When I was a junior in high school, something wonderful happened.  My parents announced that they’d be headed to a North Carolina Tarheels football game.  That, in and of itself, wasn’t a big deal as they were season ticket holders.  What WAS a big deal was that they were playing a night game.  What captivated my teenage heart in what they were telling me was that they were going to be spending the night in Chapel Hill. And they were going to trust me to be okay for the night alone.

            I couldn’t believe it.  This was what high school dreams were made of after all.  Parents gone for the weekend leaving me all alone. 

            My mind raced.  Instantly I conjured a party of some sorts.  I imagined a party where all the really cool kids would be hanging out, having fun.  By the time I got to school the next day, I’d prepared a guest list.  When the week of the game came alone, I deliberately invited only the really popular people in my class and the senior class to come.  I didn’t want things to get out of control after all. 

            Let me tell you.  At first, I was really nervous.  Would people come?  My high school popularity hung in the balance as the first 45 minutes or so, no one rang my doorbell.  But then, like a wonderful chorus of angels the first tones of the doorbell graced my ears.  Lo and behold, it was some of those cool people I’d mentioned. 

            But over the next hour or so, the doorbell KEPT ringing.  And these people, while nice, weren’t really invited.  Not by me at least.  You see it turned out that those “really cool people”, well, they took it upon themselves to do a little inviting of their own. 

            Pretty quickly, the entire house was packed.  I was worried sick.  There I was, on my supposed “night of nights” terrified that someone in this growing crowd would break something or steal something or quite literally set the house on fire.  I looked out of my windows and realized that my parents entire corner lot curb was saturated with cars. 

            Then, the doorbell rang once again breaking the monotony of my cleaning up after routine.  I walked down the stairs, opened the door and lo and behold what should I see but one of Charlotte’s finest staring me in the eyes.

            “Are you the owner of this house” the officer inquired?

            “No sir” I replied.  “My parents are.”

            The police officer asked me “Do you think your parents would be happy to come home and find their home seized by the law for dram shop violations?”

            Let me just tell you, I didn’t realize until that day that fear had degrees.  I knew it did because the kind of fear I was feeling in that very moment was far greater than anything I’d ever felt before.  It was what I’d like to call “real world fear.”   Fears up until that point were that I’d fail a math test and things of the sort.  Never did I fear that I’d be in jail and my parent’s house would be taken from them for the party I threw.

            After taking a big gulp, I answered the policeman.  “No sir, I don’t think they’d be very happy at all.”

            “Well then,” he said calmly, “get everybody out of here right now.”

            The next thing you know I was literally screaming at people to get out of my house.  I was frantic.  I remember one of the really cool kids I’d hoped to impress saying to me “this is such a disappointment” as they left.

            I did get everybody out of the house.  My parent’s home didn’t get seized by any law enforcement agency.  After hours and hours and hours of intense cleaning and trash removal, I finally got it restored to a state where I thought I’d get away with everything.

            Nope.  Didn’t happen.  One of my parent’s neighbors ratted me out.  Needless to say, my parents weren’t happy. 

            So, what did I end up with?  Did I end up cool?  No, didn’t happen.  Did I have fun?  No, if anything, I ended up sore after all that cleaning.  Did I end up grounded?  Yes, until after Christmas as it would turn out.  No TV, no telephone, no extracurricular activities. 

            I lost everything most dear to an adolescent boy in reality.

            As I look back on that event now, I see the cause of the disaster.  I had invited the wrong people.

            Now I want to tell you about another party.  A party which took place over two thousand years ago.  We read about that party this morning from the Gospel of John. 

             John 2:1-11 – “On the third day there was a wedding at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus also was invited to the wedding with his disciples. When the wine ran out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what does this have to do with me? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”  Now there were six stone water jars there for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons.  Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. And he said to them, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the feast.” So they took it. When the master of the feast tasted the water now become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the master of the feast called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and when people have drunk freely, then the poor wine. But you have kept the good wine until now.” This, the first of his signs, Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested his glory. And his disciples believed in him.”