This week our readings are Genesis 14.17–20 and John 2.1–11: Abraham being blessed by Melchizedek, and Jesus turning water into wine.  It's the second of these that is the 'epiphany' reading: each Sunday through this season something about Jesus is revealed, and this moment, being his first miracle, reveals his miraculous powers to the world.

Putting it alongside the Genesis passage, I found, has switched the emphasis slightly.  It becomes a story not of celebrity, but of anonymity; it becomes a story not about what Jesus makes happen, but about what happens to Jesus.  All of which invites us to re-examine some of the prejudices we may be carrying around.

So let's start with Genesis, and Melchizedek.  I love this guy - he enters the epic narrative of Abraham as though he owns the place.  He struts in with a name that means 'King of Righteousness', and the title 'Priest of the God Most High' and 'King of Salem', and Abraham, the hero of the narrative so far - the chosen of God - bows to him.  What an entrance!  This must be someone, right?  

Wrong.  At least in terms of the Biblical narrative. Obviously he was someone known at the time - Abraham recognises him and responds to him accordingly, but in terms of the unfolding story this is it, Melchizedek's one moment.  In the aftermath of Abraham's epic victory Chedorlaomer and the kings who were with him, Melchizedek just gives Abraham enough of a reminder that he's not all that to keep him humble, and then leaves. It's just one grand entrance, one interaction, and then exit stage left.  He enters like a hero, does his job, and disappears like an extra.

In the John passage we find the opposite.  Look at how the introduction is written, '... there was a wedding at Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there.  Jesus and his disciples had also been invited...'  Make no mistake about it, Jesus is not there in a starring role, he's 'also' there, in the background, unnoticed.  Then, of course, the wine gives out and disaster threatens the feast - the honour of the bridegroom is imperilled etc. etc. (you know this stuff) - and Mary, the title lead of this story, jumps into action.  She, like all good mothers, sees in her child the untapped potential, and drags Jesus into the limelight believing (for whatever reason) that he can do something to sort this mess out.  Jesus, though, knows he's still an 'also ran' - 'Woman,' he says, 'what concern is that to you and to me?  My hour has not yet come.'  He knows that this crowd have no knowledge of him, no expectation of him, and that they won't notice him even if he does do something.

Mary, though, will not assuaged and forces the point, and Jesus saves the day: Châteauneuf-du-Pape all round.  But it turns out Jesus is right - this crowd still have no idea who he is, they don't even know a miracle has happened, his hour has not yet come.  The only ones who know are his fellows in the chorus line: his mum, a few servants, and his disciples - but that's enough.  To them his glory has been revealed, and the stage is reset: he enters like an extra, does his job, and leaves (to some at least) as a hero... and his part just gets bigger and bigger.

The first challenge that I see in all this is to our conditioning about who may or may not worth noticing.  Status and importance are so often tied up in wealth and political power that its very easy to conflate them, but in these two stories, sat side by side, we see that conflation will not hold in the outworking of the story of God.  Melchizedek, the Priest King of Salem, who appears dripping with power and authority, status, and wealth, barely qualifies for a speaking line in the great play of salvation history, and disappears almost as quickly as he came; meanwhile  the glory of God begins to be revealed in the life of a carpenter who just happens to 'also' be at a wedding - and as a double joke it is revealed only to a few servants, and his ragged band of friends.  

The point is this: God can be at work through all of his children - be they rich or poor, strong or weak, influential or overlooked - and if we want to open our eyes to what he's doing, and whom he's doing it through, then we need to lay down the blinkers of our expectations and open ourselves to the possibility of encounters with his glory coming from and through anyone and everyone around us, even (especially?) in those 'chance' one-off encounters.  

The other point is this: God can be at work through all of his children - be they rich or poor, strong or weak, influential or overlooked - and that all includes us, me and you.  If we want to open our lives to what he's doing, then we need to lay down the blinkers of our perceived limitations, our self-doubt and lack of self-worth, and open ourselves to the very real possibility of his glory coming from and through us.  If he, as the parent who knows us better than we know ourselves, declares that our hour has come, then our hour has come.  Deliberately living in that receptivity opens the way for our story with him to go from strength to strength, and maybe we'll even get to play a bit part in one or two other people's as well.