The Good News is... so good it catches us by surprise

On the day Ames and I got married, a miracle occurred. 

We had our wedding on the top of one of the gorgeous rolling hills of North Idaho, at a church camp 30 minutes outside of town. 

Just minutes before the ceremony began, my parents realized we’d forgotten a guitar. My best friend had flown in from California to sing during the service—and suddenly, there was nothing for her to play. There was no time to run back into town. No backup plan. Just that sinking feeling of, Oh no… we really blew this one. 

Having caught on to what was happening, some ladies from our church sprang into action. They didn’t know how they were going to fix the problem—but they were determined to try. 

The ceremony would go on!

And so as the wedding party began their walk down the aisle, my parents were so anxious… wondering how a guitar was going to materialize out of thin air. 

Suddenly, my dad heard it. The small crash of someone dropping a guitar… and he knew… miracles of miracles. The guitar had arrived. My friend, both relieved and excited, had fumbled it as she took it into her hands.  

At the time, I didn’t know any of this was happening. I didn’t know any of this was happening at the time. But later I learned how it unfolded: one of the women from church had texted a friend in the closest town. That friend had a friend with a guitar. And that friend-of-a-friend, hearing that a young couple was about to get married without the music, she grabbed her own guitar, jumped into the car, and raced up the hill so the celebration could go on.

The miracle at the wedding at Cana was a little more dramatic when it comes to physics—but many of the details are similar. 

In both stories, a celebration is at risk of disappointment or embarrassment. 

In both stories, women take it upon themselves to solve a problem handed to them.

And in both stories, a community steps in to bless a young couple as they begin a new life together.

The Rev. Sarah Speed wrote this poem, which gives us a glimpse into what that night might have felt like from Jesus’ perspective. 

“They’re Out of Wine”

They kicked off their sandals when the dancing began.

Everyone flooded the floor. He was there,

head thrown back, laughing at the stars.

Everyone could see it was joy and hope in the air,

the kind of love that makes it impossible not to dance.

So the whole community spun and twirled, jumped and clapped,

pushing back the pain of the world for a night.

Reveling in the fact that two people could stand to

build something beautiful in this broken world.

But before too long, a tug on his sleeve.

I wonder if Jesus stopped dancing when he heard the news.

I wonder if he looked out over the crowd of happy people.

I wonder if he could see their joy poking through their fragility.

And I wonder if he knew, in that moment, that joy was holy,

that joy would sustain them, that joy was a form of resurrection,

so he turned water into wine and the dancing did not stop.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus’ ministry begins like this. John doesn’t begin with Jesus fasting in the wilderness for 40 days and 40 nights as Mathew, Mark, and Luke do.  

No, according to the Gospel of John, Jesus does begin his ministry in the desert, or at the well, in the temple, or the public square—"he begins his ministry at a party, at a wedding reception, on a dance floor, surrounded by friends and family and neighbors and strangers. Jesus’ debut act isn’t a healing, or an exorcism, or turning tables for justice. His first act is to help ensure a party becomes the best party possible.” (Rev. Lizzie McManus Dail)  

Jesus begins his ministry by turning water into wine. And not just any wine, but the best wine. And not just a little, but six massive jars full, “filled to the brim.” 

“And it’s a total surprise.” (Rev. Lizzie McManus Dail).  

Take the master of the banquet. He tastes the wine Jesus has provided, and he’s stunned. So stunned, in fact, that he pulls the groom aside to congratulate him for saving the best wine for later in the celebration. He assumes this goodness must have come from the host.

But can you imagine how the servants must have felt, watching him misinterpret the source of this abundance? They were the ones who had drawn the water. They were the ones who had seen Jesus transform it into wine. They knew where this goodness had come from.

The lowly servants were among the first to be surprised by Jesus—and among the first to believe in the goodness he brought into the world. As scripture tells us, “This was the first of the signs through which he revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.” 

“Messianic Secret” by T Denise Anderson (inspired by John 2:1-11).

This is a story about divinity breaking into ordinary life. About holy abundance showing up in the middle of an everyday celebration.About faith taking root not in spectacle, but in quiet moments of wonder.  And a reminder that the people on the margins are always central to Jesus' mission. 

The Good News is a total surprise. Except perhaps to Mary, who has already had enough surprises for a lifetime. Perhaps here she is already in on the joke. 

The Good News is a total surprise, because this… this is who Jesus is.

As Rev. Lizzie McManus Dail put it:

 “Jesus doesn’t have to begin with defeating evil because he knows ultimately evil doesn’t stand a chance against a God who loves to dance and loves his mother. Evil doesn’t stand a chance against a God who is not only not afraid of scarcity, but laughs in the face of it. Evil doesn’t stand a chance against a God who will never let an empty cistern or full tomb have the final word. Evil is predictable. But our God loves a surprise because God knows the plot twist is the same every time: God’s goodness will overflow. Every single time.”

God loves the plot twist—not simply for the sake of surprise, not just to be contrarian—but because goodness itself can be surprising in a world like ours.

In a world saturated with bad news, good news feels almost unbelievable.

In a world that trains us to be hard, fierce, and unforgiving, mercy catches us off guard.

In a world where wine really does run out, God’s desire to keep the party going is shocking.

Jesus will speak truth to the powers and principalities of his day. He will face rejection and abandonment. And eventually he will journey to the cross, condemned to a punishment as routine in the Roman Empire, as the death penalty in the United States, and the bombing of civilians in Gaza.  

That is why the story of the wedding at Cana is especially potent as we enter the season of Lent—the forty days when Christians around the world follow Jesus on his journey toward the cross, toward the very heart of imperial violence.

Here, at the very beginning of John’s Gospel, we are shown something essential about who Jesus is and what he desires for us. 

Before the confrontation. 

Before the suffering. 

Before the cross.

Jesus wants us to live abundant lives. He wants us to taste overflowing joy. And he reveals that this abundance doesn’t only belong to some distant heaven—it shows up in the middle of ordinary life.

This is not prosperity Gospel. This is not feel-good religion. This is not empty optimism, hope-ium for the masses meant to keep us comfortable or sedate in the face of injustice.

No—this is the kind of joy that keeps a community alive when the world is heavy.

The kind of joy that spreads.

The kind of joy that refuses to let scarcity, cruelty, or despair have the final word.

The kind of joy that surprises.

Joy is worth a miracle.

So over these next 36 days of Lent, I invite you to practice paying attention to good news wherever you are—not as an avoidance strategy, not as a way to numb ourselves to what is hard (though we all need a little help getting through), but as a way of staying awake to God’s presence in the world.

And on the days when you can’t seem to find a scrap of good news, pause. 

Ask God. Ask a friend. What might I be overlooking? What goodness, what joy, what abundance has been quietly present, even here?

And perhaps, you might ask, is there someone on the margins of my vision, who has something to teach me about today?

As a community, we’re practicing this together. Lynea and Jackie are inviting us to share one photo each day of Lent—one small sign of something good—over in our new community Facebook group. Not because everything is fine, but because God’s goodness is still alive, often in places we forget to look.

The story gets harder from here. The cross still stands ahead. But John begins with a wedding for a reason. Before the suffering, there is abundance. Before the loss, there is joy. Before the empty tomb, there are jars filled to the brim.

So may we go into this season with eyes open to surprise. May we trust that the Gospel really is Good News. And may we become the kind of people who help carry that goodness—so that joy overflows. 

Sermon preached by Rev. Delaney Piper on 2.22.26.