When Jesus Wept - By Bodie Page 0,100

on the flagstones. Scooping the remaining lotion up with her hands she applied it to Jesus’ hair.

Judas raised his chin and said with utter contempt, “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? Why has this woman been keeping this back from us? It’s worth a year’s wages!”

Jesus addressed Judas, but he kept his gaze fixed on Mary. When he gestured, she raised her downturned face, and he looked into her eyes. “Leave her alone. It was intended she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.”1

I couldn’t keep my thoughts from returning then to my vineyard. The grapes, so carefully tended, had to be crushed before they became wine. Even then the juice had to undergo a transformation before being released from the tomb of the barrels.

What in Jesus’ words put all that in my mind?

What did it all mean, and when would I fully understand?

Chapter 34

Like the spokes of a celestial wheel, radiant beams jutted up from the far eastern horizon before the coming of the sun. Pink and orange banners streaked the sky. The first day of the week that ushered in Passover began with a coronet of golden light, as if heralding the advent of a king.

Somehow the word had gone out overnight that Jesus of Nazareth had returned to my home in Bethany. When I awoke early on that morning, entire villages of pilgrims were camped all around my property. Orchards and vineyards were planted thick with thousands of travelers. My fields offered a rich harvest of eager souls awaiting the touch of the Master Vinedresser.

The question on everyone’s lips was whether Jesus would enter the city or not. Everyone knew there were threats on his life. He had come this far, returning from exile in Ephraim, but would he challenge the authorities and go to the Temple?

What would the Romans do? If they suspected the least chance of a riot, they might disperse the assembly with clubs.

Jesus did not leave the crowds waiting in suspense for long. Gathering his disciples around him, he summoned me to his side. “Take Peniel with you,” he said. “Go into the village up ahead. There you will find a donkey tied, together with its colt, which has never been ridden. Bring them to me. And if anyone asks you why you’re untying them, tell them, ‘The Master has need of them.’ “1

As we approached Bethphage, I saw a curl of smoke drifting up from the chimney of Patrick’s cottage. When we rounded the hillside, Patrick’s vineyard came into view. Derelict the year before, now the black and twisted ancient trunks were bursting with new life. Covered in leafy green canopies, the rows saluted the morning.

Tied to the thickest, oldest trunk of the ancestor vine, like a brace of giant ripe grapes, were a pair of dark, wine-red donkeys. “Happiness and her colt Joyful,” I remarked to Peniel. “I should have known.”

As Peniel and I began to untie the mare and her colt, Patrick emerged from his home. Shielding his eyes against the glare of the morning sun, he demanded, “What are you doing there?”

“Ho, Patrick,” I returned. “The Master has need of them.”

The words Jacob prophesied over his son Judah more than two thousand years earlier struck me like a thunderbolt:

The scepter will not depart from Judah,

nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet,

until he to whom it belongs shall come

and the obedience of the nations shall be his.

He will tether his donkey to a vine,

his colt to the choicest branch;

he will wash his garments in wine,

his robes in the blood of grapes.2

Jacob’s words were about Jesus! About this very moment! Jesus was the heir of Judah, the king predicted centuries before! The prophetic fulfillment was his; the time was now!

“Lazarus?” Patrick said, puzzled by my reverie.

“Sorry! What?”

“Jesus is going into the city, then?”

I shook my head to clear it. “On his way even now. Peniel and I will meet him on the road.”

“And we will join you,” Patrick returned. “Adrianna and I wouldn’t miss this!”

By the time we led the pair of donkeys halfway back to Bethany, a swirling cyclone of worshipers reached and engulfed us. At the center of the storm was Jesus. With him were my sisters and his disciples and his mother.

Sweeping my cloak from around my shoulders, I flung it across Joyful’s back. Peniel did the same. Peter and Andrew tied these