As if caught up in a fever dream, she pushed her way through the crowd of mourners and onlookers—some with tears in their eyes, some with twisted smiles of glee. The sights and sounds flooded her senses, not sure if she could bear to see the sight and yet unable to look away. She needed to be there; this was her son or at least the bloody and tortured remains of him. In a mad and grotesque procession of death, they made their way to that infamous spot outside the gates. That little hill everyone called Golgotha, a place often soaked with the blood of the criminals who were crucified there. A filthy and haunted place set aside for such spectacles. A place not of hope but of horror. But there she was; where else could she be? There at the foot of a cross upon which her son, the promised savior of her people, the light shining in the darkness, was dying. And amid the pain and agony, he looks down from his gory throne and sees her; he sees his mother and the disciples whom he loves and says, “Woman, behold, your son!” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” We are told that from that hour, the disciple took her to his own home.

Having ensured his mother’s care and protection, Jesus knows that all things have been set in order, all things completed. So he speaks those powerful final words, “It is finished.” And he bows his head and gives up his spirit. Mary hears the proclamation, and she witnesses the great and final sacrifice for the sins of the world. It is finished. What is finished? The complete work of your salvation is finished. The assurance of eternal life for all who believe is finished. This is the culmination of the promises of God: the payment for the transgressions of the world is made, it is finished, and so the Son of God, the child born of Mary, our Lord, dies. He dies because, without his sacrifice, it would never be finished; without his death and resurrection, we would still be bound by and condemned eternally for our sins.

The word goes out to the soldiers working that day. They don’t want the bodies hanging there over the weekend, especially during the big festival that brought so many pilgrims to the city. The request is that the crucifixion be sped up by breaking the legs of the criminals. If they can’t hold themselves up, you don’t need to wait for starvation, blood loss, and exposure to take their life; their weight would prohibit them from breathing. They pass by her son because he seems to be dead; there is no need to go through the effort instead to make sure one of the soldiers takes a spear and pierces his side. Out of the pierced side of our Lord flows blood and water. Blood and water from the side of our savior, blood and water from the one who lays down his life for his friends. For you.

Here, we witness the glory of God—a brutal and complete sacrifice for the sins of the world. A promise is on display for all those who pass by Golgotha that Friday afternoon. Of course, we want to look away; we want to find glory somewhere else. We know that he promised something greater on the third day: an empty tomb, a resurrection, a victory that we continue to celebrate even now. But this is the moment that ought to be burned into our minds; we dare not just pass it by. This is the hour he foretold, the hour of his glory, the hour when he was lifted up to draw all people to him. Here, the justice of a holy God collides with his mercy for you, for your salvation, for your hope and confidence. For this reason, Jesus was born; for this reason, we gather even now. We bear witness to his glory.

Back at the beginning of John’s Gospel, there is an incredible story about a wedding feast in Cana. It is the only other text in this Gospel that features the mother of our Lord. These two stories have a lot in common. Interestingly enough, it begins with a curious note on the days, saying, “On the third day, there was a wedding feast at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there.” Here is Mary and Jesus on the third day, and she learns that they have run out of wine. When she informs her son of the issue, he replies, “Woman, what does this have to do with me? My hour has not yet come.” Now, “woman” may sound a bit strange as a title for your mother, but he uses the same title when he looks at her from the cross. And the hour that he speaks about is the hour of his glory, the hour of his suffering and death. She doesn’t hesitate and tells the servants to do whatever he tells them to do.

Now, this is when the story gets fascinating. We are told that there are six stone water jars there. And not just any old stone jars; these are jars used for purification. They’re big jars carved out of limestone holding twenty to thirty gallons, and they were used as part of the ritual cleansing done by the guests coming to the feast. We don’t have practices like this; it’s more than your mom reminding you to wash your hands before you eat. It declared something about their identity and their relationship to God. You washed because you were impure because, as Isaiah said, “I am a man of unclean lips, and I live amongst a people of unclean lips.” It was a ritual washing because it declared that these were a people in need of cleansing, in need of intercession if they are to be welcomed as the people of God.

So what does Jesus do? He has them fill them to the brim and says, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the feast.” And we are told that as they do, the water had become wine—and not just any old wine, the good stuff. So much so that it surprises the master of the feast. Here, on the third day, at a wedding feast, Jesus takes water used for the purification of sinners and makes it into the very best of wine. And his hour hasn’t even come yet. But when it does come, when the hour of his glory has arrived, and he is again with his mother, he provides far more than a cause for temporal celebration. Not just water and wine but water and blood. Water and blood flowing from the side of our Savior, water and blood, that does not just symbolize our purity and welcome in the kingdom of God but water and blood that purifies us for all eternity. Water and blood that accompanies his promise that it is finished.

This then marks our life together, our coming to the foretaste of the feast to come. The water of purification is the water of your baptism, where you are joined into his death and resurrection. The water flowing from the sacrifice of your Lord declares that you have died and risen with him, and you are given a new life. The blood flows from his broken body, and we hear him say, “Take eat; this is my body; take drink; this is my blood.” Here, we taste and learn that our Lord is good, that he has done what we could not do, and that salvation is sure in his gifts. The work is complete; it is finished; salvation is yours.

The wedding feast at Cana is given the designation of our Lord’s first sign. As a sign, it directs to something beyond the act itself; it reminds us that this is the coming of the Word made flesh, this is the light shining in the darkness, this is the arrival of God, who has come to save all those who believe in him. It is a manifestation of his glory, a glory that is revealed to all on the cross. And so we bear witness to this. This is our hope; this is our assurance. Christ has come; he lived, suffered, died, and rose from the grave on the third day so that you would know this day that you are loved, you are forgiven, and you are invited to the great wedding feast of the King. It is finished.