The father of the bride was furious. ‘But how could it have
happened?’
‘I am very
sorry sir.’
‘Sorry? That
won’t do!’ He shoved his hands into the pockets of his fine suit. ‘Look, I’ve
got guests here who were invited to come from miles and miles round, and they
are entitled to celebrate with me and my daughter and her new husband today and
tomorrow and probably Thursday as well, but right now, thanks to you and your
inept planning, I am embarrassed in front of them. My party has only just begun
and I shall gain a reputation as a skinflint.’
‘I understand
your irritation…’
‘You what?
You have no idea of how I am feeling! I am close to becoming furious with you.
I don’t know what to say or to think. Where is your boss?’
The man
shuffled and examined his feet. ‘He is out of town, sir.’
‘Well, go
fetch him from wherever he is and mention my name and remind him that we made
this booking some time ago, when my daughter was pledged to be married. Tell
him what has happened and get him to arrange a fresh delivery by nightfall. We
can discuss financial arrange-ments later, but I must be able to offer my
guests a drink.’
‘But sir, I
don’t know where he will be able to get more stocks so quickly…’
‘Be that as
it may, it’s his problem, isn’t it? Go, now, before I lose my temper. Go! No,
wait! Is there enough for everyone to eat?’
‘Yes, sir,
the main courses are now all distributed but the palate cleansing course and
the sweet course have not yet been served.’ He was skilled at thinking on his
feet. ‘And the barbecue is still cooking the chicken, the lamb and the fish,
along with flatbread, rice, mashed yams, couscous and some vegetables. And
there is the cake as well.’
‘Well, then
that’s good. So you’d better get going now! Be back before sunset, won’t you?
We can eke it out if we are careful and serve half-glassfuls and ration what is
left. This is ridiculous! How could it have been overlooked? No, don’t answer,
just go! Sunset, I warn you… Go! Go!’
The nervous
man left, in a hurry. At the gateway, he was passed as another dozen or so
guests arrived. They looked dusty, tired and thirsty, and were carrying their
invitations in expectation. They had missed the main course, but they could
always fill up on cake, thought the nervous, fast-thinking caterer’s assistant.
He returned to Cana, as promised, by sundown, arriving on
a wagon loaded with several pitchers of low-grade, inexpensive wine hurriedly bought
from a vineyard not known for quality. It was probably going to be inadequate,
but his hope was based on the normal practice of serving the best wine first.
Experienced caterers reckoned that once most of the guests had become slightly
squiffy (or worse), bringing out drinks of a poorer quality would go unnoticed.
His wagon was unloaded by the team of waiters and
servants. But the pitchers were immediately placed in the storehouse, and not, as
he expected, brought in to replenish the jugs on the serving tables. He sought
out the father of the bride (the master of the banquet), eager to show that he
had returned, as promised, before sundown, and with supplies of wine. He was
also eager to discover why the order had been given for the flasks to be stored
rather than used to serve the thirsty wedding guests.
‘Tell me, what’s
going on?’
‘Ah, you have
returned… yes, well, that is what we said, I suppose.’
‘Yes, I have
brought the wine I promised, ready to supply to the guests.’
‘But look, my
dear fellow; the guests have all they require.’ It was true: there was no cup
unfilled, and at every table there were several jugs filled with wine. Every
guest appeared to have (at least) sufficient wine inside them, too.
The catering
assistant (CA) was confused. ‘How can… ah, I suppose you found reserves of wine
while I was away?’ And then a fearful thought struck him. ‘Or perhaps you
thought you should hire another catering supplier, just in case I broke my
promise and didn’t return…’ His tone was moderately aggressive, as he began to
become enraged, thinking he may have been double-crossed.
‘We found no
reserves of wine, and we bought nothing at all from anyone,’ the master of the
banquet (MB) said, reassuringly.
‘So where has
all this wine magically appeared from, then?’
‘Funny you
should put it like that!’ said MB with a smile. ‘What happened was that a dozen
or so working men turned up as guests – they were invited, but they were not
all people who are used to this sort of social event, if I can put it like
that. I think they turned up not long after you went, so we had already served
most of the food and drink, and evidently they were thirsty. Fairly shortly
afterwards one of the guests spotted that we were running low on wine, but
rather than mention it to me or embarrass the bridegroom, she spoke first to
one of the dozen, who was, I think, one of her sons. But then she approached
the servants and told them to do exactly what her son said.’
‘So, tell me,
are your servants in the habit of obeying instructions from guests, rather than
checking with you?’
‘As a rule,
they are good and faithful servants, but on this occasion, they started to do
what he was ordering.’
‘Makes little
sense to me. But go on…’
‘Well, they
were told to fetch the large stone jars we use to get the water for ceremonial
washing…’
‘What the
huge ones?’
‘Uh-huh, the
ones that hold about 25 gallons each,’ confirmed MB.
’25 gallons?
What’s that in real money?’
‘About 110
litres.’
‘Okay…’
‘And there
were six of them.’
CA was
becoming increasingly amazed. ‘And they were all full up?’
‘Yes, he
insisted that they should all be filled to the brim.’
‘So, go on…
what did he do with 660 litres of water?’
‘Well he told
one of the servants to draw off some of the water and serve it to me in a cup.’
‘Hang on –
did you know about this water business?’
‘No, this all
happened while I was trying to think of a way of telling the bridegroom that
the wine was running out at his wedding. I knew my daughter would be livid when
she found out. So I had no idea.’
‘And this
servant gives you a cup of water, right?’
‘Well, not
exactly.’ MB paused, trying to find a way of expressing what happened without
sounding ridiculous. But he could not make his extraordinary tale conform to
the description normal. ‘He gives me this cup, and I think he’s given
me a cup of water, and he knows he’s given me a cup of water, but when I taste
the water, it’s not water at all!’
‘What?’
‘H’mm, not
water at all. It tastes like the finest wine that I have ever had. It was
bright, fruity, smokey and spicey, with incredible depth and complex flavour
combinations, wonderful caramel aromas, a long finish of course, and
characteristics of stone fruit with full-bodied bell pepper and flamboyant
toastiness and voluptuous, supple tannins.’ His voice drifted off as he
finished his description, knowing he had sounded over-enthusiastic, but also
feeling he had not done it justice.
CA had never
heard anything like it. ‘How can a wine be both smokey and voluptuous? And caramel-flavoured
pepper sounds pretty nasty to me. I fear your description does not…’ His tirade
was silenced as a servant handed him a cup of the liquid under scrutiny.
He sampled
the aroma, and his expression changed instantly from cynicism to interest.
He took a sip
of the wine, and rolled it around in his mouth, letting the liquid flow across
his tongue and gums, back and forth, encouraging flavour to invade his taste
buds. His eyebrows gave away his surprise and pleasure.
He drew air
in through his mouth, allowing the wine to release its depth. He blinked in
astonishment and eagerness as it delivered punch and delicacy, right across the
board. His pupils dilated in delight.
He swallowed
the mouthful, and remained still for several moments as the long finish of
smoke and gentle acidity completed its work. He smacked his lips and licked
them.
‘That is
utterly… magnificent,’ he said, with wonder and no little emotion. ‘It is the
nectar of heaven; the rich pressings and treatment of the most perfect
combination of grapes and crystal clear mineral-laced water I have had the
pleasure to encounter. I’m shocked, amazed, silenced, astonished, delighted and
very jealous.’ He stopped babbling and re-tasted the wine, once again savouring
the quality, complexity and sheer joy it possessed and released in wagonloads.
His rapture
was such that MB waited, rather than continuing with the story. He signalled to
the servant to refill the jug, knowing that CA would want to keep on tasting.
Eventually CA
asked ‘And you say this came from where?’
‘I was as
astonished as you are. I had no idea where it had come from, but my first
thought was to go to the bridegroom and congratulate him on storing up this
astonishing wine, and then having the brilliance to save it for when the –
forgive me – frankly inferior wine you provided was all gone.’
‘Nothing to
forgive, my friend! Of course my plonk CCC provided is inferior! I would say
that if there is another wine anywhere at any price that matched this one you
have just given me, I would certainly not serve it at a wedding, but perhaps
only at a coronation or similarly rare and royal occasion.’ A thought crossed
his mind. ‘So the bridegroom must have been storing this fabulous vintage and
has served it now; may I speak to him about obtaining some and perhaps meeting
the vintner who has produced this champion of champions?’
‘I shall
certainly introduce you to the bridegroom; but first, you have not allowed me
to finish the story. You see I did not send you off on a wild rock badger
chase, to fetch quantities of inferior wine once the original shipment ran out.
My request – yes, demand – for more wine was genuine. When I spoke to the
bridegroom, I told him how astonished I was that he had held this glorious
nectar in reserve, because – as I explained – it is usual for hosts to serve
the best wine first, and then bring out the vin
de table once the guests have had plenty of the decent stuff. He shocked me
when he denied having planned anything of the sort. He was as eager as I had
been that you would fetch more wine. He has, like me, no idea from where this
extraordinary, glorious vintage has come.’
‘I don’t
understand,’ said CA. ‘You had no reserves, and the bridegroom had none either?
I go chasing off across the countryside and rush back to Cana with flagons of
cheap plonk, and yet meanwhile this superb wine turns up from nowhere?’
‘Not exactly
nowhere. I was telling you about the ceremonial jars and the cup of water from
which they drew them? Well, the guest with the pushy mother somehow performed a
miracle with the water.’
CA sat still
for a moment, while the implication of this sank in. ‘So, you are saying he
turned the water into wine?’
‘Yes.’
‘The water in
the ceremonial jars?’
‘Yes.’
‘The six
ceremonial jars, full of water, are now full of wine?’
‘Yes.’
‘So we have
the most magnificent, glorious wine anyone had ever tasted, being served to
slightly squiffy guests, just sitting around in six ceremonial jars, each
containing 110 litres. That means we have 660 litres of wine. That’s…’ He
paused as he made the calculation. ‘Eight hundred and eighty bottles of wine
that could sell for a major fortune per bottle. It would, of course, be wrong
to call it vintage, since it was only produced this afternoon. This is as
nouvelle as a wine can possibly be! But that’s by the by, really. The flavour,
depth, aroma, presence and finish are quite superb. I think we need to work together on this.
What we should do is to decant some more of one of the jars, so we shall be
able to keep on serving to the top table and any guests who turn up tomorrow or
Thursday, but immediately switch all the other guests to the cheap plonk I just
brought in. Then we should take the ceremonial jars to my brother’s bottling
plant, and have a label designed and lay down most of the bottles and start
marketing the rest. We should sell a few cases at a time, to ensure the top
people have a little of what they can be told is a limited edition speciality
wine, since then they will become willing to pay top drachma for more. You and
I are going to make a serious amount of wealth from this, my friend!’
No-one knows if their plan worked out.
Except if it
had, perhaps history would have known about it. And thus far, no-one has ever
told the full story.
Yes, the
gospel writer John Barzebedee gave away some details, but he was more bothered
about the identity of the pushy woman’s son, and missed the entrepreneurial
main point. He was also very keen, it seems, to get on with the rest of the
story, and so he kind of rushed over this one, which he threw away as a sort of
throat-clearance in his eagerness to get on with the temple-clearing, healings,
other miracles, speeches and sacrifice of the pushy woman’s son.
Rumour has it
that a well-known teacher of those days sometimes spoke about wine as being a
holy symbol, and a drink of fellowship. Towards the end of his life, he even
told his followers that the wine they were drinking at the time was the last
taste he would have of the stuff until they were all together in heaven. This
strongly implies that there will be fruit of the vine in eternity. But I cannot
possibly imagine how Celestial Chardonnay, Glory Grigio, Heavenly Hock or even
Kingdom Cabernet could be better than the Miracle Merlot we tasted this
afternoon.
And what you
have just read, ladies and gentlemen, is the plain truth, told for the first
time.
Wine runs out – who’s responsible
for replenishment?
Create a graph plotting Quantity of Available Wine
against Time, emphasising key moments in the story
The caterer did his best to save the face of the father
of the bride. Why did Jesus feel the need to step in?
How is the way this miracle is performed
echoed in the way Jesus feeds the 5000?
What can we learn about God from this amazing miracle?
Forgive
me, Governor, but I would make this request of you; please allow me to take his
body from the soldiers assigned to execute him, once they have done their duty.
