Build Power not Panic

This week a friend who advocates for immigrants shared some words that are commonly used in immigrant advocacy circles, words that I would like to offer you this Sunday. My friend said these days she is repeating the phrase to herself again and again: “Build power not panic.”

Juntos construyamos poder y no pánico.

Together we build power not panic.

I found myself reflecting on those words as I reopened this Gospel. I have preached this Gospel a number of times now in my time as a priest. The easy approach is to talk about Jesus and Mary’s interaction. Mothers and sons, am-I-right?

But I hadn’t thought about the possibility that Jesus was honestly nervous. I had read “woman…it is not my time” as the petulant words of a young man acting the adolescent. I hadn’t thought about the stakes.

The social and political backdrop of this wedding at Cana was tense. Herod Antipas, the ruler of Galilee was a deeply insecure man. He was called the “Tetrach” which literally meant that he only ruled over one quarter of his father Herod the Great’s former kingdom. He had a deadly rivalry with his brother Agrippa, and had hired mercenaries for security. His forces were known to drop in unannounced to large gatherings, like weddings, to police what was being said about the ruler. Antipas actively worked to eliminate threats to his power.

I imagine the family who planned the wedding might have been nervous. They might have been postponing the celebration out of fear, out of deference to the political situation. Many families had loved ones in prison under Antipas. The wedding party might well have been delayed because the prices were high on food and wine, and taxes to maintain the Roman forces and for Herod’s guards and palaces meant the average person was strapped for cash. But you can only delay a wedding for so long. Celebration is a necessary part of life. In the long run, love and joy are as crucial for human beings as water.

Still, we can understand why Jesus wasn’t ready to come out. He was worried about timing. Mary waves away his fears. She won’t give in to her son’s panic. “Do what he tells you” she tells the servers. Mary is building power.

It wasn’t until after I was ordained a priest and was serving in a Latino congregation that I heard one of Mary’s titles in Spanish. I had heard her called “our Advocate” in English. But one Sunday, as we sang a hymn, I heard Mary described as “nuestra abogada.” I immediately flashed back to a high school Spanish class, when I learned that abogada meant “lawyer.”

I have since enjoyed imagining Jesus’ mother in a smart blue suit, arguing our case before the judge and jury. That can be how prayer works. How many of us asked God to be present to Los Angeles this week, or Gaza? Sometimes prayer feels like advocacy, reminding God to be present in places we need God’s love, reminding God to be present where we need God’s justice, or God’s care.

Mary, with her prayers, with her words at Cana is building power. “There is no wine.” She knows what her boy can do, and she won’t give into panic. Mary knows that building power doesn’t necessarily mean winning one election or having a particular title. Power lies in our relationships. Power is, as community organizers teach us, the ability to act, to work for change. Power is always held in community.

One of the most important forms of power is also called resilience. Resilience is a hot topic in the social sciences and psychology. How do we stay nimble and agile in the face of adversity? I sound like a business or nonprofit coach, I know. These are popular questions, and those coaches are making big money.

As your priest, let me say, resilience requires attending to your interior life, the life of prayer. A reporter once asked Archbishop Oscar Romero whether it was true he spent an hour a day in prayer. With all of the important advocacy the bishop was doing, with all of his press conferences, meetings, and work against injustice, how did he find so much time for prayer? Without blinking Archbishop Romero said, “oh no, on the busy days I need two hours of prayer.”

Similarly Archbishop Desmond Tutu famously used cut hours away from a proposed schedule when he was invited to preach or teach somewhere. He’d slash breakfasts with donors or lunches with politicians to maintain his routine of morning prayer, noonday prayer, evening prayer. The organizers would sometimes push back and say, “Bishop we only have you for a few days, could you please make an exception?” Tutu would tell them, “if you want the Desmond Tutu you know full of joy, with laughter and passionate about God’s work, you need to let me have my time for prayer.” Cultivating the inner life means spending time with quiet. Building resilience means building routines for diet and exercise, yes, and spiritual practices which sustain us.

But building resilience is not only an individual endeavor. I think all those social scientists and coaches would do well to pay attention not just to building resilient individuals, but to the power found in building resilient communities.

There is one measure which is crucial in community resilience. Do you know what it is? Trust. Communities need to have trust if they are going to act for change. Communities need trust to survive.

Trust. I know it isn’t always easy, especially in a society addicted to division, in a time when panic is commonplace. But the more we build trust with one another, the more resilience we have, the more power we build to counter the divisions outside these walls.

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There’s one last necessary ingredient to the work of resilience: Joy. Dr Barbara Holmes in Crisis Contemplation says “Our current circumstances require resilience and the steadfast belief that joy is a healing inner event and a spiritual practice.” Joy is a healing inner event and spiritual practice.

This weekend we celebrate Dr. King. In his last speech, on the night before he died, King invoked Moses. He said, “[God] allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!” In his promise, Dr. King was talking about Deuteronomy.

At a key moment in the Exodus, the people came to Moses thirsty. Water, it seemed a simple request. Moses and Aaron prayed to God, and God told Moses to strike a rock. Water came flowing out. What is confounding is that somehow this incident in the Bible is given as the reason why Moses can’t cross over to the promised land. The rabbis have been arguing about what Moses did wrong for centuries.

Today’s story about the wedding of Cana, may provide a partial answer. God wanted more than water for the people. Moses and Aaron’s vision in the desert was too small. God cares about more than just thirst. After Mary’s prodding, Jesus’ first miracle wasn’t about basic needs. Jesus moves through the water to the celebration. Jesus turns the boring stuff of life into a cause for joy. Wine. Good wine. Our God is about celebration, about joy. Later in the Gospel Jesus tells his followers “I came that they might have life, and life in abundance.” You can’t be faithful without joy. In this Epiphany season, we continue to watch for the holy drawing close, despite the circumstances, infusing life with joy. In this season, we keep looking for signs of hope despite the chaos, and joy despite the circumstances, and justice despite the politics.

To confront the realities of our day, we will need resilience. In the days ahead, attend to your inner practices, to your life of prayer. Turn off the news. Put down the phone. Find a deeper way of reaching out. In the days ahead, I would invite you, build trust in community, connect with others at a march for justice or over a shared meal. Finally, crucially, attend to joy. Savor moments of celebration.

All these practices help us to build power not panic. Because whatever the future holds, God will be there, the Spirit will lead us. Water can still become wine.