I am devoted to a Jewish man who resisted authority and brought much joy to those around him.

I am speaking, of course, of Groucho Marx. I love the Marx Brothers movies, though my wife does not share my taste. Groucho makes me laugh, whether in one of his movies, or in the stories about his real life.

He once tried to join an exclusive swimming club on Long Island. The manager told him the club would not accept his application because he was Jewish. Groucho said, "Well, then how about my son? He's only half Jewish. Can he go in the water up to his waist?"

But the story that really fits my sermon today is about the time he had a conversation with a priest. This priest went up to Groucho Marx and said, "Mr. Marx, I want to thank you for bringing so much joy into the world." Groucho replied, "I want to thank you for taking so much out."

And Groucho is right. How did Christianity become a religion which down through history has produced so many party poopers, killjoys, wet blankets, and buzzkills?

Right here at the beginning of John's gospel we have this treasured story of Jesus changing water into wine. Doesn't that give us at least a hint of the personality of this Jewish rabbi to whom I'm devoted?

Yes, I know it's kind of edgy - wine is dangerous, after all, and it poisons the lives of people who become addicted to it. But wine is also festive. The ancient Jewish rabbis said, "Without wine, there is no joy." Those rabbis knew that drunkenness is a disgrace, but they also celebrated the goodness and joy of wine.

And peasants back then did not get very much wine. They may have worked for landowners to produce it, but the poor drank little wine and ate even less meat. Their daily foods were cheese and bread and olive oil, with water for their drink.

But at a wedding, it was different. A couple's parents would save and scrimp for a long time to make the celebration big. It was a point of honor to carry off a wedding in style in ancient Palestine, even for the poor. So running out of wine would be a disgrace.

Jesus refuses to be a party pooper, killjoy, or wet blanket. And he was generous, on top of it all. He saved a humble Galilean family from hurt and humiliation by providing wine.

And it wasn't just a little wine, nor was it cheapo stuff. Six stone water jars, each with 20- or 30- gallon capacity. This is a generous, full-bodied gift he makes to the festivity.

And John the Evangelist calls it a "sign." He tells the story to be a sign of God's power present in Jesus, and a sign of God's blessing on marriage, and a sign of God's blessing on celebrations and parties, and a sign of the future banquet of God.

Jesus talks about that future banquet of God a lot. He loves parties and feasts (so much so that his enemies call him names like "glutton" and "wino"). And Jesus says that God's kingdom is like a great banquet, like a great feast, like a beautiful wedding reception. Everybody gets fed, and everybody is welcome at the table on equal footing, and everybody lives in joy.

So how did Christianity become a religion which down through history has produced so many party poopers, killjoys, wet blankets, and buzzkills? Why did Groucho get so much ammunition for his humor?

I don't know, but I've dedicated my priesthood to celebrating the joy of Christ in the midst of the hard times. God knows there are sorrows and burdens and pains and tragedies. But God also gives joy in the midst of it all.

Later in John's Gospel, Jesus will say, "Be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world," and he says this the night before he dies. Like one of my favorite writers, Frederick Buechner, I always think of Jesus at that moment as being Charlie Chaplin, the Little Tramp, standing there so jaunty and hopeful in his baggy pants and derby hat.

The whole world is about to crash down on him like a pail of water balanced on top of a door. Here comes the cross. But after that comes the resurrection, when the Little Tramp pops up again, dapper and gallant, twirling his mustache and twirling his cane. "My joy I leave with you," he says, and that's what he means.

How did Christianity become a religion which down through history has produced so many party poopers, killjoys, wet blankets, and buzzkills? I don't know, but I've dedicated my priesthood to celebrating the joy of Christ in the midst of the hard times. Ever since a fundamentalist seminary professor named H. Dermott MacDonald glared at a class I was in and said, "Jaysus didn't die ta make ye HILARIOUS -- he died ta save ye from yer SINS!" --- ever since then I've been dedicated to proving him wrong.

I want to be part of a church that knows how to eat and celebrate together. I want to be part of a church that invites everyone to our celebration. I want to be part of a church where one of the greeters wears a Hawaiian shirt, which makes new visitors feel welcome and happy. And I want to be part of a church full of happy children.

Last Sunday I received a wonderful compliment. As you know, we baptized Nicholas Blaise last Sunday. After church, I went to his family's home for a celebration - the kind I've been talking about, where we eat and drink together and care about each other. I got to sit down on the floor to eat my lunch with Nicholas' older brother. His older brother is Brian, who was born back in 2005.

Brian was born too early, and weighed less than three pounds. It was a scary time in that neo-natal intensive care unit in the hospital. But Brian grew and is now a thriving little boy, full of delight and love. It was a true joy for me to sit with him to eat and celebrate, especially when I think of how precarious his first few months were.

He has a tremendous imagination. We had a wonderful conversation, and I even understood about half of it. Then he paid me the compliment. He said, "Father Mark, we need to have a play date. What is your mommy's name?" This was such an honor!

And when I thought of how close his family came to losing him, and how close our church came to losing him before we even knew him, my only emotion was joy.

"My joy I leave with you," Jesus says, and that's what he means.

How did Christianity become a religion which down through history has produced so many party poopers, killjoys, wet blankets, and buzzkills?

I don't know, but I've dedicated my priesthood to celebrating the joy of Christ in the midst of the hard times.

I know times are hard, and I don't want to be flippant in the face of tragedy. Like you, I'm thinking of the earthquake in Haiti - and later today I'll tell you how we as a church can help. I know that this is not an easy time in our world's history or in our country's history or in the lives of some people in our church.

But I got a little sign this week, a sign from the Little Tramp, a sign from Jesus dressed like Charlie Chaplin, a sign not many would recognize, because you have to know New Testament Greek.

I was behind a car at a stoplight and noticed its license plate. It was just six letters: I C - then a space, then - N I K A.

Most people would not know what that stands for.

But the English letters I C look like the Greek abbreviation for Jesus Christ. And the word NIKA is the Greek word for "conqueror" or "victor". The one who overcomes the world.

"Be of good cheer," says the little tramp, "I've overcome the world." That's the subtle little sign I was given on a morning when I sorely needed it.

The changing of water to wine was a subtle little sign in John's gospel. The text indicates that only a few people knew what was going on - the mother of Jesus, the disciples of Jesus, and a couple of servants.

But the sign - quiet and subtle as it may have seemed at the time - says something big.

It says that there is joy at the center of the universe.

It says that in spite of all the tragedy, there is comedy, too.

It says that God is about love and celebration and feasts and banquets.

I'll skip the kind of religion Groucho Marx was mocking, and I'll take a pass on the kind of religion H. Dermott MacDonald seemed to prefer.

Instead, I'll hang out with the kind of God who changes water into wine just for fun.

And I want to be part of a church that celebrates and laughs - together.