When Jesus calls disciples, the people he calls seem to be an odd lot. Peter, for example, was a fisherman with no education or experience in scriptures or preaching. Couldn’t Jesus have picked someone better? But God’s chosen were often the weakest, lowest, off-the-radar picks, too. Like Moses, Peter protests that he is not well suited. Like God, Jesus tells his chosen to get over it because there’s work to be done.

In his early ministry, things seemed to be going really well for Jesus back at his home synagogue. Then he began to talk about acts of Elijah and Elisha that favored foreigners over needs in Israel, and the crowd became very angry with Jesus. This makes us aware that Jesus often angered those around him, particularly those in positions of importance in the religious establishment. What does this say to us in our own day and time?

Most often in this gospel story we focus on Jesus’ pointing to himself as the subject of the Isaiah passage, as the messiah. But perhaps at least as important is the indicator, “today.” Its immediacy is rattling and brings to mind a number of other situations in which people have waited and waited, and today is the day that the awaited comes to pass: Martin Luther King’s letter from prison was such a call; and perhaps United Methodism’s upcoming conference on the inclusion of LGBTQ people is also such a call.

Today’s gospel reading is the story of the wedding in Cana. We often recall this as Jesus miraculously turning water into wine. But it is also an expression of the nearness of the Kingdom and the abundance that Kingdom brings. It is also high drama from the writer of the gospel.

This is Epiphany Sunday, the time when we remember the story of the Magi following the star to find the infant king. The scripture lesson is the first verses of Isaiah 60 when, in one of the darkest times in Israel’s history, the prophet calls on the people to “Arise! Shine!” because “The light has come!” Like Israel, we can go through times when the darkness seems never-ending, but those prophetic words reclaim us and offer us hope.

Today’s scripture is the very familiar story in Luke of the parents of Jesus (who is 12 at the time) being unable to locate him as they head home from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Many of us have been in similar situations, when, at finding a lost child there is great relief, but also a boiling of frustration and anger at having been placed in such a situation. Mary’s questions at finding Jesus express that frustration. But the boy’s reply is, in essence, “Where else would I be?” Perhaps this made his parents, and makes us, understand a bit more clearly that at age 12 Jesus was already doing God’s work.

Most of us have, at some point, had negative feelings about the innkeeper in the story of the birth of Jesus – what kind of person would turn down a young, pregnant girl and her fiancé when she is clearly close to giving birth? There are some translations of the story that may have misled us a bit. And perhaps we, ourselves, act like the innkeeper where God is concerned more than we realize. How do we fit into the story, and how do we receive God’s knocking at our hearts?

The writer of Luke is highly sensitive to God’s preference for the downtrodden, and that shows in the prominence of the story of Mary and Elizabeth – why was Mary, a poor, teenage, unwed woman, chosen to bear the Messiah rather than Elizabeth, who is married to a priest? It is emphasized in the song Mary sings, reported only in Luke, praising God for raising the lowly and bringing down those on high. What does this story say to those of us who are relatively wealthy?

As we’ve seen in previous weeks, Advent is a time of great anticipation. Yet, today we read about John the Baptist in the wilderness, addressing the people with, “You brood of vipers!” a jarring warning and call to repent. How do we understand such confrontation in the context of waiting for the arrival of the Christ child?

In today’s scripture, the priest, Zechariah, sings with joy at the naming of his and Elizabeth’s new son, John. These are the first words he has been able to utter since he was silenced, nine months earlier, when the angel told him they would bear this child, and Zechariah seemed to express disbelief. Was his silence punishment, or is there another side to such silence?