The Best Wine: John 2:1-11

By Karl T. Cooper

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

“No one has ever seen God” (Jn. 1:18); not even Moses with whom God spoke face to face (Ex. 33:11). Whet Moses said, “I pray thee, show me thy glory” (Ex. 33:18) God said, “You cannot see my face; for man shall not see in and live” (Ex. 33:20). Yet when Jesus Christ came into the world, he brought a message of astounding grace: “He who has seen me has seen the Father” (Jn. 14:9). How can this be? Because Jesus is the only-begotten God; because “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth; we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father” (Jn. 1:18, 1:14).

This is the whole message of the Gospel of John—the glory of God, which is the glory of Christ, manifest among men. For twelve chapters John shows that glory diffuse, as it were: manifest in sign and word; for nine he shows the glory focussed: concentrated in the keenness of a love that loved to the end (Jn. 13:1).

The passage before us (Jn. 2:1–11) is from the first half of the Gospel. It is the first of the seven signs by which Jesus progressively reveals his person and work. It deserves special attention as the first sign; the fact that it stands without an interpretive discourse (like the raising of the nobleman’s son, 4:46–54, and the walking on the water, 6:16–21) makes it all the more challenging to the interpreter. This article attempts to wrestle with some of the problems which arise from a consideration of the story itself, and from a consideration of the significance of the story.

I. The story.

The setting of the story is straightforward enough. Having been to the Jordan to be baptized by John, and having found some followers in that neighborhood (four are mentioned), Jesus returns home to Galilee, taking those followers along. Somewhere along the way the little group is met with an invitation to a wedding nearby.

Apparently, Jesus’ mother Mary is close to the family of the groom. She seems to have a significant part in helping with the preparations for the festivities. It is not said that she was invited; rather she was already present when Jesus arrived (v. 1).[1] She is closely involved with the work of serving; when the wine fails, she is aware of it before the steward of the feast (vv. 3, 9–10). She speaks to the servants on Jesus’ behalf, as though she were known to them but not he (v. 5).

It is perhaps this intimacy with the family of the groom that causes Mary’s concern when the shortage of wine is discovered. The lack of wine would have caused a general disruption of the wedding, obvious embarassment to the family of the groom, and possibly even legal action against them.[2] Mary’s anxiety appears from her apparently immediate conference with Jesus about the situation.

There now occurs an interchange between Mary and Jesus which has puzzled readers in every generation (vv. 3–5). To the matter-of-fact report by Mary, Οἴνον οὐκ ἔκουσιν, Jesus responds in startling terms—first with a challenging question, Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ δοί, γύναι; and then with a cryptic admonition about “his hour,” Οὔπω ἥκει ἡ ὥρα μου. Mary has no rejoinder, but quietly turns to the servants, telling them to do whatever Jesus should tell them. It seems hard to analyze this conversation without reading something in. Traditionally, Roman Catholic expositors have found here a case of Mary’s efficacious intercession with Jesus. The standard Protestant version is exemplified by Frederick Louis Godet.[3] He, too, sees an intercession by Mary, but reads Jesus’ response as a rebuke to Mary’s worldly, ambitious attitude and a warning to her not to interfere with Jesus’ Messianic program. Both of these interpretations are clearly involved in difficulties. The traditional Catholics have trouble with the blunt Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ δοί;—not a very positive response—and seek to evade its force. Some make it an assurance of Jesus’ willingness to heed Mary’s request. Mary, thus “assured,” proceeds to prepare the servants for the miracle she knows is coming.[4] The Protestants see the question as a resistance to Mary’s request, or at least to its spirit, which seems more natural. But they run aground on the phrase, Οὔπω ἥκει ἡ ὥρα μου. If the “hour” is “the proper time for me to act” then this seems to be an outright denial of Mary’s request for help. But in that case, Jesus’ immediate provision of wine is inexplicable. On the other hand, if “my hour” is taken with its usual significance in John (7:30, 8:20; cf. 12:27, 13:1, 17:1), Jesus is telling Mary that the time of his death and resurrection is still future—a problem for most interpreters, Protestant or Catholic, as it seems irrelevant.

There is an additional problem which faces both traditional interpretations: Mary does not actually ask for anything in v. 3. The temptation to make the text say more than it does is very strong. But it must be resisted at the outset.

The quest for a more workable interpretation must begin with the clear and proceed to the less clear.[5] There is one fact which is beyond reasonable doubt, and that is that ἡ ὥρα μου cannot refer to “the right time to do a miracle.” The parallels mentioned above are too striking, and the expression is too solemn to mean anything but “my hour” in the strongest sense, “the time which the Father has appointed for my final glorification, my hour being lifted up in death and resurrection.”[6] Working on this basis, Henri van den Bussche has pointed the way out of the problem.[7]

If Jesus does not mean “the proper time for a miracle is not here,” then this statement cannot be the ground for a refusal to do a miracle. Its relation to the question τί ἐμοὶ καὶ δοί; is then not so clear. The usual interpretation, that τί ἐμοὶ καὶ δοί; constitutes an abrupt rebuff to Mary’s request, may not be so well founded. It seems to be a refusal when Οὔπω ἥκει ἡ ὥρα μου brought into close logical relation with it; but if the statement about the hour is referring to a still-future event, the relation between the two parts of Jesus’ answer may be less clear than it seems. It is best to try to interpret the two remarks separately.

The question is thus raised, is Jesus, in fact, refusing Mary’s request? Apart from the difficult exegesis of τί ἐμοὶ καὶ δοί, there are presumptions against such a refusal. First, nowhere in the four gospels does Jesus refuse a sincere request brought to him by a person in need. Mt. 12:39, 16:4, Jn. 4:15, 6:34 are not really examples of such a refusal—these are all requests made in unbelief or misunderstanding. Jn. 4:48 is not a refusal, either, but a challenge to the nobleman to believe without seeing first (cf. 20:29).

There remains the case of Mt. 15:21–28 (Mk. 7:24–30). Careful reading reveals that Jesus’ apparent refusals are not such at all. To the first request, Jesus remains silent—a response which need mean neither rejection nor indifference (cf. Mt. 9:27–28, 20:29–31). The idea that Jesus is deliberately discouraging, the woman to test her faith casts aspersions on Jesus’ sincerity and compassion.[8] On the contrary, Jesus’ second response indicates the nature of the silence: being invoked by a Gentile as “Son of David” has led him to meditate on the shape of his Messianic commission and the depth of his pastoral responsibility to the covenant people of Israel. The relevance of this is only explained when we see that the woman’s request has moved Jesus deeply—so deeply that he has actually been tempted to turn aside from shepherding the scattered flock of Israel to begin a ministry of mercy to the benighted Gentiles. But the Messianic title “Son of David” reminds him that his responsibility to the covenant nation must be completed before he can turn to the nations (cf. Jn. 10:16, Mt. 21:33ff.).

This clear Messianic program, however, has never prevented Jesus from performing acts of mercy for individual Gentiles (cf. Mt. 4:23–24, 8:5–13). What Jesus must do before he helps this woman is to teach her that he is not just a Jewish magician. He uses the diminutive κυνάριογ to teach her two crucial lessons—her own unworthiness, and the gentleness of his compassion. She gets the point, and responds in touching humility and submission to Jesus—no longer “Son of David” but “Master.” From start to finish Jesus has shown her pastoral compassion, and of course he grants her request. We conclude that it is entirely out of keeping with the nature of Jesus’ person and calling to refuse a sincere request motivated by human need.

The second presumption against reading Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ δοί; as the refusal of a request is found in the succeeding narrative. For Jesus, in fact, proceeds to meet the present need with vigor and dispatch. What kind of refusal gives way, for no apparent reason, to such overflowing assent? The answer usually given is that Jesus is not refusing the request but the spirit in which it is made.[9] The idea is that Jesus rejects Mary’s supposed presumption in seeking to dictate to him the manner of his manifestation to the people or the timetable of his Messianic program. This is seen as an explanation of Οὔπω ἥκει ἡ ὥρα μου as well. The problem is that Mary shows no such inclination; it is a fabrication of the interpreter.

What Mary has in fact done is to bring to Jesus the simple report, Οἰνον οὐκ ἔχουδιν. We need see here no more than a straightforward desire to share her perplexity and concern with Jesus. If she had any idea that he would do something about it, or could do so, it does not appear in the text. She merely laid the situation before Jesus, as something entirely beyond the scope of human resources. A glance at several parallels among the Johannine sign narratives will show the consistency of this pattern: Jn. 5:5–7; 6:5, 9; 9:2; 11:3, 21, 32. In no case does the miracle come into the context of a prior expectation.[10] It is the nature of the sign to burst the bounds of all human expectation, and to come as a surprise of divine grace.

If there is no request by Mary, then there is no refusal by Jesus; we must seek another interpretation of Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ δοί. J. Duncan M. Derrett would turn the tables, and make the question an assurance that Jesus will do something about the lack of wine. The reconstruction is speculative; the idea is that Jesus and the disciples bear some responsibility for the lack of wine, and Mary is upset. She rebukes Jesus with the situation; he responds, “Why do you blame me? I will take care of the matter; I already have plans to do so.”[11] Whether or not this is a plausible reading of the Greek expression, it rests upon an implausible reconstruction of the wine shortage.

The proper understanding of Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ δοί; is difficult. The phrase rests on a Semitic expression: מָה־לִי וָלָך. It can be a decisive rejection of another party’s suggestion or request; but it may convey no more than the affirmation of a different point of view about a specific issue—the idea that the speaker is not agreeing with central assumptions made by the other party.[12] Whether the thrust is positive or negative depends entirely on the context. Van den Bussche calls attention especially to Jdg. 11:12, I K 17:18, II Ch. 35:21, in which the expression is used as an appeal for peace; a similar idea is behind the demons’ use of the phrase in pleading with Jesus (Mt. 8:29, Mk. 5:7, Lk. 8:28).[13]

It appears to me that the, force of the phrase in Jn. 2:4 is as a challenge. Mary is challenged to re-examine her motives for coming to Jesus in the, situation of distress. (In Mt. 15:21–28, 20:29–31, Jesus’ silence has the same searching effect.) Mary is being asked, “What is your relationship to me? What do we have in common, that makes. it appropriate for you to share this need with me?” There is no presumption whatever that the expected answer is “Nothing.” Jesus is not denying the relationship under which Mary has approached him. He is merely challenging her to look more deeply into the nature of that relationship (cf. e.g., Mt. 16:15, Mk. 8:29, Lk. 9:20, Jn. 21:15–17) It is necessary that Mary be thus challenged, because the purpose of the sign that Jesus has in mind is deeper faith based on a deeper apprehension of who Jesus is (Jn. 2:11). André Feuillet’s idea is that the question Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ δοί; manifests Jesus’ transcendence[14] is along the right lines; but it manifests that transcendence by means of a challenge to a deeper realization of Mary’s relationship to Jesus as her Messiah and Lord. It is admittedly difficult to achieve an English translation that conveys the desired flavor. Perhaps “What makes you come to me?” is acceptable.

I see no reason, in sum, to understand the interchange between Jesus and Mary as a request rejection. However, the question returns, why does Jesus go on with the statement, “My hour has not yet come”—apparently a warning against some kind of expectation Mary may have? Feuillet suggests that Mary expects of Jesus a response to the need at Cana which will only be appropriate after Jesus’ death/resurrection—an outpouring of the eschatological munificience promised in such passages as Gen. 49:11–12, Is. 25:6 and Joel 3:18—in effect, to provide the supernatural wine of the Messianic era.[15] It is this request which Jesus denies by reminding her “my hour has not yet come;” until the crucifixion of the Messiah and the institution of the church, the sacramental wine cannot be made available. Nonetheless, Jesus meets her grandiose request on a mundane level by providing enough material wine to meet the need.

This is ingenious, but not convincing. Aside from the arguments given above that Mary had no clear expectations, and the problem that this glorious sign (v. 11) would really be an insipid anticlimax after Mary’s request, there is the added problem that Mary can hardly be expected to have drawn the elaborate theological conclusions from the Old Testament that would be necessary to make the request and the response meaningful on this level—especially at such an early date in the ministry of Jesus.

The reason why Jesus warns Mary that his hour has not yet come must be much simpler. It is found in one aspect of the meaning of the Hour as it is developed in John’s Gospel. While the signs of Jesus manifest his glory to a select few in a veiled way (2:11, 11:40, 17:4), the cataclysmic event of the Hour will manifest his to all men in a definitive way (12:23, 12:27–33; 17:1). Mary is about to witness the first of Jesus’ glorious signs; Jesus is concerned to warn her beforehand not to expect a public manifestation of his glory.[16] The time is surely not ripe f or that yet, because the Hour has not come. The reasons for the delay of the public manifestation are patent; in view of the hardness of heart of Jesus’ own people (1:11),a public manifestation would short-circuit the whole Messianic program, either by an abortive worldly kingship thrust upon Jesus (6:15) or by his seizure and premature execution (5:16, 18; 7:13, 19, 25, 32, 44; 8:20, 59; 10:31, 39; 11:53). True, Mary has not yet shown an inclination to expect such a public manifestation, but the warning is relevant, because that inclination would arise naturally enough once she has seen this—the first—sign. This is the plan, also, behind Jesus’ refusal to follow the advice of his brothers to show his glory openly by his works (7:3–4). His refusal to go up to the feast is actually only a refusal to go up to the feast in the way they suggest—a refusal to show his glory publicly—because “my time has not yet come” (7:6, 9; cf. 7:10). These refusals to make his glory manifest publicly are entirely of a piece with the injunctions to the disciples and to some of those healed by Jesus to keep silent about what they know. The purpose is identical—to forestall a premature unleashing of Jewish opposition and a consequent miscarriage of the Messianic plan.

Mary’s instruction to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you” (v. 5), remains to be explained. It is best to see this as the result of some reflection on the challenge, Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ δοί, which at any rate would have been clearer to Mary than the statement about the Hour. It-seems that Mary realizes more clearly that her role must diminish, much as John the Baptist had also been learning (Jn. 1:26–27, 29–36; cf. 3:27–30). Exactly how she is to give way to the increasing dominance of her Son may not be clear to her. But she can take one simple course of action; whatever concern she has had to influence the affair of the wine shortage, she now relinquishes to Jesus. There is no need to suppose that Jesus has given her some reason to expect any specific action on his part. Rather, her act involves a shift of perspective. She had begun by viewing the problem as something she and Jesus were facing together, from the same vantage point. As long as she saw things in that way, she could only say, “They have no more wine,” an attitude approaching despair. But when she hands her influence with the servants over to Jesus, despair gives way to a willingness to trust Jesus, a willingness born of reflection, it seems, on Jesus’ unusual dignity. Even now, her attitude is not one of expectancy,[17] far less of authority over the servants (as some would see it), but rather of submission to whatever Jesus should decide to do.[18] There is here a beginning of faith which will be strengthened by the sign (2:11).

The next interchange in the narrative is that between Jesus and the servants (vv. 7–8).[19] Mary’s submission is rewarded; Jesus acts—not at her request, but by his own initiative—and as suggested, in a way no one could have expected. The picture of a succession of servants carrying buckets of water from the well to the jars and pouring, pouring, pouring—150 gallons, more or less—is striking. So much water! But not a drop of wine. The emphasis on the fullness of the pots (ἕως ἄνω) is surely to the effect that Jesus had only water at his disposal; nothing else could have been slipped in unnoticed. The drama reminds one of Elijah on Carmel. The νῦν of v. 8 marks the decisive point; but it is remarkable that the change itself is not described, nor even mentioned except in retrospect, v. 9. This was an unusually discreet miracle—for reasons which will shortly appear.

At this juncture, however, it is necessary to correct an interpretation offered by Birger Olsson concerning the emphasis placed upon the obedience of the servants in carrying out Jesus’ instructions. Olsson argues that the obedience here rendered by the servants is precisely parallel to the obedience rendered by Israel at Sinai.[20]

That there are parallels between the book of Exodus and the Gospel of John—especially the Johannine signs—is manifest.[21] Jesus is the new Moses who constructs the new tabernacle (temple), gives the water of life, prevails over the watery deep, gives bread from heaven, and shepherds the flock of God. But the contrast between Jesus and Moses as new vs. old must not be obscured for the sake of the continuity. And at the heart of this contrast are the different functions assigned to obedience under the two mediators. “For the Law was given by Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ” (Jn. 1:17). From the perspective of the first Moses, the question, “What must we do, to be doing the works of God?” is a perfectly valid question (Jn. 6:18; cf. Ex. 18:20, 36:1–7, etc.). But when the new Moses has come, the question cannot be posed in the same way. There is now one work which is to be done—to believe (Jn. 6:29)—which is unique among works in that its efficacy depends, not on its activity, but precisely on its passivity (Jn. 1:12, 3:14–17, etc.). One could scarcely conceive a clearer illustration of the passive instrumental character of faith than Jn. 2:1–11. We have already remarked upon the passive submission of Mary, which enables her to receive the grace which comes in the sign. The obedience of the servants is an even clearer illustration. In all their activity, they are contributing precisely nothing to the redemptive provision brought by Jesus. Their obedience (which is analogous to the obedience of faith in justification, Rom. 1:5) is merely the means through which Jesus gives his gift of grace. The contrast between Moses and Christ is virtually obliterated by Olsson.[22]

We pass on to the brief interchange between the servants and the steward (the first part of v. 9: the steward did not know the origin of the wine, as did the servants). We recall the remarkable discretion with which the sign was performed. Only those on the scene at the time could have been aware the LXX of Ex. 19-24, and Targum Jonathan on Ex. 10-24 (op. cit., pp. 24-25,102-109).

that a miracle had occurred, and they only by indirect verification. The result is that the miracle is really performed only for a select group, which includes the servants, the disciples, and presumably Mary. This is not the only Johannine sign with this selective character. The healing of the nobleman’s son—explicitly associated with the first sign, Jn. 4:46, 54—is of this sort. The nobleman does not see the miracle (still less the unbelievers referred to in 4:48); his household does not see the miracle; it is only discerned by inference from the combined testimony of the nobleman and his household, 4:51–53. Similarly, with the healing of the paralytic (5:2–9), there are no witnesses; the Jews are confounded in their attempts to track the healer down (5:9–15). The walking on the water is a revelation made only to the small group of disciples in the boat (6:16–21)—the resultant confusion of the people is emphasized (6:22–24). The healing of the blind man (ch. 9) is similarly private, veiled from the eyes of neighbors and Pharisees alike. Obviously, Jesus is not interested in performing miracles for the general public. All that was said above about the deliberate postponement of the public manifestation is relevant here. But there is more to be said.

Jesus is interested in revealing his Messianic glory to believers, i.e., to his disciples. This is the import of 2:11b. The unbelievers have no right to signs (4:48; cf. Mt. 12:39, 16:4). More significantly, even of those who are spectators, some are blinded in the hardness of their hearts (6:26; 6:66; 10:37–39; 11:45–46; cf. 9:39–41; 12:37–41). This is, apparently, the situation in Jn. 2:1–11. The steward is excluded from the scope of the miracle. The servants are included as spectators, but they are not said to believe; only the disciples actually respond to the sign positively. It is for their sake that the miracle was done (2:11).

The final interchange of the narrative is that between the steward and the bridegroom (vv. 9b–10). The steward compliments the bridegroom on the quality of his wine and on the unusual generosity demonstrated in giving choice wine to guests who are not able to appreciate it properly. The steward, not knowing the origin of the wine, assumes the bridegroom has brought forth a supply of wine not originally intended for the wedding from a hidden storeroom.

The unusual thing is that the story ends here. It is quite unfinished. In a normal story we would certainly expect an account of the astonishment of the bridegroom at being complimented for wine he knew nothing about, an investigation of the provenance of the wine, a discovery of the miraculous work of Jesus or a device to keep it secret, etc. With such a drop-off ending, the real question becomes, why is the steward’s comment recorded at all? A simple answer is, to bring out the excellent quality of the wine which Jesus had made. And that is surely in view. But the omission of any response on the part of the bridegroom to the steward has another curious effect, which we will comment on later.

Meanwhile, the unusual ending of the narrative reminds us clearly that the story was not told merely for its own sake. The event is a sign, and in John every sign points beyond itself to an aspect of the person and work of the Messiah.[23] The restoration of sight to the blind man points to Jesus as the light of the world; the multiplication of the loaves points Jesus as the bread of life; the raising of Lazarus points to Jesus as the resurrection and the life. We turn then to the second division of this essay, to ask about the significance of the story.

II. The significance of the story.

We take our point of departure from the statement in Jn. 2:11, “This, the first of his signs, Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested his glory; and his disciples believed in him.” The sign is clearly related to glory and to faith, two key themes of the Gospel. And as the first of the signs, it points the way in the interpretation of the other signs.

Glory and faith are brought together at three other crucial points in the Gospel. The Prologue brings them together, 1:12–14. To believe in the name of Jesus is to behold His glory, to perceive the fullness of grace and truth that are in Christ, and to receive that fullness (v. 16) in receiving him. The last sign also ties faith to glory, thus completing the sign cycle in unity with the first (11:40–44). Jesus promises Martha that if she believes, she will see the glory of God. This promise is fulfilled in the sign itself, the raising of Lazarus. The sign is also connected with the purpose of Christ that the spectators may believe that the Father sent Jesus. This leads into the final passage which links faith and glory, Jn. 17, Jesus’ own summary-in-prayer of His ministry, his final report to the Father (cf. vv. 1, 4–5, 8, 10, 20–26). The purpose of Jesus’ ministry was to reveal his glory, which is the glory and the name of the Father, to the disciples, to the end that 1) they might believe; 2) they might be glorified with the Father and the Son; 3) others might believe and be glorified.

We conclude that the purpose of Christ’s ministry can be expressed as the revelation of the glory of Christ to the end that Christ’s “own” might believe and themselves be glorified. This is to say that the sign of the wine, as well as the other signs, are functioning at the center of Christ’s Messianic commission, and thus at the center of John’s apostolic witness to Jesus as the Christ. John 20:30–31, the concluding purpose statement of the Gospel, bears this out precisely.

In general, then, the revelation-function of every sign is thoroughly Christological. This has not always been sufficiently recognized.[24] We shall attempt to maintain this Christological perspective as we discuss the various aspects of the significance of the transformation of water into wine at Cana. In discussing this specific sign, the emphasis will be upon the wine which Jesus provides; I believe this is where the text itself lays the emphasis. But it must be remembered that the primary significance of this wine is that it is the wine which Jesus provides. It is, as it were, Messianic wine.[25]

First, the wine Jesus provides is the wine of compassion. We have mentioned the potential embarassment and humiliation of the bridegroom and his family, and the sympathetic concern with which Mary is motivated. It cannot be doubted that the immediate concern which prompts Jesus to perform this particular sign is his own compassion for the family and for Mary; by this compassion, he enters into their distress and makes their concern his own. Here is a revelation of the wellspring of the incarnation and of the Messianic mission—the love of Jesus, which is a reflection of the love of the Father (Jn. 10:10–15, 13:1, 15:9; 3:16–17, etc.).

Second, the wine Jesus provides is the wine of replacement.

This is already suggested by the transformation of water into wine, the replacement of a good thing by a better. But the general context of 2:1–11 shows how pervasive this theme is; it is virtually the topic of Jn. 2:1–4:54.[26] The old temple at Jerusalem will be replaced by the new temple of Jesus’ body. The old life according to the flesh will be replaced by the new life according to the Spirit. The old water that Jacob gave will be replaced by the new water that Christ gives. The old cultus at Jerusalem will be replaced by the new cultus of the Messiah, in the Spirit. The keynote for this theme was sounded in the prologue at Jn. 1:17. In Jn. 2:1–11, the clue to seeing the replacement-significance of the sign is the stress laid upon the character of the stone pots: they are for Jewish purification rites, and are marks of a system of worship which is in dire need of replacement (cf. Christ’s fulminations against the Pharisaic ideas of purity in Mt. 23). A clue to the specific replacement here indicated is found in the synoptic Gospels’ use of new wine as a symbol of the new religious system introduced by the coming of the Messiah (Mt. 9:14–17, Mk. 2:18–22, Lk. 5:33–39), a new religious system marked by celebration rather than moroseness, a religious system so alive and powerful that it will split the seams of the old (Mosaic) economy. Luke, particularly, notes that in the perversity of their hearts the Jewish opponents of the Messiah will exalt the old wine of obsolete religion in the face of the superiority of the new (Lk. 5:39). This circle of imagery gives us a hint to the effect that the comment of the steward that Jesus’ wine is better than the wine which had first been set out (2:10) is of importance in this regard. The recognition of the superior quality of Jesus’ wine is intended to depict the superiority of the new covenant to the old (cf. 2 Cor. 3:1–18, Heb. 8:13). The fact that the stone jars were Jewish purification vessels (2:6) may even suggest a new mode of cleansing under the new covenant, spiritual and not physical, real and not typical; cf. Ezek. 36:22–29.

Third, the wine Jesus provides is the wine of abundance (cf. Jn. 1:16). This is pictured for us by the incredible quantity of wine produced in the miracle—about 150 gallons (2:6). The explicit mention of the capacity of the jars surely makes the point that all of this water was turned to wine. There is far more than required to meet the immediate need. There are general indications here of the abundance of Christ’s redemptive provisions; but the more specific association of ideas is with the OT promises of supernatural agricultural abundance to be provided in the days of the Messiah.[27] Some relevant texts which mention an abundance of wine are Gen. 49:11–12, Prov. 9:5, Is. 25:6, 55:1–3, Jer. 31:12, Joel 2:19, 22–24, 3:18, Amos 9:13–14, Zech. 9:17. Closely related are the promises of the fruitful vine in Messianic days, Jer. 31:5, Micah 4:4, Zech. 3:10, 8:12.

Now, it is clear that Jesus did not actually inaugurate the kind of extensive agricultural abundance envisioned in these texts. And yet the thrust of the miracle is clear; Jesus is announcing the advent of Shiloh, who will come in such abundance of wine that he will be able to wash his clothes in it. The tension we face is the familiar NT tension between the already of eschatological fulfillment and the not yet of consummation promise.

If we still wait for the promised abundance of natural wine, what abundance did Jesus actually bring in his first advent? The clue is found in Mt. 26:29, Mk. 14:25, and Lk. 22:18, where Jesus identifies the cup of the Lord’s Supper with the cup that he will not drink until he drinks it new with us in the kingdom. The promise of a new cup can only mean the fulfillment of the wine-promises of the OT; the identification of that cup with the cup of the Lord’s Supper can only mean that the sacramental cup is the cup of abundance which Jesus has given us in his first advent. This eucharistic reference of the Cana sign is far from incidental;[28] without this sacramental abundance there would be no present enjoyment of the abundance Jesus so freely gives at Cana. On the other hand, it must be stressed that it is Jesus who gives this wine to the Church, and not the Church who gives the wine to the people[29] —cf. Mt. 26:28, Mk. 14:25, Lk. 22:20, Jn. 6:53–58. The sacramental wine is, of course, the blood of Jesus shed for our redemption on the Cross; we see here another reason why Jesus associates his Hour with the Cana miracle (2:4). The wine made at Cana is only a sign, a typical foretaste, of the true wine to be given in Jesus’ death; there is therefore no lasting abundance at Cana, for Jesus’ Hour is not yet. Mary and the disciples must wait a while yet before they taste the wine of heaven; Jesus first must taste the vinegar of hell in their place.[30]

Fourth, the wine Jesus gives is the wine of the Bridegroom. This is the inescapable conclusion to be drawn by any Christian who reads Jn. 2:10. The deliberately unfinished story must make the Christian observe in his own mind, “That steward was mistaken I He ought not to have complimented the bridegroom! Jesus ought to get the praise for that wine.” And what Christian could fail to observe that the bridegroom who gets the praise is not the true Bridegroom at all? (cf. Mt. 9:15, 25:1-13, Mk. 2:19–20, Lk. 5:34–35, Jn. 3:27–30, Rev. 19:6–9.) Of course, this is fitting, for the Bridegroom is not yet celebrating his wedding; that Day still awaits its dawn. Yet this is just one more way in which the eschatological promises are set forth by Jn. 2:1–11. Truly, the best wine is kept for last, contrary to all custom, but to the everlasting honor of the generous Bride groom.[31]

Fifth and finally, the wine Jesus gives is the wine of glory. It is in giving this wine that Jesus manifests his glory to his disciples (2:11). Here, Jesus reveals his glory for faith. The wine of Cana will soon be consumed, and by some forgotten; but not by all. For no true disciple who has been at Cana or who has read the word of Cana can forget the wine which gladdens the heart, the wine of the joy of fellowship with the Messiah, who has come for his own. Here, Jesus reveals his glory progressively. The disciples who had believed (1:37–51) needed to believe more strongly (2:11); their faith continued to grow as long as Jesus was among them (20:8, 25, 27). So too we must never cease to pray, “Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief as we pass from glory to glory. Finally, here Jesus reveals his glory selectively. Many were at Cana that day, but few beheld the glory of the only Son from the Father. Many are called, but few are chosen. And sadly, even at the final wedding-supper, some shall find their way into the hall who have never seen the glory of Christ. They shall be cast into outer darkness; there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth (Mt. 22:11–14). May God grant us ears to hear, and eyes to see the glory of Christ.

Notes

1. I suggest that the καὶ … καὶ … of v. 2 means “both … and.” If the first καὶ is translated “also,” then Mary was invited.
2. J. Duncan M. Derrett, “Water into Wine,” Biblische Zeitschrift, Neue Folge, 7 (1963), pp. 84-85, 89.
3. Commentary on the Gospel of John, vol. I (Grand Rapids: Zondervan Publishing House, 1886, rpt. n. d.), pp. 345-349.
4. Rudolf Schnackenburg, The Gospel According to St. John, vol. I, tr. Kevin Smith (New York: Herder and Herder, 1968), pp. 328-329, 331, reviews and rejects such suggestions.
5. I am indebted to my wife Dovile for the basic outline of the following reading of the dialogue between Jesus and Mary.
6. Cf. also Jn. 7:6, 7:8. Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John (i-xii) (The Anchor Bible, Vol. 29) (Garden City: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1966), pp. 517-518, is conclusive. The apparent parallels which speak of an hour which has already come are not real, as the noun is there anarthrous (Jn. 4:23, 5:25, 16:23). The distinction between “an hour” and “the Hour” is carefully maintained.
7. Jean: Commentaire de l’Evangile Spirituel (Bruges: Descl6e de Brouwer, 1967), pp. 140-148.
8. Alfred Edersheim, The Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah, Vol. II (New York: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1886), p. 40.
9. Sometimes the appellation γύναι is taken as a decisive rejection of any maternal claims Mary may feel justified in holding over Jesus. While this use of γύναι by son to mother is unusual, there is no evidence that it carries the suggested nuance. Cf. Jn. 19:26.
10. Van den Bussche, op. cit., pp. 140-141.
11. Op. cit., pp. 86-89, 93–94.
12. Ibid., pp. 89-92; Birger Olsson, Structure and Meaning in the Fourth Gospel: A Text-Linguistic Analysis of John 2:1–11 and 4:1–42, Conietanea Biblica, New Testament Series, 6 (Lund, Sweden: CWK Gleerup, 1974), pp. 36–39.
13. Op. cit., pp. 142-144.
14. “L’Heure de Jésus et le Signe de Cana: Contribution à l’Etude de la Structure du Quatrime Evangile,” Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses, 36 (1960), pp. 5-22.
15. Identified by Feuillet as sacramental wine. Ibid., pp. 17-18.
16. Van den Bussche, op. cit., p. 148; Schnackenburg, op. cit., pp. 330331.
17. Maximilian Zerwick, Biblical Greek, ed. Joseph Smith (Rome: Scripta Pontificii Instiuti Biblici, 1963), sec. 338.
18. Van den Bussche, op. cit., p. 148.
19. We pass over the circumstantial comment about the ceremonial water-jars, v. 6, to be considered later.
20. Op. cit., pp. 47, 104-105. Olsson’s argument—of questionable cogency—is based on a series of linguistic parallels between Jn. 2:1-11.
21. Cf. Van den Bussche, op. cit., p. 132.
22. See his comments on the “old” people of God and the “new” people of God constituted by the Messiah: “The new, however, is not really new but a part of the old; it is the true people of God in all ages” (op. cit., p. 101).
23. Van den Bussche, op. cit., p. 131.
24. Brown, op. cit., pp. 527-529; Olsson, op. cit., pp. 67-69.
25. Feuillet, op. cit., p. 17.
26. Brown, op. cit., p. cxliii.
27. Ibid., pp. 106-107; Van den Bussche, op. cit., p. 148; Feuillet, op. cit., p. 17; Schnackenburg, op. cit., p. 338.
28. Contra Brown, op. cit., p. 109.
29. Contra Feuillet, op. cit., p. 17.
30. Cf. Van den Bussche, op. cit., p. 148.
31. The Bridegroom imagery seems inescapable here, although Brown wants to deny it (op. cit., p. 109). Cf. C. H. Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1953), pp. 297-298; Olsson, op. cit., pp. 60-61.