When Jesus Wept (20 page)

Jesus worked with the men, shoulder to shoulder, harvesting the crop.

After all the grapes were harvested, with great joy Jesus waded into the wine vat to tread the grapes beside me.

It was, for those of us whose vines had survived the ravage, a time of great celebration. A wonderful banquet was prepared for all who had worked so hard to save my vineyard. As music played, we feasted on quail fattened by the locusts. I noticed when Jesus left his place. He stood on the hilltop where the frontline battle against the locusts had been fiercest.

Bringing a plate heaped with food to share, I joined him.

We sat on the hewn stump of a fig tree and ate as we surveyed the vineyards and orchards beyond my property.

“You fought and won a hard battle. Well done, my friend.”

“I lost about a third of the harvest.”

“You saved two-thirds.” It was like Jesus to measure the positive. “But look over there.”

The stripped vines of Herod’s holdings were a sharp contrast to the still lush foliage of Faithful Vineyard.

I said to Jesus, “In Jerusalem and Tiberias, they are saying you called down a curse on Herod Antipas because of John.”

“The wicked call a curse upon themselves. The righteous live in the midst of blessing, though everything around them be devoured.” Jesus swept his hand toward the devastated fields. “Whose vineyard is that?”

“The vines once belonged to my grandfather. The old butcher-king Herod trumped up charges and stole the land.”

“How do you feel seeing your grandfather’s vines destroyed?” he asked me.

“Sad. I think of the dreams my grandfather had when he planted those vines. He would not have imagined it would come to this.”

“How did your vines survive and Herod’s did not?”

“We fought to save them. Patrick, my servant, fought because
now he’s won his freedom. Samson, my vinedresser, fought because he loves me and loves these vines as if they are his own. We didn’t give up. And when the oil for the smudge pots was gone and we could do no more, the Lord sent a wind and a flock of quail to eat the locusts.”

Jesus focused on the contrast. “How is it that the vineyard of Herod is completely stripped? Not a shred of green remains. All his crop lost.”

It was a simple question. Easy to answer. “The laborers hired by Herod’s overseer gave up before the battle began. When the insects dropped down, the men didn’t fight to drive them off. They were paid to work, but they have no love for the vineyard. No care for the outcome. It’s nothing to them if everything is lost.”

“The hireling doesn’t care, but the one who owns the land and plants, and the vinedresser who tends the vines, now there are lions who will fight to save the vineyard!” Jesus began to sing the old psalm:

“Restore us, O God;

cause your face to shine,

and we shall be saved!

You have brought a vine out of Egypt;

You have cast out the nations, and planted it.

You prepared room for it,

and caused it to take root,

and it filled the land.”
¹

I joined him in singing. Jesus’ voice was a clear, sweet baritone.

“The hills were covered with its shadow,

and the mighty cedars with its boughs.

She sent out her boughs to the sea,

and her branches to the river.

Why have you broken down her hedges

so that all who pass by the way pluck her fruit?

Return, we beseech you, O God of Hosts,

look down from heaven and see.”
²

In that moment I noticed for the first time that the places in my vineyard where Jesus had walked before had remained completely undamaged during our war against the locusts. The song continued:

“Visit this vine

and the vineyard which your right hand has planted,

and the branch that you made strong for yourself.

Let your hand be upon the man of your right hand,

upon the son of man

whom you made strong for yourself.

Then we will not turn back from you;

revive us and we will call upon your name.

Restore us, O L
ORD
God of hosts;

cause your face to shine,

and we shall be saved!”
³

The song came to an end, but I did not want to stop singing. I sang the last line of the chorus alone.

Jesus crossed his arms, his face shining. He said to me, “Lazarus, do you understand?”

I nodded once. “Yes, Lord.”

Then he said, “My Father is the Vinedresser. It is written by the prophets and it is true, ‘The Lord will restore the years the locusts have eaten.’ “
⁴

Chapter 19

P
atrick was given his freedom, but there was much more to my promise. He had asked for a wife. He had asked for freedom and the hand of Adrianna, the cook’s helper.

Samson was Adrianna’s foster father. The winemaker came to me in the company of his round and robust wife, whom he called Delilah because she had so captured his heart. Samson was a free man, yet his wife was a second-generation slave in the House of Lazarus. It was known that the House of Lazarus had the finest winemaker and the finest cook in the land. The couple had adopted Adrianna when she had arrived at my estate as a small orphan of about five years of age. Adrianna had possessed no skills. She was a shivering, lonely little girl when she came to us. Samson begged me for the favor of bringing her home to his childless wife. Little Adrianna became a part of the family, learning the culinary skills of Delilah, and was grafted into our faith and our ways.

Delilah and Samson stood before me on behalf of their daughter. “Sir, Patrick is a good man, as we all know. And now he has asked for the freedom of himself—”

“Which I have granted,” I said proudly.

Samson continued, “And for the freedom and the hand of my daughter.”

I nodded. “A fair bargain, considering the saving of Faithful Vineyard.”

Samson’s eyebrows went up slightly as he considered what he wanted to tell me. “Though he is not a Jew, as we are, he believes in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.”

I agreed with the good character of Patrick. “And so your daughter, who is also not descended from Abraham, is a good match for him.”

Delilah shifted uneasily and did not speak, though her lip trembled. “Sir, neither am I a Jew, but am descended from slaves of Gaul. Yet I would not return to my forefathers’ homeland if I were set free.”

I did not understand the emotion in Delilah’s face. The fear in her eyes. “What is it, good woman?”

Samson put his hand on Delilah’s arm. “Sir, Patrick is a Briton. Yes, he fears our God, and yet now that he has his freedom, he says he may take my daughter far, far away from this place and her mother. We have no child but Adrianna.”

“Perhaps, sir,” Delilah blurted, “he will take my girl back to his own kin in Britannia.”

Samson continued, “Here she is a slave in the household of a kind master, at least. But when she belongs to a husband, I will have no way to protect her if … ”

I suddenly understood. I had pledged the hand of Adrianna to Patrick without knowing all that was in Patrick’s mind. It had not occurred to me that I might lose my barrelmaker and, much worse, they might lose their daughter. “Has Patrick said he wished to return to his own country?”

“Not in so many words, sir. I was supportive of the match, but now I’m frightened. He speaks of his family in the great city of Verulamium where Isis is worshiped. Britannia is a godless place, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so. The Romans enforce their own ways upon the people. And if Patrick takes Adrianna away, we will see her no more.”

“Grandchildren,” Delilah whispered. “All I ever prayed for.”

“I gave the lad my word.” I stared at the seal upon my signet ring. “Patrick is a free man. And I have prepared the document to free your daughter.” Opening a leather folder, I displayed two documents. The first declared Adriana’s freedom. The second was the contract of marriage pledging Adrianna to Patrick. “Here. A
ketubah
.”

Delilah started to weep softly. “Oh, my baby girl. In a land of human sacrifice and demon practices!”

Samson patted her gently. “There, there, my dove. My angel. The Lord must surely go with her. Surely there are Jews in Britannia! Surely a synagogue among the pagan temples.”

The woman wept, drawing Martha to the door to gaze at our little gathering in sorrow.

Delilah cried, “But, sir, what shall I do? Oh, what shall I do without my baby girl near me?”

I could say no more. I had given my vow to Patrick in exchange for his efforts to save Faithful Vineyard. “I am at a loss how I can help. I gave my promise. If Patrick wishes to return to the far north … he will do what he will do. And there is nothing I can do to change what is.”

From the shadows, Martha cleared her throat. “Brother!” she declared. “There must be a way.” She stepped into the pool of light and set her hands on her broad hips in her determined way.

Delilah’s eyes shone with tears. Samson stared at her in surprise.

“Martha,” I greeted her.

She motioned for Samson and Delilah to leave us. “Shalom. There is work to do, Delilah. Supper to cook. Company coming. I will speak with my brother.”

The couple shuffled out of my chamber. Martha closed the door and whirled to face me. “Brother! What have you done?” I defended, “He asked me, and I—”

“He asked you!”

“To save the vines.”

“To save the vines, you sacrifice the wine? You are purest fool. Oh, you heartless creature! What have you done to sweet Delilah? And have you asked Adrianna if she wishes to be the wife of a pagan, one-legged barrelmaker from Britannia?”

She had me there. I had not thought to ask anyone. The girl was property, and I had the right to do as I wished. Freedom seemed a great gift. “My intentions were good. For the best, sister.”

“Ha!” She snorted, pivoted on her heel, and made for the door. “Come up with something fast, or you’ll have mutiny in the ranks.”

I had celebrated the end of a plague of locusts, yet now my house was a house of mourning.

At supper that night, Joseph of Arimathea the elder and Gamaliel, a great Torah scholar descended from a family of honorable Levites, sat at my table and feasted on lamb with mushrooms and wine sauce as we sipped the finest vintage yet created on my estate. Lamb, courtesy of Delilah and Adrianna. Wine, created by Samson, cured in barrels made by Patrick.

We had saved the vines, but now everything good and familiar seemed about to dissolve around me. I sucked the wine sauce from my lamb chop with a heavy heart.

Gamaliel commented, “Herod Antipas believes that Jesus of Nazareth is John the Baptizer raised from the dead.”

Joseph concurred. “The locusts fully destroyed the tet-rarch’s vines. He is casting around for who he can blame. Jesus is a sorcerer, some say. Did he cast a spell on the vines? Antipas, like his father, is driven by fear: fear of his Roman masters, of Pilate, of Caesar. Fear of what the people will do. Rebellion? Fear of his wife, Herodias. And now, after severing the head of a prophet at the demand of this woman, he fears that John the Baptizer is again alive and may do to him what Antipas himself has done to others.”

Delilah, eyes red with weeping, entered and cleaned away the main course. My guests pretended they did not notice her. As was proper, they complimented her as if she were not in the room. I tried very hard not to glance at her.

“Most excellent meal,” Gamaliel said to me. “I heard the Roman tribune mention the quality of your wines and the reputation of your cooks. A mother and daughter, is it?”

Delilah sniffed and wiped a tear with the back of her hand.

Joseph agreed within Delilah’s hearing. “Any household in all the empire would envy such a cook as this. You must never let the Gentiles suspect the skill of such a cook. They will steal her away to some far corner of the world.”

I replied. “Yes. A gift from God, she is. She has always been with our family.”

I heard a choked sob as Delilah padded quickly down the hallway.

Joseph leaned in. “Is she all right?”

I tasted the sweet honeyed pastry of our dessert. “Her daughter will be wed soon.”

Gamaliel licked his fingers. “Emotions of mothers run high in such times.”

Joseph returned to the subject. “This Jesus is truly a wonderworker. My son is fascinated by him.”

Gamaliel nodded. “The vineyards and orchards of Antipas. Stripped. I do not believe Jesus called down this plague upon him, but he will certainly be blamed for every calamity from now on. Good men are always suspected by evil men.”