Excerpt

Footsteps of St. Peter, The Gospel Years - Book II from Judean chronicles

“Peter—Peter.”

“Simon, that’s you. Jesus is calling.” Andrew said.

“I’m supposed to answer to Peter?”

“That’d be my guess.”

I’d hurried up front.

“Peter. I’m glad you came.” Jesus didn’t break stride. “Do you mind if I call you Peter?”

“Does it matter?” At least he asked.

“Some.”

“I’ve gotten use to Simon.”

“I like Peter. You’ll see.”

What was I to say to that?

“Why a wedding? Why Cana?”

“My mother Mary asked me. She went to help her cousin with the arrangements. Mother loves weddings. What woman doesn’t?”

“Good point.”

“You like weddings?”

“Well, one in particular.”

“Of course. Fine wife you have.”

“You know her?”

“You’d be surprise what I know.” Jesus was about to laugh but didn’t.

What shocked us all when we topped the hill, all of Cana was there and then some. Jammed streets. Crowded shops. Children ran every which-way. Music loud enough to wake the dead. Tables lined down the center square. Servants dressed in white dashed up and down fanning flies off the platters. Everyone was dressed so nice and I looked like yesterday’s catch.

“That’s Mother.” Jesus pointed to the lady ushering a man with a jug to the head table. “As you can see, she takes charge.”

We followed Jesus through the middle of the party. I think they’d been at this for days. No surprise, weddings go for a week if the wine holds out.

“Come, my son, dance with me.” Mary hooked his arm and swung him off to the crowd, looking too young to be his mother.

I sat and watched. Everyone sang and danced, ate and drank. The last I’d danced was my wedding day, but I couldn’t resist and joined the throng. If Joanna saw me now she’d have me locked up. It wasn’t long before I’d worked up a sweat and looked for a glass. But no wine—anywhere. I didn’t want to be rude, but I was thirsty and knew someone should be embarrassed.

“Son, they have run completely out of wine.” Mary took Jesus’ hand.

“And, what does that have to do with me?”

“Please.”

“Dear, Mother, I know you know I can fix this, but it is not time for me to reveal myself.”

“It’s my cousin.” Then she told two servants to mind her son.

Jesus pointed the servants toward two water vats and they filled their wine jugs. I knew these were temple vats, ceremonial washing vats of water. Water—plain water. I thought the problem was wine, but the servants stared at the jugs, then at each other. They rushed to the wine steward.  He took a sip and served the bridegroom.

“Wonderful, this is wonderful,” the bridegroom tried to stand. What would be wonderful about water? Could he be too drunk to tell the difference between wine and water?

I told you, I was hot and thirsty, so I had to try this—water—myself. The servants filled the pitchers, I grabbed a glass and poured it full. My mouth so dry I didn’t care about wine anymore, just needed something. I sloshed back a gulp of the best wine my throat ever knew. I wiped my mouth, looked at the glass—amazed—filled it again and flung it back. I’d never heard of a host saving the best for the last. Wait, this came from the vats. Water vats. Plain water into fine wine—that’s a miracle.

“Simon.” Andrew yanked my sleeve.

“What?”

“We’re leaving.”

“So soon?”

Now, I’d been awestruck, but this was beyond that. Was I the only one that saw this? No, we all did. Jesus said if we knew what was good for us we’d keep this to ourselves. He didn’t put it like that, but that’s what he meant. Two glasses of wine and my head spun.

Water into wine had some serious commercial potential. It’s good I was there.