Seeing Grape Juice

Yesterday, I juiced grapes. There is not much to doing it. Cut the clusters. My husband did that. Rinse the clusters. Put them in the top section of the juicer. Pour water into the lower section of the juicer. Stack the sections. Turn on the heat. Wait. Eventually, grape perfume scents the house, and purple juice accumulates in the middle section of the juicer and overflows into the rubber spout. Then, I fill quart-sized canning jars, place the seals and rings, and let them cool. Seeing the deep purple juice standing on the counter is satisfying.

I thought about Jesus when I saw the juice. First, I thought about making wine. I don’t know much about making wine, but it seems complex and intensive. It requires more gadgetry, timing, and precision. I wondered, “How did they make wine in Jesus’s day?” Did they add sugar? And then, there is that business at the wedding. Water into wine? How did Jesus do that? Why did he need water? Apparently, he converted that water into some pretty good stuff. And why wouldn’t he? Maker of the universe making a bit of wine—it would be good. What else?

Second, I thought about the Eucharist, the blood, Communion. Jesus took juice from grapes and likened it to his blood. Drink it to remember. Remember what? The crucifixion? Sure. But what else? That he made wine at a wedding and that it was good? Sure. And all the other stories? Sure.

All of these stories tell about a God who does and makes things “good.” What is done is done well. I can make a simple form of juice and it is satisfactory. But I have a God who takes water and changes it into outstanding wine. So with my warm grape juice in hand . . . a toast . . . to the Maker-of-Grape-Juice.

Day twenty-three of the Thirty Days of Seeing