miracle,” I agreed. “But you are wrong about one thing.”
“Eh!”
“Call me David. I am your master no longer. You are free!”
It was rumored among the rulers in Jerusalem that Jesus had called forth locusts from the abyss to devour the fields of those who approved of the execution of John the Baptizer. Herod Antipas, whose orchards and vines had been devastated both in Galilee and in Judea, alternated between rage and terror at what had come upon him.
I received a message from Mary that wherever Jesus was welcomed in Galilee, the locusts did not come. Mary’s vines were untouched, and her crop would be plentiful this year. She wrote that the Lord and his disciples were coming to Judea for the harvest and that she had invited them to stay with our family through the high holy days.
So it was that Jesus came down from Galilee with his disciples to Judea to stay with us at Bethany.
Seventy of his close followers labored beside us to gather and crush the grapes of Faithful Vineyard. That was when young Carta, British slave of Centurion Marcus Longinus, another of the Lord’s healed, came to live with us and apprentice as a winemaker.
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