just as the stone water vessels in Cana were filled with new wine). Jesus is a temple himself (v. 21), whose destruction and resurrection will make the reconstruction of this Jerusalem temple pale by comparison (v. 20). As in 1:35ff, Cana and Jerusalem, representing activity in the north and south (Galilee and Judea), are placed in literary and theological juxtaposition.
One historical footnote is in order. While there are a limited number of places that John and the Synoptics overlap (chs. 1–5 have virtually none), this story of the temple cleansing finds a parallel in the other Gospels (Matt. 21:12–13; Mark 11:15–17; Luke 19:45–46). There are a number of differences both of vocabulary and theme between John and the Synoptics: John alone mentions oxen, sheep, the whip of chord, and the command to depart. The Synoptics provide a Scripture citation (Isa. 56:7; Jer. 7:11). The most important difference has to do with time. The Synoptics place the temple cleansing at the end of the ministry of Jesus while John introduces it at the beginning. For the Synoptics, this event acts as a catalyst to galvanize the temple’s opposition to Jesus. John has the episode launching his public ministry in Judea; what becomes the chief aggravating reason for Jesus’ capture is the raising of Lazarus (11:1–57; 12:9–11).
This question of chronology has led to a lively debate among scholars who assess the historical worth of these narratives. Are John and the Synoptics recording the same story? Scholars who conclude that there was only one temple cleansing usually maintain that John’s sequencing is incorrect and the Synoptic account is accurate. They argue, for instance, that anyone who would have tried such a thing would surely have been pursued and arrested, as the Synoptics tell us. In addition, critical scholars are generally reluctant to admit the historicity of “doubles” (similar sayings or stories), seeing in them rather evidence of how Christian theology evolved and expanded.
But conservative writers such as L. Morris have made an eloquent defense for another point of view.10 Why, Morris asks, should we assume that there was only one cleansing? Pointing out numerous differences between the two cleansings, he suggests that the best reconstruction would have Jesus cleansing the temple twice. When Jesus’ repeats the act at the end of his ministry, the authorities are ready for him. The problem here is that there are also several parallels between the Synoptics and John (e.g., Passover, moneychangers, Jesus’ authority). In addition, one element in the Johannine version is presupposed in the Synoptic trial: In 2:19 Jesus refers to the destruction of the temple, but nowhere does this subject appear in the Synoptics. Note Mark 14:58: “We heard him say, ‘I will destroy this man-made temple and in three days will build another, not made by man’ ”; a basis for this comment occurs only in John.
For a complete account of what actually happened, we do well to read both versions together. I suggest that John has recorded his own version of one cleansing and while it is an historical record, he has moved it chronologically for theological reasons. There is no doubt that all four evangelists felt free to place sayings and stories from Jesus’ life in settings that suited their literary purposes. Using uncompromised historical material, John is creating a theological portrait of Jesus’ display of signs in the context of Judaism. Jesus is the fulfillment and replacement of Judaism’s festivals and institutions. And the temple is high on his list as a place that soon (through his death) will no longer serve the purposes of God.
Jesus’ arrival at Passover (2:13) signals his commitment to the festivals of Judaism. John’s Gospel mentions three Passovers (2:13; 6:4; 11:55),11 which is often the basis of measuring the duration of Jesus’ three-year ministry. Passover was an annual festival celebrated each spring that retold the story of Israel’s departure from Egypt.12 Israelite families were spared when the angel of death “passed over” the homes that had been marked by the sacrifice of a lamb (Ex. 12). In his anguish, Pharaoh released the Israelites, who fled to Mount Sinai through the desert. Over the centuries Passover had become a pilgrimage festival in which Jewish families were expected to travel to Jerusalem and participate in sacrifice, a symbolic meal, and reflective study of Israel’s salvation.
Since pilgrims would need approved animals for sacrifice, a considerable business grew in the city at this time of year. Some evidence suggests that Caiaphas had a dispute with the Sanhedrin over whether it was permissible to sell animals in the courts of the temple.13 Apparently Caiaphas had won out, even though this meant that the temple was transformed from a house of worship into a place of commerce. In addition, Jewish men (over twenty) were required to pay a half-shekel annual tax at the temple. Jesus had no objection to this since we have a record that he paid the tax himself (Matt. 17:24–27). The presence of moneychangers met a legal requirement that all donations be made in special coinage (as stipulated in the oral law, later penned as the Mishnah). This rule was not to avoid pagan images on foreign coins but to ensure the quality and purity of the money coming into the treasury. Moneychangers exchanged currencies and retained some profit for themselves, but there is no evidence of corruption.
Jesus’ frustration does not stem from supposed wholesale greed or graft, but from the fact that these transactions are happening in the temple at all: “Get these out of here! How dare you turn my Father’s house into a market!” (2:16) is a prophetic command to return the temple to its intended use: worship, prayer, instruction, and pious sacrifice. The original language of John contains a fine play on words that is missed in the English: “Take these things away! Stop making my Father’s house a house of trade.” Jesus is attacking the financial machinery of the festival system, which certainly would put him at odds with Caiaphas and the temple leadership.
When his disciples witness this shocking spectacle (2:17), they recall Psalm 69:9, “Zeal for your house consumes me.” Theologically this is John’s way of indicating two things. (1) Jesus is acting out of his relationship with the Father. As Messiah and God’s Son, he is driven to defend and promote God’s interests in the world. When he sees the human ruin of God’s house, he is overwhelmed with a desire to act. The cleansing or challenging of the temple is a frequent Old Testament theme in which complete renewal of Israel in the Day of the Lord is linked with the renewal of the temple (Isa. 56:7; Jer. 7:11; Zech. 14:21; Mal. 3:1).
(2) John often uses the Old Testament at the major junctures of Jesus’ life. Even though he does not cite the Old Testament frequently (compared, e.g., with Matthew), still the Scriptures are there in the background, defining Jesus’ activity at every important turn. He is working out the purposes of God—purposes he knows have already been outlined in God’s Word.
The ensuing conversation in the temple is unique to John (2:18–22). When confronted with his actions, his critics demand that he show some sign to demonstrate his authority to cause such upheaval. Curiously, Jesus does not refer to the deficiencies of the temple, but instead refers to his own destruction and resurrection: “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.” As is typical in so many of the Johannine narratives (e.g., 3:3ff.; 4:10ff.; 6:41ff.; 11:11ff.; 14:7ff.), Jesus’ audience misunderstands him and thinks he is referring (ironically) to the Jerusalem temple.
In 20 B.C. Herod the Great began a massive rebuilding program at the temple in order to placate his Jewish subjects, who despised him as an outsider (Herod was Idumean). He intended this new temple to rival that of Solomon. In order to assure purity, a thousand priests were trained as stone cutters and architects. A total of 18,000 men worked full time until it was finished in A.D. 64.14 Some stones weighed as much as seventy tons and can be seen today in the walls holding up the temple mount.
That Jesus would destroy such an edifice—now underway for forty-six years—and rebuild it in three days seemed ludicrous (2:20). Anyone who could do such a thing could certainly make a claim over the temple’s operation! But such a word is not as strange as we might think. In Judaism in this period, many spiritual leaders expected that a new temple would be built and that the present temple in Jerusalem would be replaced. In Ezekiel 40–46, for instance, details of this new temple are given in detail. At the Dead Sea community of Qumran, the hope and plans for a new temple were a part of that community’s belief. The Jews of Qumran were severely critical of Herod’s temple project. Even after the Roman destruction of the temple in A.D. 70, Jews continued to retain a hope in the coming of the Messiah, who would bring a newly built temple. In synagogues in the late first century, Jews confessed the “Eighteen Benedictions,” of which the fourteenth looks forward to the new temple and Messiah.
But Jesus’ deeper meaning referred to his body, which would serve the same function as the temple, even replacing it. The confusion that appears at Jesus’ trial (Mark 14:58) concerning Jesus’ warning of the destruction of the temple and his promise to build a new temple in three days have been taken up today by modern scholars who find here a genuine threat by Jesus against the temple authorities. This, they claim, is what galvanized anger against him.
But Jesus’ teachings in the Fourth Gospel regularly use cryptic statements that have double meaning (similar in some respects to his parables in the Synoptics). And explanations are often given that clear up such misunderstandings (7:5; 11:13; 12:6). Thus in this case, Jesus is predicting his death and resurrection, which will create a new covenant with God and make the services of the Jerusalem temple obsolete.15 In his conversation with the Samaritan woman, Jesus says plainly that the hour is coming when true worship will not take place in Jerusalem (at the temple) or in Samaria, but it will happen “in spirit and in truth” (4:24). This is a revolution. There is a messianic work now in the world that will utterly change how worship and sacrifice are understood.
During this Passover many are intrigued with Jesus, for many “believed” (lit., came to belief). But we should not make too much of this, for the basis of their faith was signs. When Jesus made a demonstration of power and authority, they conceded belief. But throughout the Gospel, faith predicated on God’s showing evidence of himself is criticized (4:48). While such faith is better than no faith (6:26), it is not the deepest faith possible (20:29).16
John provides a telling wordplay in 2:24. The same Greek word translated “believe” in verse 23 appears in verse 24: Even though some of these people believed in him . . . Jesus would not believe in them.17 The reason given is not that he knew all of them (i.e., those in the temple), but that he was cognizant of all people. John is making a statement here about Jesus and humanity generally. Jesus understood about all of humanity and its capacity for deception and duplicity. No one needed to explain it to him (2:24a). In 1:48 Nathanael is surprised that Jesus knew him without having met him. This section ends on the same note, but now John is making a sweeping theological affirmation about Jesus and divine knowledge. God alone knows the hearts of men and women—and now Jesus has this same capacity.
The text of John 2 assumes that we will keep on reading directly into 3:1. “He [Jesus] did not need man’s testimony about man [anthropos], for he knew what was in man [anthropo]. Now there was a man [anthropos] of the Pharisees named Nicodemus . . .” (2:25–3:1). The Greek noun anthropos (which can refer to a male or to people in general) threads its way through the paragraph and links chapters 2 and 3. Nicodemus will now demonstrate for us what such people in Jerusalem can really understand about Jesus and God’s new work in him.
Bridging Contexts
THE CANA STORY. Interpreters of the Cana story can easily misuse it to emphasize all the wrong things. For instance, this is not an account designed to show how Jesus sanctifies a particular marriage or the office of marriage itself. Ministerial marriage manuals often use the Cana story for a sentimental glimpse of what it would be like for Jesus to attend a wedding. Among evangelicals concern is sometimes raised that the story might be used to promote the consumption of wine or alcoholic beverages. One thing is clear: In this story, the wedding party did not serve grape juice. Rather, Jesus and the wedding host served genuine wine here—wine in abundance. Wine was the normal beverage at meals in the Greco-Roman world. Generally it was so strong that it was diluted with water to improve the taste.
Jesus did not abstain from wine or party festivities; he was not antisocial. When asked why he and his disciples did not fast, his response was that his presence should inspire celebration, not asceticism (Mark 2:18–20). Harsh critics pointed their fingers at his habit of attending parties saying, “Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and ‘sinners’ ” (Matt. 11:19). This does not necessarily mean, however, that Jesus became drunk. Today there may be various good reasons for abstaining from alcoholic beverages, but this passage cannot be called to service such a point of view.
Yet these are secondary questions to what John is hoping we will see as readers. Jesus’ miracle in historic Cana is less important than the implications of Jesus’ arrival now in the theological setting of Judaism. Historically, John is making a firm statement that Judaism is to see and hear: The Messiah has arrived and the messianic banquet (portrayed as a wedding feast) has begun. It is appropriate that Jesus reveals his glory first here at the wedding. In the literature of Judaism, the “wedding banquet” was pregnant with meaning.
Moreover, John gives us numerous clues that the story should be viewed symbolically. The wedding scene, the huge volume of wine, and the reference to stone jars all suggest a second level of meaning. The Messiah has not just appeared in Judaism amidst its festivities, he has come to fulfill and indeed upend what he finds there. We must keep in mind the Johannine themes of messianic replacement and abundance. Judaism’s vessels of purification are now being filled with new things. Or more important, the wine that has been served already is exhausted and Jesus’ new wine is replacing it. “You have saved the best [wine] till now” is thus a theological statement about Jesus and the relative merits of the religious environment he has come to fulfill.
Finally, John makes an important connection between the sign (the miracle of water into wine) and belief. “This, the first of his miraculous signs, Jesus performed in Cana of Galilee. He thus revealed his glory, and his disciples put their faith in him” (2:11). This invites a series of questions about faith and miracles. As I noted above, John is careful not to call these events miracles. He prefers the word “sign” (e.g., 2:23; 4:54; 6:2, 14, 26; 7:31; 9:16; 10:41). This is because the act of power in itself is less important to John than what the act says about Jesus.
The capacity to work miracles was not unique to Jesus. Even prophets like Elijah could do mighty deeds. Indeed in Jesus’ day there were other miracle-working mystics who made similar claims. John wants us to see beyond this event, to see the sign as a means to an end, not an end in itself. The story prompts us not simply to promote Jesus’ power and somehow prove that because he has this power, he is who he claims. The story invites us to ask penetrating questions about this person, and when we glimpse his glory (2:11a), we will discover faith.
To sum up, as I look at this passage and bring its meaning into my own world, I can distill a series of three ideas that bring the meaning of the story to life: the significance of Jesus in God’s historical plan of salvation, the significance of Jesus for religious renewal, and the relation of “signs and glory” to the believer’s life of faith.
The temple story. We dare not miss the importance of what Jesus has done in Jerusalem. When we begin to realize the significance and the grandeur of the Jerusalem temple in Jesus’ day, we will begin to feel the magnitude of what he tried to do. The temple was the organizing center of Jewish life in the first century. It was the center of government (brokered at this time by Roman authority), judicial law, religious life, and taxation. It set the moral, religious, and political tone of the country. When Judas Maccabeus decided to defeat the Greeks in the second century B.C., he knew he needed to capture the temple first in order to win popular Jewish support. When the Romans occupied the land in 63 B.C. under the conquest of Pompey, they recognized immediately the need for a fortress in Jerusalem next to the temple, and at once began fortifying the Antonia Fortress on the temple’s northwest corner. This is the site where Pilate’s soldiers “prepared” Jesus for crucifixion.
When the Zealots stood against Rome in A.D. 66, once again the temple became their fortress and standard, the rallying point for Judaism’s fight for survival. The temple was the basis of Jewish religious and national pride. When we add to this Herod’s rebuilding program that lasted over eighty years, it is no wonder that when the Galilean disciples of Jesus arrive in Jerusalem, they exclaim about the wonder of the place. “Look, Teacher! What massive stones! What magnificent buildings!” (Mark 13:1). The Jerusalem temple dazzled visitors. When the Roman Titus’s troops stormed the temple in A.D. 70, he was so amazed at the splendor of the place that he tried to preserve it from looting and destruction. But his soldiers, having fought a vicious, lengthy battle for the city, discovered its riches, and the temple was doomed. Burned to the ground in A.D. 70, it has never been rebuilt.18
Therefore Jesus’ activity was not merely upsetting, it was outrageous. He was in the center of the public square, and he made a public protest.
We have to be careful not to make too much of the violence of this scene, however. I have seen pictures of Jesus brandishing a terrible black whip, eyes glaring, tables flying, people running, animals yelping. The Jewish law stipulated that weapons could not be brought into the temple, and a whip was classified as a weapon. Temple police (particularly at festival time) were charged with keeping public order. Hence Jesus probably did not bring a formal whip into the temple, but instead improvised something with straw or rushes used for animal bedding. If he had brought in anything else, I expect he would have been arrested.
Nevertheless the scene is dramatic, provocative, and upsetting. Furniture was broken; animals went running; coins flew from their scales. Jesus makes a disturbance and acts out the core of his prophetic message. But it is not the power of the whip that makes his message succeed. It is his moral power; the truth of what he says strikes to the heart of these people’s consciences. It is interesting that in the concluding conversation, no one argues with Jesus about what he has done. No one objects, saying that such activity is inappropriate. Instead, they ask about the basis of his doing it. In other words, many likely know that Jesus is right and that the temple has turned into a noisy market. Its services have been compromised. They sense too something of God’s divine and righteous anger at work in Jesus, something of God’s impatience with a people who have misused the sanctity of his house.
The passage bears down on my century with the following question: What do I do with Jesus’ civil disobedience? Does this become a license for our disobedience at the center of our places of living?
A second subject centers on the Christological message of the narrative. On a historical level, Jesus is confronting the chief religious institution of his day. Implicit in his ironic, closing statement is that something will be destroyed (the temple? his body?) and something again will be raised in three days. Jesus is pointing out the deficits of the institution of the temple; he is confronting its misdirection and its brokenness, and in the process (as happens throughout the Gospel) he indicates that the real activity of God, the real temple, is Jesus Christ himself. In other words, the focal point of Jewish religious affections must be replaced by someone new. And that replacement will undergo a violent and miraculous death and rebirth.
The troubling connection with my world is the extent to which our religious institutions are doing the same thing as the Jerusalem temple. Put more directly, if Jesus were to arrive at a church in my city, would he build a whip out of pew rope or would he praise God for what is happening there? This passage invites speculation about religious institutions generally (like the story in Cana invites reflection about personal religious preoccupations). Left on the historical level, it simply becomes one more story about Jesus and his struggles and conflicts with Judaism. But when I examine the timeless meaning of this story, I see here the struggle between God’s desire to be worshiped and the religious institutions humans frequently build and edify in order to facilitate that worship. The two are not always the same. Religious institutions sometimes pursue financial interests or social agendas when all they are designed to do is facilitate our relationship with God and set us loose in the world to change it.
Contemporary Significance
A WEDDING IN CANA. From the earliest days, the Eastern Church has kept January 6 as the festival of Epiphany. On this day, the nativity of Jesus, the coming of the wise men, Jesus’ baptism, and the miracle of Cana are all remembered.19 It is significant that Cana is included in this list. In some sense, the church fathers were reflecting the idea that something happened at Cana that parallels what occurred both in Bethlehem and in the Jordan River. Christ’s glory—his true identity—was unveiled for humanity to see. The revelation of glory is precisely what happened at Cana. Jesus was just one more visitor at a wedding until he was called upon to act. In that activity, his disciples saw something they had not seen before.
There is a practical side to this story that we can easily miss, thanks to our zeal to collect some spiritual truth from the passage. Jesus stepped into a wedding of good friends and fixed a simple problem. They were out of wine and the crisis could prove socially tragic unless a remedy was found. It is easy for us to spiritualize the work of Christ today and conclude that he is only in the business of saving souls and renewing lives. But is he really interested in the commonplace events of my life? Is he really interested in the simple conundrums of everyday living? The Cana story says “yes.” We can invite Christ into dilemmas that seem embarrassingly inconsequential—dilemmas that seem ridiculously practical—and ask him to help.
There is also an important theological message that this story is telling us, which I must approach on two levels. (1) John is telling us something about Judaism and history. The arrival of the Messiah means that something unparalleled is happening in the world. Jesus’ public display of glory here is a definitive event against which no other event can compare. Nothing in Judaism is like it because here the “glory” of God has suddenly become visible in human form. John has in mind the Shekinah glory that resided first in the tabernacle and then in the temple of Jerusalem (Ex. 24:16; 40:35; 1 Kings 8:11). Now that radiant divine presence is resident in Christ. Recall John 1:14: “And the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth” (cf. 8:54; 11:4; 17:5). Jesus Christ is a man, and yet no mere man can bear this glory. Hence Jesus Christ is also divine, God’s Son, who has united with humanity in perfect union.
(2) But if this is the case, if indeed God is at work in the world in unprecedented ways, then his appearance among us ultimately alters the value of all religious ritual expressions. This is a message that John will give in many of his stories about Jesus. Here the focus is on Jewish rituals of purification, the six stone jars.20 These are being filled with new contents, producing an abundance of wine. This wine recalls the many prophetic words about the Day of the Lord, when God’s arrival and blessings are seen particularly in an abundance of wine in the land (Hos. 2:22; Amos 9:13–14). Therefore these vessels of purification cannot be put to their former use. The Messiah has touched them and made them obsolete for purification. Religious instruments that had been treasured in the traditions of many generations must undergo severe rethinking.
This is an idea that must be brought into my contemporary world. We have created a world of religious vessels no less traditional than the ones described in Cana. We have created rituals and customs that have everything to do with religious habits but may have little to do with God. In some fashion I have to be willing to permit Jesus to step into my world and affect a dramatic critique of these things I cherish and defend. The Cana story says: God has arrived and Christ desires an immediacy, an intimacy with us that will not be impeded by ritual forms that no longer bring life.
Perhaps this is what we mean in the Reformed tradition when we speak of the church as always reforming itself. Renewal must be joined with an ever-vigilant spirit that looks for religious forms that serve as God’s proxy. I must courageously look at my personal Christian tradition, the church I attend, and the habits of my own spiritual life and examine each of them. Jesus was bringing a renewal to Cana and to Judaism that would forever change everything they did. He no doubt desires to do the same with us.
One Easter I traveled to Jerusalem with my then fourteen-year-old daughter in order to lead a conference in Bethlehem for Palestinian and messianic-Jewish pastors. I planned the trip so that the two of us could be in Jerusalem on Easter morning. Many pilgrims were in the city, as were reporters and their video cameras, looking for some way or some place that would make the day meaningful. I walked with Ashley through the Damascus gate and into the markets, winding our way through the Christian Quarter to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the place of Jesus’ tomb, and, of course, the place of his resurrection. This site (as the Byzantines and the Crusaders and virtually every other pilgrim believes) is one of the most sacred sites in the world.
As we stood looking at the tomb, watching the veneration of crowds of people kissing stone and observing Greek and Coptic religious rites, I could not help but wonder what this tomb has become. Resurrection meant that this tomb lost whatever significance it ever enjoyed. This tomb points elsewhere, beyond death to life. Something tragic and fossilized has happened in Christian rituals that kiss stone in order to embrace a living Lord.21
The moment seemed fascinating and historic to be sure, but it also seemed sad. People were taking pictures and looking for souvenirs amidst a cacophony of incense and noise. We then walked to a place beneath the church, into a cave where the ancient bedrock from the first century has not been chiseled away. Together we put our hands on the bedrock, the “living stone” (as some like to call it). Even though the church around us wasn’t here on Easter, I said, this rock was. It was a witness to an earthquake, a tremor, that shook back one closed tomb (Matt. 28:2). And this bedrock shook too. Easter was about power and life, resurrection, and earthquakes, not about the remembrance of death and the pious rituals of people.
This is the message of Cana. Jesus has come to transform what we do religiously, what we do from habit. He is raised from the tomb—and we build a church there and build our rituals. Instead, he wants us to see him as Mary saw him in the garden and to have our religious preconceptions changed.
Finally, the Cana story forces us to probe the relation of faith and miracle. The disciples saw the sign and believed in him. Does this mean that experiencing the miraculous can be an avenue to faith? To be sure, many people (and demons, for that matter) saw Jesus’ miracles and were convinced of his power but did not believe in him. Thus, simply experiencing divine power does not necessarily lead someone to faith. In fact, someone who says, “Just show me a miracle and then I’ll believe,” is likely telling us that they are not ready to embrace Christ in faith.22
In addition, many interpreters would have us remember Jesus’ closing words to Thomas, “Blessed are those who have not seen [Jesus’ signs or miracles or the resurrection] and yet have believed” (20:29). Is Jesus critiquing “miracle-faith”? Jesus’ exhortation refers to Thomas’s unwillingness to believe until he had seen the resurrected Christ, evidence that subsequent believers are not able to see. Note especially 6:26, where Jesus comments after he has fed the five thousand, who then pursue him eagerly: “You are looking for me, not because you saw miraculous signs but because you ate the loaves and had your fill” (6:26). The chief problem with faith anchored to the miraculous is that miracles become an end in themselves. People begin to seek bread rather than the Bread of Life. They see a miracle but not a sign. When miracles no longer bear their revelatory power, when Christ is no longer glorified and experienced through the work, Jesus has little use for them.
Having sounded a firm caution, still, evangelicals need to note that Jesus did provide signs. He worked wonders and through these displayed his glory. Miraculous signs may become a powerful means to discover or strengthen faith, and we should not be reluctant to use them. For some in our rational, cause-and-effect scientific world this avenue for discovering God seems remote. But the world is not necessarily built the way we Westerners think.
Christy Wilson has been a professor of evangelism and missions at Gordon Conwell Seminary for many years. Born to missionary parents in Iran, he spent twenty-two years in Afghanistan as a missionary/teacher. Recently I have been reading his book, More to be Desired Than Gold, which is a catalogue of stories (175 pages of them) from his missionary work.23 In these chapters Wilson describes in story after story how God is at work providing miraculous signs to Muslim people and how through these God draws men and women to faith in Christ. The stories make riveting, compelling reading, and they force us in the West to ask, “Is not God interested in displaying his glory here today in the same manner?” I think he is.
Disruptions in Jerusalem. The cleansing of the temple is a troubling and important story. If left on the historical level, it is easy to stereotype the temple as corrupt (which is not entirely true) and to see Jesus as rebuking its players (which is only half the story). Much more is going on here. The closer I come to applying the story and the closer I come to seeing the courage and daring of Jesus’ act, the less comfortable I begin to feel.
Recently I had a conversation at church concerning Promise Keepers, the men’s ministry that was popular in the 1990s. Following a number of years of successful city ministries around the United States, Promise Keepers decided (in 1997) to call Christian men to come to Washington, D.C., in order to pray for the government and provide a witness to those in power. I had not attended any of the Promise Keeper events, but many of my friends had participated, and this particular trip to Washington intrigued me. “Maybe I’ll come along,” I announced to a small group of men at the coffee hour. If nothing else, I thought, it was a movement that I needed to understand.
But then I heard a surprise from a conservative church leader. “The problem with going to Washington is that it makes Promise Keepers look political, and that could compromise its efforts.” I was surprised because a number of my friends seemed to agree. A praise celebration in Chicago with 60,000 men? Yes. A march on Washington? No. In some fashion, the two spheres—politics and spirituality—are not supposed to mix.
But this is what Jesus did. He came to the center of Jewish life, and he was outrageous. It was a center where in that day politics, religion, and law were virtually inseparable. He made a harsh judgment on what motivated the people who lived at that center. Of course, I am aware that there are significant differences today and that I cannot move simply from Jerusalem to Washington. Our society has intentionally separated church and state, and their domains appear completely distinct. Yet it is not so simple. For one thing, secular society does indeed promote an innocuous sort of religion that is a brew of patriotism, self-sacrifice, tolerance, and openness. Any visit to Washington’s National Cathedral will at once show how a country can baptize its national interests in religious rhetoric. “Aren’t churches supposed to promote good things like this?” argue the priests of that temple.
I am always intrigued to listen to worship services around the Fourth of July or to listen as Army R.O.T.C. officers lead prayer in our college chapel near Veteran’s Day. Isn’t patriotism a religious duty (they imply)? One year at graduation our college faculty enjoyed sounding the alarm when the audience sang the national anthem, and the color guard holding the flags dipped the Christian flag noticeably so that the American flag was prominent. A little thing, to be sure, but sometimes symbols are important.
Moreover, the communities, states, and nations in which we live can shape the religious ethos of our day (is it supportive? hostile?) and determine the exercise of religious values. In my community, Prison Fellowship and its local supporters wanted to minister to converted, released convicts who needed a new start. They wanted to rent a home for six Christian men. Local Christians fully backed the program. Immediately the city government went into action making new laws to stop it. “It will hurt property values,” a neighbor wrote in the local paper. Should Christians be outrageous at City Hall?
But I am also called to be a participant in my society: to respect it, yes, but also to be a witness for God’s interests. To be salt and light. To be a light on a hill that cannot be missed. I need to be an agent for change that not only speaks the gospel to my world, but which also is angered by the things that anger God. I need to be a saboteur who promotes kingdom values whenever and wherever I can. If it means being outrageous as Jesus was outrageous, as Martin Luther King Jr. was outrageous, as Promise Keepers is outrageous, so be it.
I cannot fear the public arena or the specter of political entanglements if I am zealously pursuing God’s passions in the world. When my society (or government) does something that is wrong, such as promoting an unjust war, an unjust economic policy, or discriminatory practices, or something that penalizes the church for pursuing its mission, I have to be willing to move to action. The prophetic voice is directed not only to believers but to the powers of the state as well.
This is why, I think, a passage such as this makes us uncomfortable. Evangelical Christianity is not often outrageous. We speak with boldness in the pulpit and narthex, but rarely envision ourselves speaking with boldness on the Washington Mall.24 Yet Jesus went to Washington. He was outrageous. Jesus and Christians are at odds with the world. His kingdom is at odds with the kingdoms of this world. As Stanley Hauerwas and William Willimon have written, the world has learned to enable Christians to share power without being a problem for the powerful.25 And when the church begins to overstep its boundaries and to afflict discomfort on the comfortable and powerful, there is conflict.
Some interpreters will be unhappy with this application. For them, Jesus becomes the quintessential spiritual reformer, and “secular” politics (if there was such in the first century) was not his sphere of activity. He comes to God’s house of worship and expresses utter disdain for the activities he finds there. In the Synoptic account, before Jesus enters the temple, he finds and curses a fig tree, a prophetic symbol of God’s judgment on that temple that was bearing no fruit. In this respect, the passage forces us to reflect on our religious institutions and the extent to which they serve interests that would earn Jesus’ outrageous rebuke.
But it is still an uncomfortable passage, because to a large degree, the church is a human institution (as well as a spiritual one) that is not free from the shortcomings of human society. The church is a fallen institution, filled with sinners, which aspires to goodness but which sometimes succumbs to programs and agendas that have little to do with the kingdom of God. Now if this is true, then it stands to reason that petty financial or social interests may drive the church’s life just as the temple of Jerusalem was driven in the first century. Religious politics may be the order of the day in congregations or denominational headquarters. Leadership may succumb to pressures to be modern and contemporary. Or leaders may succumb to pressures to defend empty tradition and habit. In a word, religious institutions only reflect the wholeness known by their architects. And in many cases, the brokenness of those builders is considerable.
John 2:13–25 asks that I look with some care at the life of my own religious house. It asks me to imagine what would happen if Jesus were to come for a visit. Would he be outraged by battles between choirs and contemporary worship teams? With struggles over plans to build or not to build? Would he question words spoken that have lost meaning, or words that take their meaning from the pundits of the secular arena? Is there a chance that he would interrupt things?
John 2:23–25 assures us that Jesus knows entirely what is going on inside of us and our churches. Thus, we cannot rest comfortably thinking that his ire was reserved for the Jewish temple or for the liberals next door but not for us. I can’t help but think about John’s letters to the seven churches in Revelation 1–3. Here we have congregations that were founded by apostolic leadership and enjoyed many strengths. Yet John’s letters, inspired by the vision and voice of Jesus, provide a seriousness and severity no different than what we have here in John 2.
John expects that at the end of chapter 2, we will pause and reflect on both this story in Jerusalem and the story of Cana. In each episode, similar themes challenge us, and we are invited to contrast them. Cana is in the north (Galilee); Jerusalem is in the south (Judea).26 Cana offered stone jars (for purification) and now Jesus has challenged a stone temple (for sacrifice). Cana was out of wine and the temple was likewise filled with the wrong thing. Jesus’ solution in each case is to provide an alternative: He will be the giver of new wine and will become a new temple. In each case, we are given the suggestion that the event to watch is “the hour” (2:4, 21) in which Jesus will die and return to life. However, Galilee and Jerusalem offer different responses to Jesus’ work: In Galilee Jesus finds receptivity and faith; but in Judea, while some believe (2:22), Jesus is suspicious.
Throughout this Gospel, Galilee and Jerusalem play out as virtual metaphors of response. Through them we are challenged to reflect on how we will respond too, should Jesus visit a wedding or a temple today.