"From empty jars to an overflowing cup" Epiphany 2 2026

18. January 2026
Epiphany 2
John 2:1-11

In the Name of Jesus. Amen.

From empty jars to an overflowing cup. That is Cana. That is Amos. That is what the Divine Service is. And if we have managed to make it into something drab, mandatory, and easily skipped, that’s on us—not on Him.

John tells it simply: “On the third day there was a wedding at Cana in Galilee… When the wine ran out…” (John 2). That’s the problem. The wine runs out. The wedding is still going. The guests are still there. The glasses are still in their hands. But the joy—the thing that makes it a feast—is gone.

That is not just a Cana problem. That’s your life, your home, your congregation. Things that start bright and glad—marriage, work, health, even church—sooner or later run dry. The smiles get tight. The talk gets thin. You still go through the motions, but the feast is failing.

Mary puts it in one sentence: “They have no wine.” (John 2:3). You can say the same about yourself, and it would be true. “I have no wine, Lord. No joy that lasts. No love that holds. No patience left. No righteousness of my own. My cup is empty.” You can say it about the church. “Lord, we have no wine. We have bulletins, agendas, reports, and schedules. We have opinions and arguments. But we are short on joy, short on hope, short on love.” You may not know what to do with that. Mary knows what to do. Take it to Jesus.

Listen to Amos. “In that day I will raise up the booth of David that is fallen and repair its breaches… Behold, the days are coming, declares the LORD, when the plowman shall overtake the reaper… the mountains shall drip sweet wine, and all the hills shall flow with it.” (Amos 9:11,13).

The booth of David is the house of David that collapsed. The royal line in ruins. The people dragged off. No king, no glory, no feast. Just the memory of what used to be. Sound familiar?

The Lord does not say, “If you rebuild yourselves, I’ll help.” He says, “I will raise… I will repair… I will rebuild… I will plant… I will restore.” And the sign of His restoring? Hills dripping, mountains flowing with wine. Not a trickle; an absurd abundance. Eschatological feast. The last-day party. God Himself is hosting.

At Cana, that promise arrives in the flesh. The fallen booth of David is standing there as a carpenter’s Son. Nobody recognizes Him. The royal line has come down to this: a poor man from Nazareth invited as a guest to a wedding that is running out. Mary brings Him the problem: “They have no wine.”

He answers in a way that takes us straight to Amos and beyond Amos: “My hour has not yet come.” (John 2:4). His “hour” is the cross. Nails, spear, darkness, thirst. There, He will drink the cup of wrath so that He can pour out the cup of salvation. There, He will be the booth of David raised up, repairing the breach between God and sinners with His own blood. But already here, before the hour, He lets the future break in.

Six stone jars. For water. For ritual washing. For getting yourself cleaned up to be allowed near God. Twenty or thirty gallons each. Monsters of respectability. Jesus presses them into service for His joy. “Fill the jars with water.” They do. To the brim. No room for you to add anything.

“Now draw some out.” Somewhere between the filling and the drawing, without any drumroll, the water is wine. Not cheap stuff. The master of the feast calls the bridegroom over, half-accusing, half-amazed: “You have kept the good wine until now.” (John 2:10). The failing feast is rescued. The shame of the bridegroom is covered. The guests are given more than they can drink.

“This, the first of His signs, Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested His glory.” (John 2:11). Glory shown in rescuing a party that doesn’t deserve it, with wine it didn’t earn. That is what your Lord is like. That is the One who gathers you into the Divine Service. And, what is the Divine Service?

If you think it is a mandatory weekly meeting, something God put on the calendar, and you grit your teeth and get through, then no wonder it feels like a chore. If you treat it as a religious duty—“I ought to go, or God might be mad”—you will hear little, expect little, and receive little. You do not come here to show God you can sit still for an hour.

This is Cana. This is Amos fulfilled. This is where the raised-up David, crucified and risen, is host. This is the feast of the Lamb in time, on the way to the feast of the Lamb in eternity. And He is not stingy.

Listen to how the Service of the Sacrament begins: “The Lord be with you.” He is the Host; He greets you. “Lift up your hearts.” We answer, “We lift them up unto the Lord.” That is not a pious way of saying, “Try harder, feel more.” It is Christ hauling your hearts up out of their emptiness, out of their self-preoccupation, into His Father’s joy. The Bridegroom is drawing you to His table.

Then the Proper Preface: we are told why it is “meet, right, and salutary” that we give thanks always and everywhere. Here and now, He locates His feast: because of His incarnation, His epiphany, His cross, His resurrection, His ascension, His sending of the Spirit.

Then the Sanctus: “Holy, holy, holy Lord God of Sabaoth; heaven and earth are full of Thy glory. Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is He that cometh in the Name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest.”

You are not play-acting that. The One who rode into Jerusalem to be crucified, the One who turned water to wine at Cana, is the One who comes here, now, in His body and blood. “Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord” means He is not far away. The same Jesus, the same hour, the same blood, now present at this altar.

Then the Words of Our Lord. Not a re-enactment. Not a bare remembering. His own testament: “Take, eat; this is My body… Take, drink; this cup is the New Testament in My blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.”

Here is the good wine kept until now. Forgiveness that does not run out. Joy that does not depend on your mood. Hope that does not collapse when the test results, the bank statement, or the family meeting go badly. Fellowship with Him and with one another at a table that outlasts death. We are not playing religious pretend. He truly gives Himself.

So, where does the Offering fit? Not as “paying the bill” for the feast. There is no bill for you to pay. The Bridegroom picks up the tab with His blood. The Offering and Offertory are what happen when cups are full, and hearts are glad. Hands open. Money, time, gifts—poured out, not to make God love you, but because He already has. One of our Offertories sings it: “What shall I render to the LORD for all His benefits to me? I will take the cup of salvation…” First, the taking, then the rendering. Always His giving before your giving.

You have been at the feast. What happens to people who are fed like this? “Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them…” (Romans 12:6). Teaching, encouraging, contributing, leading, showing mercy. That is what a congregation filled from Christ’s table looks like.

“Let love be genuine… Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor… Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” (Romans 12:9–15).

That is not a self-improvement project. You don’t squeeze that out by trying harder to be nice. That is the life that flows from the altar. One Body, many members; one Cup, many mouths. What He gives in the feast spills over into your life together.

So when Hudson Douglas LeClair was brought to the font today, it is not a cute family moment tacked on. It is the Lord adding another place at His table. Another member joined to this Body. Another mouth to be fed. Another life to be caught up into the “rejoicing” and “weeping” of this congregation.

The water poured on Hudson is Cana-water—water that Christ has claimed for Himself. The Name spoken over him is Amos-Name—promise of restoration, planting, rebuilding. The life given to him is feast-life. He is being brought into the booth of David that has been raised up, into the Church gathered around Word and Supper.

We will rejoice with those who rejoice today. And when the days come when his parents are tired, when sin and sorrow come (and they will), we will weep with those who weep—still as people who know where the feast is, where the wine never runs out.

So let’s be honest. If you treat the Divine Service as optional—“if nothing better is scheduled, if the kids don’t have a game, if we’re not too tired”—you are saying to the Bridegroom, “Your feast is negotiable.” You are telling Him you have found other tables that suit you better. If you drag yourself here as to a chore—“I suppose I have to; God expects it”—and you refuse to sing, refuse to listen, refuse to rejoice, you are acting as if His cup were half-empty and weak.

Repent. Not because He needs your enthusiasm, but because you are cheating yourself. The Lord of Cana does not run a dreary, gray canteen. He sets a table where mountains drip wine, where sins are forgiven, where death is already outflanked. He gives you Himself. He gives you each other. He gives you a future.

A congregation renewed in the Divine Service expects joy. Not noise for the sake of noise, not fake smiles, but the deep gladness of people who know: “I was empty. He filled me.” It sounds like robust singing, even from tired lungs. It looks like honoring the feast—being here, on time, focused, hungry. It treats Sunday not as the first thing to cut when life is busy, but as the center around which everything else must arrange or be refused.

From empty jars to an overflowing cup. That is not your doing. That is His. He did it at Cana. He promised it through Amos. He delivers it here. “In this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast,” Isaiah says. Today, that mountain is right here at this altar. Today that feast is for you. And for Hudson. And for all who have no wine and dare to say it to Jesus.

In the Name of Jesus. Amen.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin