Publish the Word
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Yeshua -- 14, Cana

In the beginning. . .
was the word

 The Lord gave the word: great was the company of those that published it. Psalms 68:11

xiv Cana


A goat-hide drum summoned revelers to Cana, its

      heartbeating thrum carried across darkening hills.

The groom -- indigo-robed, girdled in red -- was head


of the snake that followed his singing: voices wove

     a loose cloth, an in and out canopy over the gathering

necklace of lights, a pitched glitter, ascending the valley's


upper road. The bride -- swathed in fuchsia and pearls,

     dangling garlands of oleander, freshets of spice --

tailed her apparelled maids' fluttering, silk gowns, all


bejeweled, in veiled lace, a cacophonous flock coming

     down. The wedding was brief; the feast went a week.

Mary of Nazareth and her son were guests, festive,


no doubt, dancing, maybe.  But when wine ran out, or

     grape juice, for the purists, the steward in charge

was prepared to miraculously vanish.  Mary told Yeshua


of the celebrants' plight.  A carpenter, not a vintner,

     he said, my houris not yet come. For the moment,

though, he was his mother's son, an answer to her


unasked question.  Six stone jars, filled with water,

     (150 gallons, more or less): the water waited,

imminently changeable in the intoxicating stillness


of an interval a thought of wine might take to pass

     from Yeshua into it.  His public ministry was a sip

away.  The master dipped the metal ladle. He drank.


His taste buds tingled, blossomed, burst, baffled

     the best was saved for last.  The party grew more

raucous.  Yeshua savored the merriment, his fleet joy.