The Good Wine

The garnet wine lapped at the cup’s rim as he placed it back on the table. His friends’ talk swirled around him as he gazed into the liquid’s still surface. Wine – always served in celebration. His mind drifted to those cups shared with friends and Mama months ago in Cana. The remembrance pulled him into a smile. What a truly excellent vintage that had been!

He glanced up and considered each face around the room. Laughing, smiling – most of these good men were relishing the intimate, relaxing meal. Worry still gripped a couple, judging by their tense brows and taut necks; the wine had not yet achieved its loosening effect, softening the edges of fear and puzzlement. John’s eyes held a question now, but didn’t break the quiet between them. Though the Teacher’s look could never be cursory nor aloof, it yet could hold that sense of deepness, which indicated a moment that was being shared more with the Father than with them.

Intuitive John. He smiled again. But the mirthful expression faltered.

He gazed back into the wine cup, seeing instead a damp sponge whose pink color blurred with the blood beyond, streaming onto the hardened clay below.

Bitter, pungent alcohol – not fit really to be called wine. And so much blood.

But the picture in his mind shifted. Now he glimpsed a mirror image of tonight’s dinner – only the cringing fear of some was completely gone – overwhelming jubilation was felt, spilling over and over though the room was the same.

He saw himself, offering a crystal glass to his dear mother, so ecstatic in that home filled with abundant light.

Then a young man, arms lifted up, extending a beautiful gold chalice to heaven. His eyes were so earnest, his arms trembling faintly.

A little girl with glowing, chubby cheeks and excited, dancing eyes reaching for a goblet, its gold striking against the white lace of her veil.

So many hands, so many faces, so many dear ones reaching to accept that cup from him.

He suddenly realized the room was quiet, as if his friends had simultaneously realized He had been silent too long. He looked up. And smiled. Bravely. Lovingly. How he loved each one. And the young girl at the communion rail. The persevering priest at the altar. His mother. The Father.

It was time for the final gift.

He took the cup up again. And blessed it. “Take this.”