~ Chapter 25. Wedding at Cana ~
     
     A wedding feast was to be held in Pantera's home, and 
Thomas suggested that we assist wherever we could, in 
payment for our lodging. Nearly two hundred guests filled 
the inner courtyard, mostly Jewish merchants and tradesmen, 
but a few Romans and Greeks, and the servants were all very 
busy. I noticed that the guests were quickly finishing the 
wine, and the barrel would soon be empty. It would take time 
to carry the barrel down to the cellar and refill it, so I 
suggested to Thomas that we fill some empty water jugs with 
wine in anticipation. Indeed, there were enough water jugs 
to completely drain the downstairs supply. More could be had 
from the market the next day, but I was certain there would 
be enough for the party.
     It was a joyous occasion for everybody. As a member of 
the household of a wealthy merchant, my mother was held in 
high regard by most of the people of Cana. For her part, she 
took great pleasure in introducing me as "my son, who is a 
healer."
     "And what can you heal?" a guest asked.
     "Many illnesses and injuries. But most important are 
the diseases of the soul."
     "Oh, and can you heal those too?"
     Here was my first chance to explain my mission to a 
stranger. "God-the Lord-has given me a special medicine, for 
just such illness." 
     The man laughed. "Has he now? And will you share this 
secret revelation with me?"
     "Love," I said. "It is as simple as that. Our healing 
lies in loving everyone-not just our family, friends, and 
neighbors, but in loving our enemies, our oppressors."
     He stared at me, and then laughed again. "Thank you for 
telling me your secrets," he said, and he turned away. I 
walked over to a group of his friends, and I heard him 
mutter the word "crazy." 
     I succeeded no better with anyone else at the party. 
They politely excused themselves and found someone else to 
converse with. My message was accepted here no more readily 
than it had been in Capernaum. From the secretive glances I 
caught out of the corner of my eye, I sensed that people 
were talking about me, but they didn't want to talk to me. 
One short man left a group of such people and approached me.
     "I understand that you are a prophet," he said in a 
loud voice, for everyone to hear.
     I replied, warily, "I have been shown what no eye has 
seen."
     "If you are a prophet, you must be able to perform 
miracles. So do a miracle for us! But please make it a 
worthwhile miracle-not just a magi trick."
     Many of the guests were watching, so I felt I had to 
plunge ahead. "We are surrounded by miracles," I said. "This 
very room is full of miracles. The kingdom of the Lord has 
arrived here on the earth, for all to see-and all you need 
to see it is to open your spiritual eyes. All you must do is 
... "
     "No, no! A real miracle! Prove you are a prophet by 
giving us a real miracle."
     "What would you consider a real miracle?" 
     "Get rid of the Romans!"
     "Our ... host is a Roman."
     "No, I don't mean Pantera," he replied defensively. 
"He's just a merchant. And he keeps our law. I mean the 
Roman tyrants. If you are a prophet, tell us when they'll be 
overthrown. When will the Son of Man come?" To northern 
Jews, Son of Man meant the military messiah, who would lead 
the army to victory.
     "It isn't the Romans that you must conquer, but the 
hatred in your own soul."
     "On the contrary, our hatred is what gives us strength! 
We'll revenge ourselves on the Romans. 'An eye for an eye, a 
tooth for a tooth.' We will plunder those who steal from us, 
and we will kill those who have murdered our people! Would 
you have us do otherwise, prophet?"
     Many of the guests were listening now. "You must not 
resist evil. If a Roman steals your money, give him more."
     "Ha! And what would you do if a Roman soldier smote 
you?"
     "If he did it on the right cheek, then I would turn the 
left to him. If he hit a stranger, I would offer myself as 
the target."
     "You must be new at prophecy," he quipped, "for with 
your beliefs, you won't live long!" There was general 
laughter among the guests. At this the man apparently felt 
he had achieved his goal of humiliating the putative 
prophet, so he smiled and walked away. My mother had been 
watching from a corner of the room, and her face was red, 
with shame or embarrassment or just sorrow, I couldn't tell. 
I went to her, and she took me by the hands and led me out 
of the courtyard to a small room.
     "None are as deaf as those who refuse to listen," she 
said. "Don't be discouraged, my Jesus. Have faith in 
yourself and your words will win over the skeptics. Take 
comfort in the knowledge that I believe in you."
     No words spoken by man or woman have ever been more 
important to me. Without her support, I might have abandoned 
my ministry at that moment. She gave me comfort when I was 
attacked, and strengthened me when I was weak. I never loved 
her more than I did then.
     It was time to toast the newly married couple, and all 
the guests were asked to fill their wine cups. While I had 
been talking to my mother, Pantera had ordered a servant to 
the cellar to bring up more wine-but the servant found the 
cellar barrel empty. A mild panic ensued, since according to 
local superstition, without a wedding toast the marriage was 
not blessed by the Lord. No one knew that Thomas and I had 
already brought the wine upstairs.
     My mother and I noticed the commotion and came back 
into the courtyard. Pantera was pale with embarrassment. He 
was talking to the man who had confronted me. The man turned 
to me and announced, "But here is our prophet and his 
mother!" He pointed to the water jugs that I had placed next 
to the wine barrel. "Woman," he said to my mother, "kindly 
ask your son the prophet to turn the water in those jugs 
into wine." If this was intended to lighten the crisis with 
humor, it didn't work. Nobody laughed, and Pantera glowered 
at him. 
     My mother looked at me with solicitude. "Jesus, I'm 
sorry," she said.
     "There's no need for concern," I said. "The water jugs 
are filled with wine."
     The room was suddenly silent. Pantera motioned to one 
of his servants, who fetched a cup, lifted the water jug 
over it, and poured. There was an audible gasp from the 
guests when the red fluid trickled into the cup. Only then 
did I realize that they took it for a miracle. "This isn't a 
miracle," I protested.
     "Bring the cup to me," Pantera ordered. He tasted it, 
and pronounced, "This is as good as the finest wine I have 
owned." The crowd now stared at me in awe. "Let us share the 
wine and present the wedding toast," Pantera continued. 
"Then we'll dance and celebrate, for this marriage is truly 
blessed. But afterwards let us listen to the prophet. I want 
to know what he calls a true miracle, if turning water to 
wine is not!"
     Despite Pantera's calm, most of the wedding guests 
appeared almost feverish with excitement. One after another 
came to me asking for a blessing, a favor, or a prophecy. I 
told several of them that I had simply placed the wine in 
the jugs before being asked, yet protestations seemed to do 
little good. They had witnessed a miracle and weren't about 
to be talked out of it. The more I protested, the more they 
seemed to think I had even greater powers.
     Responding to his guests' wishes, and possibly because 
of the general commotion and agitation, Pantera hurried 
through the ceremonial dancing and then set a seat for me in 
the middle of the room. Most of the wedding guests crowded 
around. Pantera quieted the group and addressed me. "Jesus 
of Nazareth, son of Joseph and my dear housekeeper Mary, 
many of us heard you speak earlier of your revelations. We 
wish to listen to your teachings. But please, first tell us 
why is turning water into wine not a miracle?" 
     "All of us have seen the magi do tricks like that," I 
replied. "It can easily be accomplished by misdirection. 
Those who believe in such miracles are simply believing what 
they wish to believe. They are fooling themselves, and they 
miss the true miracles." 
     Pantera nodded in agreement. "Then tell us, what are 
the true miracles?" I saw him glance quickly towards my 
mother, who was smiling with pride
     "Suppose I walked on water," I asked the group. "Would 
that be a miracle?" The room was silent, full of listeners, 
people who really wanted to hear what I had to say. I was 
prepared. I knew where I was headed.
     A few people silently nodded yes. "Yes, of course," 
Pantera finally answered aloud, "Walking on water would be a 
miracle. Provided, of course, that you were really doing it, 
and it wasn't just a trick." Several of the guests again 
nodded their agreement with his qualification. A few people 
were looking at me as if they expected that I would now walk 
on water.
     "Suppose I walked on water every day, and so did 
everyone else, and we didn't use tricks," I said. "Would you 
still consider it a miracle?"
     "Of course. Water can't support my weight."
     "Yet it does so in a boat."
     "But that's not a miracle."
     "What is it then?"
     Pantera paused for a moment, and finally blurted out, 
"It's just a boat!" The wedding guests all laughed, and then 
Pantera laughed too.
     "When you see the same miracle every day, you lose the 
sense of awe," I said. "You think, 'that's just the way the 
world is.' You don't consider it wondrous, although it truly 
is. Pantera, we are surrounded by miracles, true miracles, 
not tricks like turning water into wine. Rain is a miracle, 
water falling from the sky, quenching the thirst of the 
soil. Crops are miracles, providing us food from nothing but 
seeds, more wondrous than manna from the heavens. People are 
a miracle. We should be in constant awe of God's power, just 
from looking at the people in this room." I looked around, 
from person to person, and then so did several others. "But 
the more common the miracle, the less awe we feel. Life is 
the greatest miracle of all." I turned from Pantera and 
addressed the guests. "Most of you have experienced the 
wonderful miracle of children. Many parents call their 
children miracles when they are born, and they are, but then 
they forget. The greatest gift God has given us is the 
ability to create life. All that God asks of us is to love 
his creations." I paused to let this thought sink into their 
hearts.
     The quiet voice of a woman came from the back. "What 
about the Law of Moses?" she asked in a judgmental tone. 
     "This is the revelation that I pass on to you," I said, 
"given to me by God himself as I lay in the wilderness of 
the desert. The Law of Moses is absolute, and is not to be 
modified." She seemed mollified. "It is not to be changed, 
but it is to be fulfilled. God is our father, not our stern, 
strict father, but our kind, loving abba. His love for us is 
infinite, his generosity boundless. All he asks in return is 
that we love him back, him and all his creations. All of his 
creations. That is the essence, the deep true essence of 
Judaism, the essence of the law." 
     It was a wonderful but frightening experience to have 
so many people listening so hard to every word I spoke. I 
didn't talk as I had at Capernaum, striving for eloquence 
and power. I simply tried to speak the truth, as simply as I 
could. When they asked questions, I paused and thought. I 
didn't think with words, but with images and feelings. I 
told little stories, parables, just as I had told Thomas as 
a child. 
     It was that evening that I first created the parable 
that not only became my favorite, but the favorite of many 
of my followers. It was the parable that appealed to them 
because it spoke a self-evident truth, and yet illustrated 
the evil of both their prejudices and the strict observances 
of the Pharisees. It had as its focus a man who would be 
hated more than Caesar, a man who would be reviled more than 
Roman centurions who crucified righteous Jews, a man who was 
hated because he was so similar to the Jews but was 
different, a man who was despised because he rejected 
Judaism. It was about a Samaritan. 
     "Recently," I said, "a man was walking down the road 
from Cana to Capernaum. The man was attacked by robbers, who 
wounded him, stripped him of his clothes, and left him for 
dead. By chance there came down the road a priest, and when 
he saw him, he passed by on the other side." Every Jew in my 
audience knew that the priest was doing the ritually correct 
thing, since a dead body is unclean and requires elaborate 
washing of anyone who touches it. And yet every Jew knew, in 
his heart, that this was the wrong thing to do. "And 
likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked 
on him, and passed by on the other side." Again, ritually 
correct behavior. "But a certain Samaritan," I continued, 
"as he journeyed came to where the man was lying, and when 
he saw him he had compassion for the poor man. He went to 
him and bound up his wound, cleansing it with fine oil and 
wine. And then he set him on his own mule and brought him to 
an inn, and took care of him. And on the next day when he 
departed, he took out two silver coins and gave them to the 
innkeeper, and said to him, 'Take care of this poor man, and 
whatsoever more you spend, when I come again, I will repay 
you.'" I paused and sat quietly, long enough for my audience 
to ponder the story. Then I said, "Now of the three, the 
Priest, the Levite, and the Samaritan, who do you think was 
neighbor to him that was attacked by the robbers? Who do you 
think pleased the Lord?" Again I paused and looked around 
the room. Two dozen faces looked at me. I answered myself, 
lest there be any confusion, "He who showed mercy to the 
victim. It was the Samaritan who pleased the Lord. It is 
such love that the Lord asks of you towards all of our 
neighbors."
     There were looks of surprise, and wonder, but not of 
disagreement. They were listening to the truth and they 
understood. I had broken through their walls. 
     I told other stories and answered many questions. I was 
surprised at my own quiet power. This is not coming from me, 
I thought-it is the power of the word, the word of God. I 
felt possessed by a holy spirit that guided my answers. I 
overheard one of the guests remark, "He speaks with 
authority." I felt myself that he was right.
     As I lay in the overly-comfortable bed, I felt a deep 
satisfaction and a spiritual glow. God had given me a sign-
he would let me serve as his conduit, and he would bring 
people to listen. He had chosen me to deliver his joyous 
message to the Jews, to fulfill the law, to ... 
     "Jesus? Are you awake?" Thomas asked, from his bed on 
other side of the room.
     "Yes, Thomas."
     "You know, Jesus, Mother really believes that you 
turned the water into wine. And so did most of the guests."
     "But I explained. I told them all that it was just a 
misunderstanding."
     "Well, you may have told them, but you didn't convince 
them. You performed the miracle on request, just when the 
skeptic demanded it."
     "That was just accident. It was like Moses splitting 
the Red Sea."
     There was a moment of silence from across the room. 
"Now you really must explain yourself!" Thomas said. 
     I explained to him what Simon Magus had said, about the 
mirage and how Moses had taken advantage of it. To my 
surprise Thomas seemed to accept the explanation without the 
soul-searching and torment that the revelation had caused 
me. 
     "So maybe," Thomas said, "the wine wasn't accidental. 
Maybe the Lord gave you a miracle today, just as he gave one 
to Moses, because you needed one."
     "Then why didn't God just make me eloquent?" I asked.
     "Like Moses?" Thomas answered sarcastically. "Maybe the 
Lord prefers poor speakers."
     "John is eloquent."
     "And he was so taken by his own rhetoric that he 
couldn't understand what you were trying to tell him."
     Maybe Thomas was right, I thought. Speak not in 
powerful rhetoric, but in gentle whispers. "Nevertheless, 
Thomas, I cannot teach truth by deception. Tomorrow I'll 
explain the wine to Mother, and to everyone who will 
listen." 
     
     
     
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THE SINS OF JESUS
End of Chapter 25
     
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