Do whatever he tells you. (John 2:5)
I recently finished reading a book called “Absolute Truth” by Peter James, which was apparently one of the best selling thrillers published at the end of last year. Without spoiling anything if you read it in the future, I can tell you that it is about a journalist called Ross Hunter who is given, in a physical form, Absolute Truth of the existence of God. The thriller aspect of the story is possession of these proofs makes him the target of, on the one hand, a fraudulent, but highly successful evangelical pastor, and on the other hand, a wealthy group of atheists. Both are prepared to kill to prevent publication of the evidence. If you like thrillers and murder mysteries, as I do, then it is a pretty good story, and well told.
However, I am not telling you this by way of recommendation. I found it more interesting, and to be honest less satisfying, in its consideration of what Absolute Proof might actually mean. Could an object, any object, prove the existence of God? Indeed, Ross Hunter himself enquires into this question, and in the book a bishop tells him quite bluntly, “proof is the enemy of faith”. In other words, if something is self evidently true, then there is nothing to believe in, nothing to commit to, nothing to trust and nothing to hope. No one died for the believing that 2+2=4.
And somewhat reluctantly, this bishop puts forward that the Absolute Truth, would have to be something no one could possibly question, something which breaks the Laws of Nature itself.
Today’s Gospel might seem to provide a kind of proof. Here is Jesus’ first miracle, the turning of the water into wine, a public demonstration of his divinity. It could be seen to be - at the very outset - a proof, an absolute proof, of the existence of God.
But is it? I wonder. Some aspects of the story don’t seem to fit.
Firstly, this “proof” is done in secret. Only his mother, and some of the servants, know what has happened. The steward is amazed, not because the water had turned into wine, but because they had served the best wine last, which flew in the face of common sense, and normal practice.
It might be a miracle, and his first miracle, but surely snort a proof - hardly anyone is left impressed by Jesus’ power and his divinity. It a quiet and secret matter.
And secondly, far from transcending nature, this is a story with is filled with humour and is a keen observation of the most ordinary human nature.
For example, there are lots of words in this conversation left unsaid.
Mary doesn’t actually ask Jesus to do anything - but he knows what she expects.
Jesus protests about something she has not even asked, and she knows that he will do what is needed.
And the steward, the hired master of ceremonies, remarks on the inebriation and merriment of the guests, and thinks of the expense of the finer things of life, rather than doing any musing on the presense of a mystery.
And of course, this occasion is not a sermon on a mount, nor a healing by a lakeside, but a wedding, a party, the coming together of the unnamed couple, who perhaps in this represent all humanity, celebrating in a very worldly and practical way, the wonders of human companionship and love, and the fellowship of the family.
So silently, secretly, almost invisibly, Jesus blesses this conviviality, drawing no attention to himself, but instead, as the word made flesh, dwelling amongst us, he fills our ordinary human lives with his grace and his glory.
It is a “proof” of sorts - but not a proof which goes against nature - but a proof which blesses and perfects it.
No comments:
Post a Comment