If you asked someone at random on a British street who the King is, you might get a range of answers. I’d imagine people would say things like:  Charles III, the monarch or the head of state. All of these answers are true, of course. But the royal family would know him differently. They would know what makes him laugh, what foods he enjoys, what annoys him, and how he relaxes. Their relationship with him is personal.

For most of us, the King is largely a public figure—someone we perhaps like, respect, and maybe admire—but someone who doesn’t occupy our daily thoughts.

Sometimes, I think we can have a similar relationship with Jesus. We know the titles:

• The Messiah
• The Lamb of God
• The Bread of Life
• The Christ

These titles are wonderful. But titles alone don’t make a relationship. Knowing Jesus means knowing who he is—not just reciting what he’s called.

The disciples had a huge advantage: they lived with Jesus day by day. They knew his mannerisms, his tone of voice, his humour, his moods. And even then, they sometimes got him spectacularly wrong.

We don’t have the chance to walk the roads of Galilee with Jesus in the flesh, but we do have the Gospels—rich records of his life, preserved for us with the benefit of hindsight. Yet even with the Gospels in our hands, there’s a danger:

• We can compartmentalize Jesus.
• We can focus only on the bits we like.
• We can create a Jesus in our own image—a Jesus who matches our comfort zones.

I’m very conflict-averse by nature. So, when I read about Jesus welcoming children, healing outsiders, and forgiving sinners, that resonates with me deeply. But then I get to the Jesus who looks religious leaders in the eye and calls them, “You brood of vipers!” (Matthew 12:34) and I find myself shifting uncomfortably.

The temptation is to smooth out the parts of Jesus that don’t fit my preferences. But if we want a real relationship with him, we have to let Jesus be fully himself—not just the parts we like.

At The Wedding at Cana (John 2:1–11), we get a glimpse of the real Jesus. We see:

• A man invited to a family wedding, likely because he grew up with the couple.
• A man who brings along his new friends.
• A man whose mother nags him to do something about the wine shortage.
• A man who acts—even though he says, “My hour has not yet come.” (v.4)

It’s a wonderfully relatable moment. But John won’t let us forget who Jesus really is. In the first chapter of his gospel, John described Jesus with breathtaking majesty: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” (John 1:1) The man sipping wine at the wedding party is also the eternal Word who spoke the universe into being.

If we keep reading, we see yet another side of Jesus. Immediately after the wedding, John tells us how Jesus cleared the temple with anger and righteous fury. Jesus is not divided into separate personalities:

• The joyous party guest is the same as the fierce temple cleanser.
• The gentle shepherd is the same as the sharp-tongued prophet.

In the Cana story itself, we glimpse several sides of Jesus at once:

• His provocativeness: choosing to use jars set aside for religious purification rituals—a deliberate and daring choice.
• His compassion: saving the couple from public embarrassment.
• His divine glory: revealing his power, even in such an ordinary setting.

These qualities don’t cancel each other out. They coexist. In every story, some traits come through more strongly. But the others are always there, too.

So, what do we see most clearly at Cana? For me, it’s Jesus’ joyfulness. This miracle could easily seem frivolous:

• No one’s life was at risk.
• No major theological issue was at stake.
• It was about letting the party continue and saving face for the hosts.

And Jesus did it—gladly. That choice tells us something beautiful about him. Joy is woven throughout his ministry:

• He fights legalism because it robs people of joy.
• He challenges Sabbath rules when they stop people from celebrating life.
• He brings healing, freedom, forgiveness—all rooted in his overflowing joy.

Getting to know the real Jesus takes work. It means reading all the Gospels, not just our favourite parts. It means wrestling with the stories that make us uncomfortable. It means letting Jesus reshape us—not the other way around.

Because our faith isn’t just about theology, church attendance, or singing hymns. Our faith is about knowing a person: the God-Man, Jesus Christ.

Here’s the wonderful thing about relationships: The more we know someone, the more we start to reflect them. The more we know Jesus—in all his compassion, his boldness, his joy, and his challenge—the more we will start to reflect him to the world.

So here’s the challenge:

• If you love the gentle, forgiving Jesus—are you willing to also embrace the provocative, edgy Jesus?
• If you admire the fiery, passionate Jesus—are you willing to meet the tender shepherd who carries lambs in his arms?

Because knowing the real Jesus—the full Jesus—is what makes our faith life-giving, not just a pale academic exercise.