We talk an awful lot about faith being about us trusting Jesus. Which it is. How much I truly find Jesus trustworthy and responsible enough to be entrusted with my life matters a lot.

But maybe we also ought to talk about Jesus trusting us. How much Jesus us finds me trustworthy and responsible also matters.

Christianity is all about relationship. I really do believe that. It’s much more than some church catch-phrase to me. And if it’s true, then trust must be a two-way street, just like in any other intimate relationship. Any married person can testify.

He’s not angry. He’s not offended. He’s not sad. He’s not disappointed. Frankly, he’s not even surprised.

He won’t scold you. He won’t give you the cold shoulder. He won’t play hard to get. He won’t write you off. He won’t report you to the local Faithfulness Police.

Is trying too hard to make someone understand you.

Sometimes it’s just not possible. Sometimes you don’t have the words. Sometimes the differences in perspective run too deep. Sometimes someone is just too damn stubborn to listen. Sometimes it’s more trouble than it’s worth.

Sometimes an explanation brings on more misunderstandings that you just don’t feel like dealing with. Sometimes an explanation isn’t really what the other person needs. Sometimes an explanation spoils the punchline.

Is to be a place where heaven can touch earth, and where earth can reach back.

Where the Creator can enter into creation, and where creation can welcome the Creator.

Where the eternal can uphold the temporal, and where the temporal can rest upon the eternal.

Where the invisible can fill the visible, and where the visible can manifest the invisible.

Where the Divine can come into contact with humanity, and where humanity can respond to the Divine.

Two houses. Two groups of people in need. Two groups of people providing services. Two revelations of Christ’s glory.

The first time we see Jesus in a house it’s at a wedding, in the house of an unnamed host who is likely a relative of either the bride or groom. The guests are common people—family, friends, neighbors—in need of wine. The host and the servants do their best to provide for the guests, but, whether out of poor preparation or limited resources, they don’t have enough. Christ’s glory is seen in his miraculous provision, as well as his protection of the host’s reputation and everyone’s joy.

A wedding in Cana.

A private getaway in Capernaum.

The temple in Jerusalem.

Three distinct revelations of Christ’s glory packed closely together in the second chapter of John. They’re written back-to-back for a reason: John wants us to understand that glory has a surprisingly broad definition.

After turning water into wine, what did Jesus do? I can tell you what he didn’t do right away: He didn’t do more miracles. He didn’t heal anyone, or feed anyone, or cast out any demons. He didn’t go looking for a larger platform. He didn’t even preach.

As John tells it, here’s what Jesus did after revealing his glory for the first time publicly in Cana:

Maybe that’s ok. Maybe it’s best to not fight it. Let someone else be thanked, or congratulated, or praised, or awarded.

I think there is perhaps no faster way to offend another human being—especially if they live in a competitive, success-driven, image-obsessed culture like America—than to give someone else the credit for his or her work. Those are fightin’ words. There are entire TV shows based on that premise. In the age of the selfie and voyeuristic live videos, to be overlooked or anonymous equates to non-existence.

For extraordinary purposes is the modus operandi of the kingdom. It’s Jesus’ go-to method for miracles.

Stone jars and water. Spit and mud. Wind and rain. Word and touch. Friends and family. Crowds and clothes. Bread and fish. Coins and fish. Fishermen and tax collectors. Empty fishing nets.

Yep—lots of fish! In Jesus’ day, fish were as common as hamburgers.

This was Mary’s advice to a handful of servants who probably felt like their jobs were on the line because the wedding they were serving at just ran out of wine. No one knew what to do. There wasn’t a local Trader Joe’s one of them could run to for a few cases of Three Buck Chuck. They were stuck.

Wineless. Answerless. Hopeless. Potentially jobless.