When Jesus Wept

Chapter 2



In spite of my sorrow, I welcomed the sun each day. Work was my one consolation. The vines of the House of Lazarus were lush and beautiful. My winemaker was a thin, sun-parched raisin of a fellow named Samson. He had spent his life in the vineyards and risen through the ranks as a laborer to become one of the finest vintners in the land. Under his supervision my vineyards flourished, and the Lazarus estate wines were praised in the halls of the great.

Very early one morning I mounted the white mare to survey my property. Samson preferred to ride a donkey, which allowed the little man to be closer to the ground. Three of Samson’s pet goats followed after us.

“You see, sir, I bring my own ‘cheesemakers’ with us. Very good with wine and dried apricots.” Samson whistled to the goats, whose pleasant faces seemed to smile in agreement.

We rode through the vines planted on the rocky limestone of the south-facing vineyard. The fruit on these vines was smaller and the foliage less exuberant than the opposite side of the hill.

When I commented on this, Samson slid off his obedient mount, patted his goats, and leaned in to examine a tight cluster of grapes. He plucked two berries, giving me one and holding the other in his open palm. “Inhale the aroma, sir.”

I obeyed. The fragrance was rich and sweet. “Ahhhh,” I breathed.

Samson was pleased with my response. He gestured, and together we popped the berries into our mouths at the same moment. The flavor burst on my tongue. I let the juice linger.

“Good,” I said.

“An understatement, sir, if I may be so bold.”

“Intense,” I corrected.

He plucked a bunch and handed it up to me. “Breakfast. It’s good to be alive on such a morning as this, if I may say so, sir.”

“Good. Yes. But still not easy.”

Samson joined me in our impromptu meal. With a wave he embraced the struggling vines. “These are your most faithful vines, sir. They struggle for water every season. Set their roots deep in search of every drop. Pull flavor from the limestone and thin soil. And their clusters are filled with passion for life.”

I agreed. “This south field will make our finest wine this year.”

“Every year, sir. I do admire the heart in these vines.” He held a deep purple grape up to the light. “Not like their brother vines, who have an easy existence growing on the opposite side of this same hill. Not so much flavor in the fruit. Grown from the same cuttings. Planted the same year. But an abundance of water and less harsh growing conditions in the northwest field has made the grapes … hmmm. If I may say, sir … the vines on the north produce more fruit but with much less character.”

I held another grape to my lips and sucked the juice. “I once heard my father say he would pull out these vines and plant something else.”

“Your father was a fig grower at heart. Not a winemaker, begging your pardon,” Samson suggested.

“You talked him out of that, if I recall.”

“I had to prove him wrong, sir, if I may say so.”

“And so you have done.”

Samson glanced toward the fading pastels as the sun rose above the horizon. “Vineyards. The only crop I know where a hardship in the maturing makes the end result exquisite.” He turned his face toward me. Behind his drooping eyelids I saw that he understood my hardship.

“What about a righteous man like my grandfather?” I challenged. “When Herod the Great took his vineyards?”

The old man leapt upon his donkey, then hesitated, considering his response. “There are hardships, some injustices, which only God can address. I am not a scholar of Torah as you are, sir, but I know the Scriptures pertaining to vineyards. If I may say, the case of what happened to your grandfather and the ancient vineyards of your family—is this not what the evil king Ahab did in stealing the vineyards of Naboth? In the time of the prophet Elijah, when Elijah preached against Ahab and Jezebel. And she had Naboth slandered and murdered in order to steal his vineyard.”

“I remember well the story. And its conclusion. Such an act brought God’s judgment on Ahab and his queen.”

Samson waited for me to ride on. “Do you recall all of it, sir?”

I recounted the tale. “Ahab and Jezebel killed Naboth, the good vintner, and ripped out the ancient vines in order to plant a vegetable garden.”

“And for murder and the theft and destruction of the vines, God’s justice was fierce against those two.”

“No bringing back the life of Naboth. Or replanting the vineyard.”

“Heaven, they say, is a very big place with many beautiful vineyards. The Lord once showed my heart that Naboth lives. Naboth is in heaven … alive and happy now. Naboth and his family tend ancient vines for the Ancient of Days. That heavenly vineyard produces wine we only dream of. But we who follow the words of the Lord will one day taste the heavenly wine.”

“Omaine. And I will look forward to that day.” I agreed with my lips, but my heart questioned that evil men like Herod could rip out my ancestors’ vines.

We rode west toward the village of Bethphage, the House of Unripe Figs, which stood between Bethany and Jerusalem. As we approached the western boundary of my property, I saw a familiar hill. The beautiful vineyard and fig orchard before us had once belonged to my mother’s father. Through injustice and treachery, it had been confiscated by old Herod the Butcher King forty years earlier and was now part of the royal estate of Herod Antipas. I knew what had provoked Samson to discuss ancient history, modern politics, and divine justice.

“Bikri,” I murmured. The vision of my grandfather’s betrayer, now a wizened, pitiful old cripple, rose in my mind.

“Bikri, indeed, if I may say so, sir. Falsely denouncing your grandfather, of blessed memory. Never was a finer man, nor a kinder, nor a more generous, than your mother’s father, whose name you bear.” Samson spat noisily and messily before wiping his chin on his sleeve. “Thrown in prison by old Herod on the word of a scoundrel like Bikri.”

“They say Bikri was afraid for his own life.”

Samson bristled. “Even so! He was supposed to be your grandfather’s friend! And it wasn’t just fear. It was greed! Now Herod Antipas holds title to what should have come to you.”

“Never mind,” I urged, despite dark thoughts of my own.

Evil, it seemed, was never completely vanquished. The demons merely disappeared for a time and then claimed another host willing to do their bidding. Just as King Ahab of old had located false witnesses against Naboth, Herod had carried out a similar plot against my grandfather, except that my grandfather died in prison before his trial.

Shaking off the grim recollections, I added, “People say old Herod went through many horrors before he died. And we all know what became of Bikri. Father took me to gaze down on Bikri twice a year as I was growing up. Passover and the Day of Atonement. We always stood on the parapet above the portico where Bikri lays. Father said to me, ‘Remember, son. Bikri is an example of God’s justice.’ I go there still when I am tempted to doubt God is a just and righteous judge.”

“Struck down in his prime before he spent half of the bribe money he received and now lives as a friendless cripple most of forty years,” Samson agreed. “God is just … at least in the case of Bikri. Still, I miss your grandfather. No bringing him back. And what he missed. The joy of watching his grandchildren grow up. I’m of an age now, dreams of grandchildren for me and Delilah. That’s my goal.” He patted the donkey and mused awhile as we rode. “It was wrong to steal his vineyard, wasn’t it, sir?”

We passed the time in silence, each of us trying to reconcile what we believed of a just and merciful God with the injustice and evil all around us. I saw Samson give me several sideways glances, as if regretting bringing up painful memories.

Finally, deciding to change the subject, Samson passed the remainder of his grapes to me. “Sir, have you considered what you will name this year’s vintage? In light of all that these vines have struggled with? All the hardship they have so faithfully endured to present you with such a gift as this harvest will bring?”

Until that moment, I had not considered what I would have stamped on the clay amphora that would hold this wine. “I will name it Eliza. There will never be another like her.”

“Excellent choice, sir. Most appropriate. This will be the finest wine ever made in the winery of the House of David ben Lazarus.”



As the grapes ripened and neared harvest, John the Baptizer preached about a spiritual harvest. He became more strident in his message. He called Herod and his wife adulterers and compared them rightly to Jezebel and King Ahab. As for the politically appointed religious leaders, the Baptizer told them to their faces that they were vipers and false shepherds who had betrayed God and his beloved people. Just like the prophet Elijah, John made enemies of many dangerous men that summer.



Judah again came to supper. John the Baptizer was on his mind.

Judah washed his broad hands and patted his muscled stomach. “I am full and happy,” he said to Martha. Then he turned to me. “So. When will you be ready to journey to the Jordan to see this prophet for yourself? Can we leave tomorrow, David?”

I trusted my sister and my steward with managing the vineyards and the fields in my absence. Martha was a woman of strength and good sense.

“All right, then. I am curious about this prophet … curious, if nothing else. A few days’ journey. Always best to see for myself.”

“It’s settled, then,” Judah concluded, acting as if I could not see the wink he gave my sister, acknowledging the success of their plot. “I’ll bring the horses round in the morning.”