1 On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus' mother was there, 2 and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3 When the wine was gone, Jesus' mother said to him, "They have no more wine." 4 "Woman, why do you involve me?" Jesus replied. "My hour has not yet come." 5 His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you." 6 Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons. 7 Jesus said to the servants, "Fill the jars with water"; so they filled them to the brim. 8 Then he told them, "Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet." They did so, 9 and 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 10 and 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." 11 What Jesus did here in Cana of Galilee was the first of the signs through which he revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

John tells us plainly that Jesus did many other things that are not written in his book. He chose seven signs. Not the quiet ones, not the ones anybody could copy — the ones no prophet before him had ever done. Water becoming wine. A boy healed from a day's walk away. A man lame for thirty-eight years told to get up. Bread multiplied in a crowd. Feet on open water. Eyes opened that had never seen. A dead man called out of a tomb by name.

He picked them because they all answer one thing. So that is the question to carry into every page of this gospel: who is Jesus?

Which makes the first sign worth slowing down for. Whatever Jesus chose to do first is telling us what he most wants us to know about him.

It happens at a wedding in Cana. His mother is there. He and his disciples were invited, and they came.

That is worth sitting with before anything supernatural happens. Jesus knew how to enjoy an occasion like this. A village wedding in that world ran for days — food, music, neighbours, family. He did not turn up at the edge of it to disapprove. He was a guest. His critics later sneered that the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and the sneer was unfair, but it tells you where he could be found.

Our God is the giver of joy. Psalm 95 does not ask us to file in quietly. It says come, let us sing for joy to the Lord, let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation. Zephaniah says God himself rejoices over his people with singing, and the word behind rejoice carries the sense of spinning around with delight. That is the picture. Not a God who tolerates gladness, but one who starts it.

And when Jesus wanted to describe the kingdom, he reached for a wedding banquet more than once. This is the God he came to reveal first — not a rulebook, but a bridegroom who loves his bride. He came to bring joy, not merely a religion.

In the parable of the great banquet, the servant comes back to his master with a line I keep thinking about.

"Sir, what you ordered has been done, but there is still room."

And the master sends him out again, so that the house will be full.

That is the heart of our Father. The room is not nearly filled. Heaven is bigger than the guest list we imagine. This is why we keep praying for people who are far off and people who are right beside us, why we keep inviting, why we do not give up on the ones who have said no before. There is still room, and he wants the house full.

Then the wine runs out.

At a village wedding this was not a small inconvenience. It was public shame for the family, at the one celebration they would be remembered by. In the middle of the joy, they hit a wall.

Wine runs out at the worst possible time. That is how walls work. Our health holds for years and then it does not. A job we assumed was steady ends. A friendship goes quiet. A marriage is running on fumes and nobody says it out loud. When it happens, the first thing we ask is why. Why now, why this, why me. Then we start turning it over, wondering whether we could have seen it coming.

Some of it we could not. Some walls are nobody's fault. But some areas of life we can tend before they run dry, and it is worth naming them honestly: our finances, our work, our health in body and mind, and our relationships. These do not usually collapse in a day. They drain slowly while we are busy with something else.

And underneath all of them is the one Paul points to when he tells Timothy that physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things. Not because the body does not matter. It does. But the life with God is the tank that feeds every other tank. When that one runs low, everything else runs low soon after.

There is an uncomfortable question in here too. Sometimes we ask God why he is not doing the thing we have been praying for. It is fair to ask. But sometimes the question comes back the other way — why are we not doing the thing he has already told us to do? That is not a rebuke for every unanswered prayer. It is just worth checking before we send the prayer up again.

Jesus tells his mother his hour has not yet come. She does not argue with him. She simply turns to the servants and says nine words that could carry a whole life.

"Do whatever he tells you."

Then look at what he actually asks for. Six stone jars, the big ones used for ceremonial washing. Fill them with water. That is it. No prayer over the jars, no gesture, nothing to watch. Just carrying water, probably several trips, until they were full to the brim. It is hard to think of a more ordinary instruction, and it must have felt like the least useful thing anyone could be doing about a wine shortage.

They did it anyway. And then draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet, which took more nerve than the filling did.

The master tastes it and calls the bridegroom over, baffled. Everyone serves the good wine first, he says, and you have saved the best till now. He has no idea where it came from.

But John adds a small line that I do not want to rush past. The servants who had drawn the water knew. The people at the top table got the wine. The ones who did the plain obedient work got to see where it came from. That is usually how it goes. God tends to reveal himself to the people carrying the water.

John says this was the first of the signs, and through it Jesus revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him. His glory looked like a family being spared humiliation and a party getting to keep going. That is who he is.

If God is the giver of joy, then joy is not something we are only allowed once a year on a holiday. Most of us treat it that way. We plan a week off with real care and leave the other fifty-one to whatever is left over.

Plan the fun. Put it in the calendar the way you would a meeting. Do it with the people you love, and do it with your church family too, because joy shared in that room is one of the strongest things a person can be invited into. Paul's warning in Romans 13 is not against having fun. It is against letting the enemy in through the back door of it. Keep the fun, and keep it clean.

Then open it up. Most people who come to Christ were first touched by the love of someone who served them, or had a seed planted in them years earlier when they were young. Hearts open when they are glad. A person who has laughed at your table is far more ready to hear about the God at the centre of it than a person who has only been argued with.

But you cannot invite someone into a joy you are not actually experiencing. That is the honest order of it. Taste it yourself first, regularly, with your church family — then inviting someone else is the easiest thing in the world.

So, three to carry today. Where has your wine run low, and what is one thing you could do this week to tend it? What has he already told you to do that you have been waiting on him for? And who could you invite into your joy — not to a service, just to your table?

There is still room.

All glory to God — forever and ever. Amen. 🤍

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