January 19, 2024
In 1 Samuel 7, there is a battle between Israel and the Philistines. When Israel won the battle, the prophet Samuel did something that has lived on in a number of ways. Here’s what it says in v. 12:
Samuel took a large stone and placed it between the towns of Mizpah and Jeshanah. He named it Ebenezer (which means the stone of help), for he said, ‘Up to this point the Lord has helped us!’
I think most of us know the word Ebenezer from Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. There are lots of churches named Ebenezer—especially in the south and on the east coast. But the main place most of us would encounter this word has, unfortunately, been removed from our sight, and that is in the second stanza of today’s opening hymn. Robert Robinson wrote, “Here I raise mine ebenezer; hither by thy help I’m come.” I guess the editors of our hymnal thought that that was more than we could deal with, so they changed the opening words to that stanza to, “Here I raise to thee an altar.”
I think this is unfortunate. Any time we sang that song in the old days, this was an excellent opportunity to learn a new biblical word. And though it’s only mentioned once in the Bible, the fact that it has been remembered and re-used so many times since then tells us that it’s a word we need… or at least a word we used to need.
I don’t know what Samuel’s stone of help—his ebenezer—looked like. But I always picture it to look like a cairn you might see on a trail—a cairn of stacked rocks that one traveler has built to help those that followed them in later days or years. Churches that were named Ebenezer are like those cairns—they are structures built in gratitude for God’s help that are intended to be a help to others in the future.
When I was allowed to sing, “Here I raise mine ebenezer,” it always gave me the opportunity to think not only about what an ebenezer is, but what kind of ebenezers I have encountered or even raised myself. And the first thing that pops into my head are scripture passages. To me, there are many scripture passages that are help-stones—monuments to the ways that God has helped God’s people in the past.
There are hundreds of such passages in the Bible. Maybe thousands, depending on your idea of a scriptural help-stone might be. But if we want to narrow it down, I think the first chapter of John might help us a bit. There, at the end of the chapter, Jesus says, “You will see greater things than this” [v 50]. And then immediately, as the next chapter opens, we see one of these greater things: We see the very first miracle of Jesus, a miracle in which he helped some people in a unique way.
Now, when we look at Jesus’ miracles, the first reaction of a lot of people is to prove whether or not they really happened. For some, it’s important that they prove that Jesus’ miracles are true. To others, it seems just as important to prove that they couldn’t have happened. But I think, if that’s our first priority, we’re missing the point. This story exists on a completely different level than our attempts to prove it right or wrong. John calls it the first sign of Jesus’ glory. And so that’s how we need to approach it.
One of the first things we need to notice is how little information is provided about the setting. There was a wedding in Cana. Whose wedding? We have no idea. But Mary was there. And so were Jesus and his disciples. And when they ran out of wine, Mary lets Jesus know.
Jesus’ response is interesting, and we’re tempted to see rudeness in it: “Woman, what’s that got to do with us? It’s not my time.” But it’s more likely that Jesus was just using everyday language to state a fact. I think the word woman here might be more equivalent to our word Ma’am. It’s polite, not rude.
Notice that Mary’s not offended. In fact, she tells the staff to do whatever Jesus says. When I look at this, I find it encouraging. It’s like prayer. Though our requests might seem to be met with indifference at first, we should still be prepared to receive direction. And here, Jesus starts to give direction. It’s like the parable of the widow in Luke 18 (vv 1-8): The judge she’s bothering seems not to care about her at all. But in the end, her requests are answered because she never gave up. So don’t stop expecting something to happen just because it hasn’t happened yet.
Now the story starts to change, and I need to compare this transition to an old movie. I think all of us are well aware of a certain point in The Wizard of Oz—a movie we all looked forward to watching as kids (terrifying flying monkeys notwithstanding). There were no VHS tapes or DVD’s in my childhood. There was no streaming and no cable box DVR capabilities. The networks showed the film once a year, and you had to arrange your life around the TV schedule so you could watch it… because if you missed it, it wouldn’t come around for another twelve months.
And I think the most amazing point in the movie happened early on. At first, Dorothy existed in the black and white world of life in the dust bowl. But when she opens the door to a new world, suddenly the world is seen in magnificent technicolor. And in a way, we see a similar transformation here in the story of the miracle at Cana. We move from the terse description of the setting to the extravagant details that John wants us to notice. It’s like the difference between Kansas and Oz.
We read about jars—six of them—and they’re made of stone. They’re made of stone for the purpose of keeping the water pure. And they’re enormous, holding up to thirty gallons each. It’s almost as if John doesn’t want us to relate to the couple getting married or to the wedding guests—they seem to be unimportant details in this story. But instead, he wants us to relate to these enormous, empty jars. “Fill them with water,” he says, and they do.
We don’t know how or when, but something happened to that water. Because when Jesus tells them to take some of it to the emcee, we find out that it is now wine. The emcee says to the bridegroom—and we still have no idea who the bridegroom is—that he has done things in reverse. Instead of serving the best wine first (so that the guests can appreciate it before they’ve had too much to drink), he’s served it last.
It's possible that the identity of the bridegroom remains hidden here because he’s not the real bridegroom. Throughout the gospels, we see that bridegroom imagery is used for Messiah, and so it might be here. We had been led to believe that Jesus is a guest at the wedding. But, in fact, he turns out to be the host, providing the choicest of wine when it’s least expected.
And that’s my final point today. I think a lot of us think our best days are behind us. I recently received my Medicare card and am all set to receive benefits the first of April. 1960 may have been a good vintage, but how much of it is left, really?
Maybe some of you all are from an even more ancient vintage. And maybe you’re thinking your best days are behind you. But look! An ebenezer! Here’s a help-stone: The miracle of the wedding at Cana! A story that tells us that empty vessels can be filled with living water. And that’s not all—living water can become the best wine. This means that, in Christ, the best is always yet to come.
We can still be God’s vessels, filled to the brim with the Holy Spirit. And like this story is for us—we can still be help-stones for others who are walking with us on the road. So be a rock—but remember that for many of us, the rock we’re called to be is an ebenezer, a monument to God’s help, a guide to those who need us, a disciple of the One whose Spirit can still fill us and make a difference.
—©2025 Sam Greening
