GRAVE MISGIVINGS

Watching a re-run of the popular TV show Mother & Son featuring Garry McDonald and the late Ruth Cracknell, Rafferty laughs as much as he's done on previous viewings of the famous grave-side episode in which Maggie Bear bends over the grave and the bag of oranges she's brought with her all spill out and onto the top of her brother's coffin. A veteran of many gravesides himself, Rafferty thinks it's hilarious. At the same time he's grateful nothing of that nature has ever happened at any of his funerals! Nor can he remember any real funeral that was in the slightest funny. Though odd things did happen sometimes, as he thinks back. None of them merit a TV screen, but they've had their moments; gut-wrenching, embarrassing, poignant, like when....

As he's done his best to care for her and her young daughter as he's cared for their husband and father before he's died, Rafferty is more than a little uneasy about the depth of Mrs.Y's grief. Come the day of the funeral, as he stands by the grave taking the service for her husband, she's been very quiet, seemingly withdrawn, but now that it's almost time to lower the coffin, he's very aware of Mrs.Y becoming visibly distraught, growing agitated, and now shrieking in her grief and despair. When at last the coffin is lowered, as Rafferty finishes the words of committal, Mrs.Y moves closer to the edge of the grave and stands looking down. Rafferty is gripped by a strong feeling of unease. She's going to jump! Rafferty manages to catch the eye of the funeral director, who somehow reads his mind. Just as Mrs.Y does indeed begin to jump, the funeral director lunges from one side as Rafferty lunges from the other. Together they hold her, wailing her heart out, but tightly and safely, till a relative comes forward and leads her further back from the grave as Rafferty finishes the service. Mrs. Y refuses the offer of professional help, and when Rafferty leaves that parish several months later, she's still not ready to receive it yet. He never sees either her or her daughter again, but sometimes, when he can feel tension at a graveside, he still wonders about them and what very nearly happens that day.

In a city where the practice has grown up of tacking a 'remembrance' of the deceased specific to a club, lodge, etc they've belonged to onto the end of the main service, religious or otherwise, Rafferty regularly has qualms about the quality of some of these add-ons. Not so much the words used, but that an office-bearer of the organisation concerned could be thrust into the frontline ill equipped to do justice to what's expected of him or her. 'Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking' kind of thing, although most of them are used to speaking publicly in their organisation. It's just that funerals are in a different league. On one of these occasions, he remembers wishing the ground would swallow him up like it's just done for the deceased in his coffin, when, having completed the religious service, he stands back so the representative of an organisation the deceased has belonged to can come up and have his say. The poor chap looks more than a little uncomfortable at being thrust into this spotlight and having to play this role. As he begins his organisation's particular form of remembrance, and clearly flustered, he shuffles his papers, then, after a pause, turns to the grieving widow, and asks her in a loud voice, "What was his name?" The silence that follows is briefly deafening, and Rafferty isn't sure whether to feel more for the widow, the representative of the organisation, or the man who's already forgotten by it; a man without a name!

On one occasion, Rafferty, having just finished a burial, and walking back to his car, is surprised to see a funeral director he knows well cutting across between graves, obviously trying to head him off. When he does, he asks Rafferty if he'd be prepared to stay on and substitute for a colleague who, for what later turns out to be reason of sudden and serious illness in his family, fails to show to take a funeral as arranged. Having checked with the deceased's family that this is all right, and finding they're just grateful someone's going to help out, Rafferty walks with them across to where a small group of mourners has gatheredby a grave. There's not been time to receive any 'briefing' from the family, or cover any of the usual ground, go through any of the usual preliminaries. All Rafferty knows is the name of the deceased, an elderly woman. The form of the service is all right, because it's set, but when he comes to the point where it's usual for a eulogy to be given, Rafferty has to do some quick thinking. He explains to them all that because of the circumstances, he can't give the usual kind of eulogy, but that it would seem respectful for somebody to speak about her at this point. He asks if any of the family would like to speak about the deceased. All he gets is head shakes and dead silence. Would any of her friends like to speak? Again, silence! No-one has expected to be asked to do this kind of thing. Determined that the dead woman still deserves to have something said about her life, he resorts to a kind of rhetorical question: If I were to ask you to tell me about Z, what would you tell me? Family and friends remain silent, but from the other side of the grave an elderly woman responds immediately. "She was a dear old soul...a lovely person...she was a good friend to a lot of us here"....and she's off and away! Realising she's not going to stop after her first few sentences, Raff begins to wonder what he's unleashed! It's some minutes before Raff can gently break in, thank her for her kind words about Z, and suggest they've heard enough now! The funeral director, one whom Rafferty knows well and is always happy to see 'on the job' gives him a grin, and, making sure no-one else can see, mouths, "Serves you right!"

As happens once in awhile, one day Rafferty has to take a 'public funeral'. What once would have been called a pauper's funeral. Apart from Rafferty himself, the funeral director and a couple of his men, and a young grave-digger standing closer-by than he would normally stand as there is no-one whose susceptibilities he might offend by remaining so close, there is no one else. No family has appeared - no-one knows if he has a family. None has come forward. No friends, either. Neither are there any flowers. Rafferty takes the service exactly as usual. Though some might want to add 'trimmings' according to their taste and pocket, the actual rites remain the same. There are no first and second class funeral rites dependent on the circumstances of the deceased. When it's time for the eulogy, Rafferty tells briefly of the very little known about the man they're burying. When the service ends, and Rafferty and the funeral directors are moving from the grave, the young grave-digger comes quietly up to Rafferty and says to him, "Don't worry, Father. I'll find a flower and put it on him". Rafferty goes home deeply moved! Deeply heartened!

RAFFERTY'S MONDAY
LEAPING TO CONCLUSIONS

As Rafferty comes into the church to begin the Sunday Eucharist he notices an unfamiliar back of an unfamiliar head in one of the pews. From the altar, looking into the congregation, he registers the face as unfamiliar too. One he doesn't know at all. A later glance has him thinking, 'He looks very devout!', but soon it's, 'He looks too devout for it to be healthy!'

During the sermon, as Rafferty makes eye contact from time to time with people here & there among the congregation, it's clear that Bill - let's call him that - doesn't make eye contact, isn't even listening, as he's thought at first, maybe praying after a fashion, muttering under his breath, shaking with emotion of some kind in the process. It doesn't look like healthy religion from where Rafferty's looking, even if he can't actually hear Bill. When it comes time, Bill receives Communion, though still praying, muttering, whatever. But when Rafferty looks for him after the service, it's to find he's left straight away, and is nowhere to be seen. Rafferty wonders about Bill most of the rest of the day.

That night, long after the usual time for callers, there comes a knock at the Rectory door. When Rafferty opens it, there is Bill. Without waiting for an invitation, he comes straight inside, and into the Study. A man on a mission. Bill has come to put Rafferty right. Through a strange, mainly one-sided inquisition; it becomes clear that what Bill thinks he's heard at this morning's service has convinced him Rafferty needs help. Bill has been sent to give that help. To restore one fallen from grace, an agent of the devil, by urging him to repent and change his ways! Rafferty knows he has no chance of avoiding being burned at Bill's stake unless he mends his theological understandings! Now!

Bill continues to put Rafferty through this odd, rambling, catechism until Rafferty has had enough! Seen and heard and had enough to recognize Bill doesn't just have strange theological views, but is clearly mentally ill, and that he, Rafferty, needs to take some charge of this situation. Gently but firmly he steers the so far virtually one-sided conversation in which he's been mostly listening, trying to take some bearings, around to a suggestion that Bill may need some help with the way he's seeing things. Eventually he asks Bill if he'd be prepared to come to the local hospital if Rafferty comes with him so that together they can see someone about getting him any help he may need. Nothing doing! Bill gets up to go. Even in his disturbed state of mind he can see he's getting nowhere. Still trying quietly to persuade him that help is at hand, Rafferty stands up too. They are hardly both standing, about a metre apart, when suddenly, without any warning, Bill roars like a lion, and leaps. Throws himself through the air straight at Rafferty.

Rafferty's been in some difficult situations in his time, but nothing like this. In the split second Bill is hurtling through the air, he doesn't even have time to defend himself, though looking back he thinks he may have been mentally crying 'Help!', as good a prayer as any in desperate situations! But he isn't sure. When Bill's split-second projectile-like flight ends, Rafferty is shocked again, this time to realise he's unharmed. There is Bill, standing literally toe touching toe with him, looking him right in the face, breathing shallowly, excitedly. But there is no more roaring. No other movement at all.

In this next split second Rafferty sees Bill has carefully, exactly, calculated his leap needed to bring him toe touching toe and nothing beyond that. And he understands Bill has no intention of harming him. That he is simply demonstrating something. Dramatically! Suddenly, Rafferty has a revelation - nothing less - that what Bill has been doing is re-enacting a popular theme from the Older Testament. One of stories and threats concerning allegedly false prophets being eaten by lions! Except that in his vivid re-enactment, Bill, in the role of lion, has roared, and leapt, but the leap has been choreographed so that Rafferty in his role of false prophet has been confronted, but not hurt. The prey is stunned, warned, but not injured.in any way.

Seconds later, without a word from either of them, Bill removes his face from Rafferty's, turns his back on him, and without another glance strides to the door, lets himself out, and vanishes into the night. Unfreezing gradually, Rafferty is inclined to follow Bill and try again to persuade him to accept help, though he knows that's not at all likely. Should he call the mental health emergency service to alert them in case Bill could actually be a danger to someone else? In the end, apart from a belated Thanks be to God for his safety, Rafferty decides to do nothing. It's all too hard.

Rafferty never sees or hears of Bill again, but for some time lives a mix of gratitude that nothing worse happened, relief that Bill has moved on, and regret that he didn't pursue help for him from health professionals who just may have been able to help.

RAFFERTY'S MONDAY
O My Wife, My Poor Poor Wife and Children

It is late afternoon, on a Saturday, that he comes to the front door. Rafferty opens it to find a small man, rather grubby & definitely smelly, holding a largish bundle wrapped in newspapers. He puts the bundle down as Rafferty appears. "Father, I need help." Not an unusual opening. "What's the trouble?" Rafferty asks? "Father, I've just got a lift back from up north. Our car was in an accident earlier today and my wife & our three kiddies have all been killed. This (he points to the parcel) is all their clothes and things. It's all I've got left. Can you help me with some money? I need to get straight back up there to do what has to be done?" "Well," says Rafferty, not sure of 'what needs to be done'. "That's a terrible thing to have happen. I'm very sorry to hear it. I'm very sorry for your wife and children, & for you, of course." But at a gut level, suspicion, onus of proof sort of thing, kicks in as it sometimes does when unknown people present at the door asking for money. Not least in a situation as bad as has been recounted.

"Come in and tell me all about it" Rafferty invites his visitor. Apart from a liberal sprinkling of gore, the story isn't really clear. Not even where it actually happened. Or which hospital is involved. Doubt seeps still further into Father's mind. Far be it from him to turn away someone in such a predicament. But what exactly has taken place, if anything? As if reading Rafferty's face, if not his mind, his caller says, "You can call the police at ............and ask them. They'll tell you all about it". Rafferty decides the only real option open to him is to call his bluff. "That's a good idea. Why don't we?" He seats his visitor in the entrance area adjacent to the Study, while he himself goes to the phone. There he dials his local police and explains his predicament. The policeman who takes his call is sympathetic to Rafferty's dilemma, and says he'll check the file straight away for any record of an accident in the district indicated by Raff's visitor. "Hold on a minute!" Then, "Well, father, I can't believe there could have been an accident like that without it being put on the network straight away. But let me just check our central control." After just a few momentshe comes back on the line "No, Father; it's not on! " "No, it's not", thinks Rafferty as he thanks the helpful officer, and begins to move back to his visitor in the waiting area. As he does, he senses movement. True enough. The visitor has managed to overhear Father's end of his conversation with the police, deduced from its tone that all is not well, and decided to get out while the going's good! Unfortunately for him, he mistakes a full length window beside the door for the door itself, and just saves himself from hurtling out through the glass in a real accident this time. He almost bounces off the long, closed window barring his way, then quickly locates the door, and makes good his escape, running down the drive as fast as his legs will carry him. His poor, poor 'wife's and kiddies' clothes' are left in their newspaper bundle which on quick inspection proves to be just that; a bundle of old newspapers!

Rafferty is indignant and then furious! He dives into his car, backs down the drive, into the street, and heads in the direction he's glimpsed his visitor heading. He drives slowly round streets he knows pretty well, looking for his quarry, the while calming a little at the thought of his own, or his own poor, poor wife's or his children's clothes ending up in a paper wrapped bundle such as he's just been bequeathed. It takes a while, and a few streets, but at last he locates his visitor, heading back towards the city centre, still not wasting any time. Rafferty pulls the car up right by the footpath just ahead of the so recently 'bereaved', who is taken aback, to say the least, by this visitation in reverse. Rafferty stomps out. Then, calmer by now, not sure whether to laugh or cry, but managing to keep a straight face, he gives the man a dressing down, assuring him that if he ever hears of him "trying that one on again", he will personally march him to the nearest cop shop and give him in charge. Then he hands over a fiver, with an "On your way, and keep going! Don't let me ever see you back on my patch again!" "Yes, father; No father; Yes father" the quarry flings over his shoulder as he beats it!

Later, Rafferty has the grace to be at least a little ashamed of the poor way he's handled this situation, and in his prayers that night, finds himself thinking aloud to God about which one of them needs forgiveness more: the little man for 'trying it on', or himself for being so uncharitable as not to believe him! All he gets in response is what sounds like a cross (!) between a snort, a chuckle, a growl, and, of all things, a sniff.

Did You Take This Man....?

Rafferty had just returned from the funeral of a man whose widow and family were part of the congregation. Though he knew the late Mr.X reasonably well, he was not a 'church-goer'. The first part of the funeral service had been held in a local funeral parlour and then he and the mourners had gone on the longish drive to a crematorium for the disposal of Mr.X's earthly remains. Both parts of the service were well attended, and had gone as well as such occasions can be expected to.

However, hardly had Rafferty set foot back home in the rectory than the phone rang. It was Fr. C. from across town. "Rafferty, have you just taken a funeral for a Mr. X ? "Yes, I have" says Rafferty. "As a matter of fact I've only just walked in the door. Did you know Mr. X?" "Well, not exactly", says Fr.C, "but his wife has just been here with me. She came to see me about, let's call it a matter of conscience. She's just left, & I thought I should talk to you about it. With her permission of course. In fact, she asked me to tell you her story."

It takes Rafferty only a moment to realise something is amiss. Something ominous. Hadn't X's wife been at the funeral? Hadn't he just seen Mrs. X safely back inside her home ten minutes ago, only a short stroll from the rectory, and several kilometres from Fr.C? Fr.C eventually has mercy and responds to the silence at Rafferty's end of the phone. "Are you sitting down, Father?" The silence at Rafferty's end is still as thick as the head on the Guinness now sitting, untouched, in front of him. "Let me tell you about it" says Fr.C.

"An hour or so ago, this woman rang to ask if she could see me urgently. She needed to talk to a priest, she said. I said she could come straight away if she liked, and she did. She doesn't live far away. This is what she told me: Just before WW2, she married a man named X, and they moved to live not far from here, over on this side of town. When war broke out, Mr. X enlisted in the army, and sailed away to fight with his unit in the Middle East. He didn't come back. She never saw him again. But neither did she ever have any indication from the army that he'd been killed, or wounded, or taken prisoner, anything like that. Mr. X just vanished. Didn't come back. There was no divorce, no nothing. The woman was left in limbo, and she's stayed that way ever since. Then, first thing this morning she happens to read a funeral notice in the paper for a man of the same name as X. Her curiosity gets the better of her, and she drives over to your patch for the service and sees and hears enough to be sure that the Mr. X whose funeral you were taking was really her long lost husband. She thinks about this over and over on the way home, then she rings me. She's not a member of the congregation here, but I am the closest priest. She tells me the whole story. She doesn't want to do anything about it, or cause anyone any trouble, but she needed to know, and she needed to tell someone."

There is still silence at Rafferty's end. Eventually he stammers to Fr.C, "You mean I had both wives at the service?" "Well, you had his legal wife, and another woman who presumably believed she was his wife!" Knowing his Mrs. X, Rafferty is quite sure of that! Fr.C, older, and wiser, and gently chuckling at Rafferty's amazement and discomfort, tells him, "Don't worry about it. There doesn't seem to be anything to be done. She's certainly not planning to make trouble for your Mrs. X or embarrass her or her family. She's not planning to challenge X's will, or anything like that. But next time anyone tries to tell you "Priests don't know how the other half live", you tell them from me, "Sometimes we've got a damned good idea!"

When Fr. C had hung up, Rafferty downed his Guinness much faster than he would usually have done, went into the church, and Don Camillo-like, says to God, "Well, Lord, What do you think of that?" He wasn't sure whether he really heard a low chuckle, or was it just, "Drink your Guinness a bit more slowly next time!"

NOT ANGELS BUT ANGLICANS

It's quite a large, regional conference. Not only are the clergy expected to attend, but most of them actually do. You see, morning tea is part of the deal, and St. Impious', the parish playing host, or at least the godly women of St. Impious, have a well-earned reputation for their catering. But, to proceed more slowly, we have to earn our morning tea by joining in a Eucharist, the Bishop himself presiding.

Though they'd have frowned if they’d caught any in their own congregation at it, there is a hum of chatter from the assembled priests, Rafferty among the others, while they wait for the service to begin.
All is going well as we approach the Great Thanksgiving. The flowers are attractively arranged, the altar splendid, candlesticks and communion vessels shining, hymns well chosen, all that kind of thing. The priestly congregation participates in loud voices, as well it might! All is indeed well. So far all is well.

As there is such a goodly gathering, the Bishop has taken a large chalice, and filled it generously. He has just recited Jesus’ words of institution over the chalice of wine, and every heart, soul, and mind is focused on the Presence of Christ now among us under the form of Bread, and now, Wine, when disaster strikes. The disaster every priest dreads.

The Bishop stretches out a hand to the chalice – and sends it flying. Wine goes all over. All over everything. He may be a Bishop, but Rafferty and co. are really quite fond of him, and they all, every one of them groan for him. Not just inwardly. Audibly, too. Then, after the groan, a silence fit to flush out Elijah! Broken only by the Bishop, visibly distressed and devastated, asking in a stage whisper, “Pass me a purificator, please.” Now a purificator is a piece of white linen, about as big as a man's handkerchief, folded, and used to wipe and clean the chalice. Every priest sees the problem. But Rafferty, forgetting himself, bursts out in a voice heard throughout the church, "Poor old ******! It's not a purificator you need; what you need is a ****** beach towel!" The silence that follows is as dramatic as the event out in front. The the titters!

However, in a few minutes the damage, material & spiritual is undone, not with a beach towel but several purificators. Communion is distributed and received; the congregation dismissed.

There is an outpuring both of priests and tea and coffee, followed by a fruitful conference, all in a spirit of `There but for the grace of God go I!' Rumour has it that the Bishop pondered repeating his act at the next conference to see if it would have the same salutary effect on his priests as at St. Impious'. Certainly not, as was uncharitably suggested, so he could identify whose voice it was boomed forth when disaster struck!

Fortunately, wise counsel prevailed, and the next conference returned to being the normal fizzer!

GOING FULL BOTTLE, or, FATHER'S IN PYJAMAS

The small congregation waiting in church is beginning to get restless. It is well after starting time, & most of them have to go to work straight after early Eucharist. But there is no Fr.Rafferty. He hasn't shown up; isn't out in front; and there is no starting without him.

After another five minutes, the good father appears, vestments flapping, a little flustered does one suspect? He mutters what may be an apology but sounds suspiciously like "bloody alarm clocks!" and moves to the altar. Now Eucharist can happen. And it does. Everyone settles down and reverently takes their part with gusto. It is a good start to the day, enjoying God and each other like this.

Now this is in the days of up-against-the-back-wall altars, so Rafferty, most often with his back to them all, stands, kneels, genuflects, stands, kneels, genuflects his way through the service. When he goes to stand again after genuflecting at the consecration, he catches up his alb in the process, and there, revealed for all to see, is a pyjama trouser leg. Undoubtedly. Undeniably. Aha! Those who notice stifle a bit of a snigger, but they love him, almost as much as he loves them, and what's a pyjama leg between friends! Eucharist proceeds, and in next to no time they are blessed and dismissed.

Over coffee & toast in the Rectory and more comments about alarm clocks, Fr.Rafferty proudly tells a visitor who'd joined the locals for early service, and now for breakfast, "Bet you didn't know those new vestments were paid for with empty beer bottles!" "Of course they don't know" chimed in Mrs.Rafferty. "How could they know? But go on. Have your little boast!" After all, the little congregation had been collecting the bottles for months, Rafferty himself in the van, round all the local drinking holes. No-one, well, few, escaped conscription. If you came to arrange to be married, or ask for your baby to be baptised, you went away committed to collecting beer bottles as part of the deal. In all fairness, no-one remembered the bereaved being asked to contribute as part of the funeral plan for their loved ones, but if, as was usually the case, Rafferty went back to the home after a funeral, he was more than likely to be seen, and heard, leaving with a bag of empties over his shoulder, happily and brazenly clinking his way home.

As they break up to go off to work, the last word is Rafferty's. As usual. "Not a word about any of this to the bishop when he comes on Sunday. When he puts on our new vestments, it'll be the first time he's been full-bottle in his miserable life! Just say a prayer of thanks to the Almighty One!"

Rafferty came across one of his old sermons the other day, & wondered if it might help someone looking for a lead-in idea for preaching on the Wedding at Cana. Here it is:

Mary has a good eye! Here she is, & Jesus, & the rest of the gang, too, at this rellie's wedding. & just when things're warming up & everyone's having fun, Mary happens to glance across at the bar & sees the barman opening up the last wine cask, ripping the inside out of it, & squeezing the last drops into someone's cup. The Kaiser Stuhl's run out!

Next time Jesus comes near her as he dances around - why do we persist in thinking of Jesus out on the sidelines somewhere as a spectator just watching what's going on? - next time Jesus dances near, Mary says in a stage whisper, `They're out of wine!' Now Jesus isn't all that keen to be interrupted. He responds to Mary rather brusquely in words that mean roughly "what's that got to do with you & me. It's not my time yet." But as I say, Mary has a good eye & Jesus gets an eyeful & next thing we know the waiters are filling these 6 huge terra cotta pots with water; water, mind you! Now each of them holds 25 or 30 x 4 litre casks so we're talking about a lot of water! When they've filled the pots, Jesus tells them to dip in & give some to the head-steward to taste; &, would you believe it, the water's become Grange - or at least Mt.Edelstone! It's a very good year! & the party's a wow from this point on.

Why do I tell the story like this? Because we aren't too good at celebrating life to the full with Jesus. We persist in making him into a stern face & a straight lace, often into someone more likely to turn water into vinegar than into wine, or Grange into cask wine. No wonder a lot of people don't find Jesus so relevant & attractive they just have to get out there & follow him! I bet you that if we were to put a new stained glass window of Jesus at the Wedding at Cana into the church, Jesus'd be up there watching from the sidelines with a serious look on his face. We've got into the habit of showing him like that. Have you ever seen Jesus smiling in a stained glass window? Couldn't we just once dare show him clapping his hands & stamping his feet, kicking his heels up in the boisterous Jewish dancing really enjoying himself, & encouraging everyone else to enjoy themselves too? Could we just once risk showing him with a glass of whatever red is on offer in his hand? One in each hand might be going just too far! You know, years later they're still saying, `Do you remember that wedding at Cana?'! Yet Church has become better at making Jesus more unreal than real. So it follows that this miracle of water into wine & all his other miracles of feeding & helping & healing people become unreal too.

In the Cana story, here's Jesus the compassionate One busily saving that host family from shame & putting the joy back into someone's wedding. & here we are, the church, all too often portraying Him as someone who takes the joy out of everything he touches. No wonder not too many people want Jesus to touch them & their life in case He spoils it! You know, today during a Jewish wedding the Groom is often given a wine glass, representing the beauty of all that God provides for us.But then he has to stand on the glass & smash it as a reminder of how fragile love is if it's not cared for. One Rabbi tells the story of how a Groom is given the customary glass, but stand on it as as he might, he can't smash it. The groom is getting more & more frustrated, the bride's in tears, when the Rabbi twigs to the fact that someone's replaced the glass with an unbreakable plastic one!

Maybe the wedding at Cana can remind us of the dangers of creating a plastic unbreakable Jesus instead of the compassionate, vulnerable one we come to know & love in our midst as we live out the Gospel together today. // There's a great irony in the Cana story, because underneath the out in front story of the water & the wine, S. John means us to see that here enjoying himself incognito in the midst of this typical family wedding party is the True Bridegroom of Israel! The One who out of his great love for us wants all of us to marry Him. In Jesus, Messiah comes into our midst, revealing himself in all his love & compassion, rescuing these newlyweds & their family of the Gospel story who stand for us all. JES wants to rescue us all from our various shames by filling us to the brim & overflowing with the best joy on offer represented by the best wine in this story.

I began by saying, `Mary has a good eye'. Let me end by asking what kind of an eye we have for the things that really matter, people in all their needs, & how we can help them? What kind of an eye do we have for the True Bridgroom among us in daily life today & tomorrow? As persons, as communities, certainly as a nation we need to turn to the One who can stop us shaming ourselves in our relations with one another, &, it follows, with Godself, & turn to the One who can stop any of us settling for less of a life than God's got on offer for us.

A lot of us may have to settle for cardboard cask wine in day to day reality, but none of us has to settle for a plastic unsmiling unbreakable Jesus when the real One can make even the cardboard casks of everyday life taste pretty good!