When Jesus Wept - By Bodie Page 0,69

beneath the chuppah. As the vows between Patrick and Adrianna were sealed by the rabbi, women wept. Men smiled behind their beards, and I noticed that Adrianna no longer looked plain and plump. Love, it seemed, had made her beautiful.

The wedding feast went on for hours, with dancing and song and many, many toasts.

At last the celebration culminated in the presentation of the dowry and gifts.

Samson swayed a little as he raised his glass in the toast to his daughter and new son-in-law. “And finally”—he was misty-eyed as he spoke—”for the little girl who came to us with such a kind and loving heart. Our precious, beautiful, sweet, intelligent, well-spoken, and … beautiful Adrianna. Our dear daughter. Yes. So. Where was I?”

Delilah chirped, “Hurry up! The sun will come up soon!”

Samson raised his index finger as though testing the wind. “Ah. Yes. As I was saying. Adrianna. Dear, kindhearted, and precious girl. Leaving my home for another. So. Her mother and I wish to present to the couple … the gift of …” Samson spread his arms wide and waved his hand at Carta, who waited in the shadows. “Come on, then!”

A little off cue, Carta led out Samson’s favorite wine-red donkey. There was much applause as the creature stepped forward and nuzzled Samson affectionately. “No. No, I say. You don’t belong to me any longer.” He stroked her ears. “You are a pretty little thing. The color of a fine glass of wine.” He smiled at us. “Don’t you think she is a pretty little thing? Served me well. Her name is Happiness. Now here is a double blessing. Happiness is pregnant and will soon bear a fine foal for the happy couple. Along with Happiness, I pray my son-in-law will do his duty so that many grandchildren will bless my dear Delilah and myself. May Happiness always be with you, my daughter, dear Adrianna.”

Applause. Amens. Another ten toasts. And so happiness came at last to Patrick. Just after midnight, he lifted his bride onto the back of the beautiful donkey. We plucked our torches from the ground and began the procession to deliver the couple to their new cottage among my grandfather’s ancient vines.

“My beloved has gone down to his garden,

to the beds of spices,

to feed his flocks in the gardens,

and to gather lilies.

I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine;

he feeds his flock among the lilies.”2

We serenaded beside the ancestor vine at the head of the path. Patrick bade us shalom and carried his bride into the house. He kicked the door shut.

“My dove, my perfect one, is the only one.

The only one of her mother.

The favorite of the one who bore her.

The daughters saw her and called her blessed.”3

Chapter 23

My sister Mary brought Jesus and his disciples to stay with us in Bethany for a time during the season of Omer. Peniel, the boy Jesus healed of blindness, was with us, full of joy and constant wonder.

For seven weeks we marked the days from the escape of the Hebrew slaves from Egypt until the revelation of the law at Mount Sinai. Our hearts commemorated the journey from slaves of Pharaoh to servants of the Lord. Seven times seven days from Passover to Pentecost; it was a holy number. Each of the seven weeks represented a patriarch and the divine attributes of that man:

Abraham —Grace, Love

Isaac—Severity, Respect

Jacob—Beauty, Compassion

Joseph—Foundation, Loyalty

Moses—Victory, Efficiency

Aaron—Glory, Aesthetics

David—Majesty, Surrender

I had witnessed and come to believe that Jesus summed up all these divine attributes of God. But unlike our Fathers, there was no vice or weakness in Jesus to taint the perfect purity of his spirit. He was truly the only one without sin among us.

On this anniversary of Eliza’s passing, the Lord walked with me as the sun set over Faithful Vineyard. “Tell me, my friend, what has changed in your heart since last year?”

I thought a moment, then expressed what I knew but had never put into words. “I’m stronger now. Like Isaac. Even without my beloved. I’ve grown stronger through this long, lonely winter. Efficient like Moses. I have even surrendered to my loss … like David. But still not where I want to be, not altogether filled with the righteous attributes of the Fathers as I wish. Especially not filled with love, like Abraham. No compassion, like Jacob. So very far to go until I become …” I hesitated, feeling his gaze locked on me, listening.

“Until you become … what?”

“Until I am like you. All the positive qualities.”

We walked on