Joy To The World Series

(John 2 & John 11 — From Cana to Bethany)

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Introduction — A God Who Loves to Celebrate

When you open the Gospel of John, you expect thunder.

You expect the heavens to split, angels to announce, prophets to proclaim.

But the first public act of Jesus isn’t in a temple, or on a mountain, or in a courtroom.

It’s at a wedding.

A wedding!

That tells you something about the heart of God before He ever speaks a word.

The Father sends His Son to begin the ministry of salvation … at a party.

He doesn’t crash the celebration—He creates it.

The story begins in joy because the gospel itself is the music of joy.

And John will make sure we see that the same music is still playing

when the story ends beside a tomb in Bethany.

So tonight, by this little fire of Scripture,

we’ll warm our hands at both ends of John’s Gospel—

Cana and Bethany—

and watch how joy runs like a golden thread between them.

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The First Sign — Joy Begins at Cana (John 2:1-11)

It’s day three of a village wedding.

In Galilee, that meant the laughter had been going for days,

and the wine had been poured again and again.

Hospitality wasn’t optional—it was sacred duty.

And then the unthinkable happens: the wine runs out.

You can almost feel the hush sweep across the courtyard—

the embarrassed groom, the whispering relatives, the host pacing.

A wedding without wine is like a promise without hope.

Mary leans toward her Son:

> “They have no wine.”

Jesus answers gently, “My hour has not yet come.”

But she knows Him. She turns to the servants:

> “Whatever He tells you, do it.”

Six stone jars stand against the wall, empty, cold, and ceremonial—

reminders of a religion that could hold water but never create joy.

> “Fill them with water,” Jesus says.

“Now draw some out and take it to the master of the feast.”

Somewhere between the filling and the pouring,

the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

The steward tastes it … his eyes widen.

“The best wine! You saved it till now!”

That’s the Father’s signature move—

He saves the best for last.

He turns scarcity into abundance, ritual into relationship, water into wine.

And notice: nobody sees the miracle happen.

There’s no spotlight, no trumpet, just quiet transformation.

Joy flows into the room the way grace always does—

unannounced, undeserved, unstoppable.

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Reflection — When the Jars Are Empty

We all have empty jars somewhere:

hope that’s run out, prayers that feel dry, marriages that have lost sparkle,

ministries that have lost momentum.

And the Father doesn’t shame us for the emptiness—He asks us to fill what remains with obedience.

He uses the ordinary—the stone, the water, the servants—

to reveal the extraordinary—joy, grace, and new life.

So the first sound of the gospel in John is laughter at a wedding.

Because heaven’s first word to earth is not behave, but rejoice.

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The Seventh Sign — Joy Returns at Bethany (John 11:1-44)

Now fast-forward across chapters, months, and miracles.

The laughter of Cana fades, replaced by sobbing in a little village called Bethany.

Lazarus is dead.

Martha is practical, Mary emotional, both shattered.

Their house smells of myrrh and mourning bread.

When Jesus arrives, Martha meets Him with theology:

> “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.”

She believes in the resurrection “at the last day,”

but she doesn’t yet see resurrection standing right in front of her.

Then Mary comes, falls at His feet, and repeats the same words—

not in debate but in grief.

And Jesus does something shocking: He weeps.

The same Jesus who made water blush into wine

now lets tears roll down His own cheeks.

The Creator cries in His creation’s cemetery.

That’s the heart of the Father unveiled.

He doesn’t watch our funerals from a distance—He attends them.

He weeps because we weep.

But He doesn’t stop there.

Love never stops at sympathy; it moves toward resurrection.

> “Where have you laid him?”

They lead Him to the tomb.

A stone blocks the entrance, heavy with finality.

“Take away the stone,” He says.

Martha protests, “Lord, by this time there is a stench; he’s been dead four days.”

Translation: Don’t open what I’ve already accepted as hopeless.

But Jesus insists.

They roll the stone.

He prays—not to inform the Father, but to involve the crowd—

then cries with a voice that shakes death’s confidence:

> “Lazarus, come forth!”

And the man who was dead shuffles out,

still wrapped, still blinking,

alive.

The first miracle filled empty jars.

The last one empties a full tomb.

Cana and Bethany belong together—

one shows what the Father can fill,

the other shows what He can free.