Microphones: A Sermon
2nd Sunday after the Epiphany
I was invited again to guest-preach this morning. Here’s where I landed struggling with what the lectionary Gospel on the wedding at Cana had to do with everything going on in the world today. Blessings on your long weekend, however you choose to spend it. ~Heather
Isaiah 62:1-5; John 2:1-11
Oscar Romero was a Catholic priest in El Salvador and appointed Archbishop of San Salvador in 1977. He was picked because he was considered a safe choice, one who would stick to his books and not rock the boat in the already rocky Salvadoran society. Well, “rocky” is an understatement. Serious oppression, terror, and violence was going on, all sanctioned by the government and enforced by the military. People were mysteriously disappearing, elections were rigged, the press was censored, and you never knew if soldiers were about to start a massacre. Archbishop Romero decided to start speaking out about it after his good friend, Rutilio Grande, was murdered. Padre Rutilio Grande was the first priest of many to be killed during this time, and, keep in mind, in a Catholic country, priests are sacrosanct. During his three years as Archbishop, Romero became the voice for the voiceless of his country. His sermons were broadcast on Salvadoran radio and his common theme was the church and how the church has a duty to speak out against injustice and oppression.
Archbishop Romero himself was assassinated 45 years ago this March, while celebrating Mass, just as he finished preaching, in this chapel in the picture above. His final sermon was on John 12, where Jesus says, “I tell you the truth, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it can only be a single seed. But if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life will lose it; those who hate their life in this world will keep it forever.” One of the things Romero said about this passage was that “one must not love oneself so much as to avoid getting involved in the risks of life that history demands of us, and that those who try to fend off the danger will lose their lives, while those who out of love for Christ give themselves to the service of others will live, like the grain of wheat that dies, but only apparently.”[1] The words in gold next to the crucifix read “On this altar Monsignor Oscar A. Romero offered his life to God for his people.” He lived what he preached. He had received death threats. He had been called all kinds of names and accused of all kinds of things. He stayed true to his call and clear in his own mind and conscience that he was doing Christ’s work, that he needed to speak up against the injustices that were happening.
Romero was living out what we read from the prophet Isaiah, “For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest, until her vindication shines out like the dawn, and her salvation like a burning torch.” Or, in another translation, “Because I love Zion, I will not keep still. Because my heart yearns for Jerusalem, I cannot remain silent…” until things are made right. This is why folks were protesting in Raleigh this past week with signs like “60,000 voters won’t be silenced.” We don’t speak up about injustice because we’re mad or offended; we don’t make noise because we’re furious. We speak up because it’s what we are called to do, because God calls us to “do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God.”[2] Sometimes justice is speaking up and calling out injustice.
It’s interesting to note who speaks up in our Gospel lesson this morning. It’s not Jesus. Jesus has the most to say, with three lines, but it’s his mother who begins the whole exchange. His mother is the one who speaks up. We’re in the beginning of John’s Gospel. Jesus has just called the first disciples, and now they’re all at a wedding, friends and family together. Mary is among those who have noticed that they’ve run out of wine, a major faux pas, and she points it out to Jesus. This is one of the many times when Jesus says no first, and then goes on to do what he just said no to. In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus even tells a parable to this effect, about two sons whose father asks them to go work in the family vineyard.[3] One son says no, but then changes his mind and goes; the other son says yes, but never goes. Jesus’s question is which son did what their father wanted. And this model of “say no first,” which I think happens in my house hold, too, is the model Jesus follows here. A “no” to his mom, who does not really accept the “no” but turns to the servants and tells them to do whatever Jesus tells them. This is the climax of this story, not the miracle of turning water into wine. The miracle is mentioned in passing instead of center stage. Jesus doesn’t lay his hands on the jugs. He doesn’t spit in them. After the “no,” he doesn’t say anything except for instructions and gives no indication as to what the outcome will be. This miracle is also not a life-changing event like a healing. In fact, compared to the times when he heals someone, this one feels superfluous. A party needed more booze? Really, Jesus? What injustice being righted here? How does this fulfill the Magnificat that we read just last month?
Two things to note here. One is to start with Mary’s speaking up. Sometimes as you work your way toward having the courage to speak up about big things, it helps to start with speaking up about little things. Yes, Mary sang the Magnificat about the powerful being brought down and the humble being lifted up – and her audience was no more than Elizabeth and whoever else was hanging around. It might have even scared her to proclaim something so powerful and counter-cultural. Usually, before the major leagues come the minor leagues. And before the minor leagues come college ball and the high school team. And before high school comes little league and hours of practice in the backyard. For the vast majority of us, we work our way up and practice and it’s gradual. You don’t start your baseball career at Yankee Stadium, nor do you need to start speaking up about injustice on a grand scale. You can start with things with lower stakes. Before Martin Luther King, Jr gave his “I Have a Dream” speech during the Civil Rights movement, he was giving speeches in high school. Before he stood up against segregation and discrimination, he witnessed his father do so.[4] You don’t have to reinvent the wheel and you can start small. Mary speaking up about no wine may have given her strength to speak up about larger problems later. Others witnessing Mary speak up may have given them courage to address what they needed to change in their own lives. Wine at a party may seem trivial; it also seems like a good starting point.
Second, is the fact that they’re at a party. It’s a wedding; it’s time to celebrate! Jesus’s miracles don’t have to be serious affairs. If he had changed the water into wine by holding his hands over it and making it this formal proceeding, it would have thrown quite the damper on the party. I expect some of you are doing serious things tomorrow in honor of MLK Day, maybe the anti-racism training here or community service elsewhere. On social media I’ve read expectations about how to really live into Martin Luther King’s legacy by making it a day on instead of a day off. Yet, I expect some of us are relieved for a day off and may have planned something fun or even just rest, and that’s okay, too.
Before seminary I served in Nicaragua with a mission agency for over a year. My first trip home was after I’d been gone for nine months and it was for my sister’s wedding. I remember talking with my sister about her wedding plans and she commented that I probably thought it was wasteful that they were spending all this money on the wedding when there’s so much poverty and hunger in the world. And it’s true; Nicaragua was, and still is, the second poorest country in this hemisphere. My sister’s wedding reception was at the Carolina Inn in Chapel Hill, so it was a fancy affair. However, what I told her was that the money was being spent on celebrating and that this was a time to celebrate. She wasn’t going overboard with it, but trying to create a nice, classy event and atmosphere, which she succeeded in doing. You gotta celebrate when it’s time to celebrate, and that includes making sure there’s enough wine.
There’s a lot going on in the world. There always is. Wildfires, tsunamis, wars, new leaders coming in office, world leaders wanting more power. Where does this story of Jesus’s first recorded miracle about wine fit in? Start small. Take time off when you need it. Celebrate the good times and the small victories. And keep going. The very next thing that happens in John’s Gospel after this wedding is when Jesus goes in the temple and turns over all the tables, drives out all the animals had been brought in to be sacrificed, and dumps out all the buckets of money. You think he would have had energy to do that if he hadn’t had some downtime beforehand? Pace yourself. In the next story, Jesus is the one who speaks up and says, “Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” Know when it’s your time to speak up, so that you’re ready and you’ve practiced.
Last, to return to Oscar Romero, in a homily in 1978, he said, “I said once before and I repeat today, sisters and brothers, that if some sad day they silence our radio and stop us from writing in our newspaper, then all of you who believe must become microphones, radio stations, and loudspeakers—not by talking but by living the faith.”[5] There’s a quote attributed to St. Francis that says to “Preach the Gospel at all times. If necessary, use words.” Speaking up may not actually be oratorical, vocal, using your voice. It might be with your hands or your feet or giving someone a ride or a whole host of other ways that we can do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God. May we have the grace, the patience, and the courage to do so. Amen.
[1] Oscar Romero, Voice of the Voiceless, p. 191-2
[2] Micah 6:8
[3] Matthew 21:28-32
[4] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King_Jr.
[5] Óscar Romero, “The Church: A Communion of Life, Love, and Truth for the World’s Salvation,” homily, October 29, 1978.