Free When Jesus Wept by Brock Thoene, Bodie Page A

Our pace increased with each perfectly level, expertly banked mile.
    At Caesarea our route turned east toward Megiddo. Once across the Plain of Esdraelon progress slowed again on the climb up the Galilean hills. Nevertheless, we skirted Sepphoris and still arrived at Cana of Galilee a full day sooner than I expected.
    I put the extra time before the wedding to good use.
    The area around Cana was swampy. Where the marshes had been drained, and on the adjacent hillsides, there were orchards of figs and walnuts and pomegranates. These interested me, but not so much as the vineyards occupying the lower, southwest-ward-facing slopes.
    The wines of the Galil had a special reputation in the world. Moist air funneled inland by the ridges of Mount Carmel cooled the mornings and left behind a heavy dewfall. The afternoon sun could be intense, bathing the vines in warmth and light that promoted lush growth.
    I spoke with several growers about their efforts. One point on which all agreed was that wine grapes were the most awkward of crops. Vines on soft soil, positioned below springs, produced lush bunches in abundance … and watery tasting juice. Vines that grew on stony, barren hillsides produced the more memorable vintages. The yield from such a vineyard was much smaller, but the wine was much richer—bolder and more flavorful.
    As Hiram of Rumah said to me when I visited his winery: “No winemaker, no matter how skilled or talented, can find something in the wine that God did not put in the grape. Great wines are truly made in the vineyard, not the winery. It is the vintner’s job to let the wine be what it was created to be and not ruin it!”
    Of course, when I explained about my investment in oak barrels, he remarked, “Too expensive. Never work out in the long run.”
    The wedding festivities began an hour before sunset. The aroma of meat roasting on spits made my mouth water. An immense crowd was gathering—far greater than anyone had expected. Apparently the Galil, having seen more than its share of forced conscriptions, floggings, and executions, was seriously in need of some laughter and good cheer, at least for one night.
    I delivered my gift of the special wine to the father of the groom. At his insistence, I broached the barrel and allowed both he and the bride’s father to sample it. They exclaimed overits quality. I was reassured to find that, even after the rough sloshing journey, it had traveled well. Both men agreed that the many toasts drunk that night would be memorable for more than just the speeches being made.
    It was while I was visiting with a former vinedresser of mine who had moved to Cana to plant his own grapes that I received two shocks in quick succession. The first surprise was the arrival of Jesus of Nazareth. Since this wedding was an important event in the life of the communities west of the Sea of Galilee, it made perfect sense that such a celebrity—for that was what he had become since I’d seen him with John, being baptized in the river—would be invited to bless the gathering. After all, Nazareth, his home village, was a scant handful of miles away. He was almost a neighbor.
    Because I had been so recently forcibly reminded of how Rome treated dissenters, I somehow expected him to remain in seclusion. Still, I had heard no tales that he preached sedition or rebellion. Such accusations were leveled against John the Baptizer, but so far, not against Jesus.
    The second shock came so abruptly on the heels of the first that it drove my curiosity about the young rabbi out of my head. Unwarranted and unwanted, my sister Mary had indeed chosen to come to the festivities.
    I could not believe it. Mary was an outcast from all proper society and flaunting a relationship with a Roman centurion.
    Before I could collect my thoughts, Martha was at my side, bubbling with indignation and resentment. “David! You’ve got to do something! I will die of embarrassment! What if someone thinks we asked her