Jesus, Wine, and Me
Jesus’ first miracle was always hard for me to accept.
For as long as I can remember I’ve had a complicated relationship with wine. At the age of thirteen, when it was my turn to serve as acolyte and help distribute communion, my parents gave me a firm warning: make sure you ask for the grape juice. Since I was to be taking communion first, without them by my side, they felt it necessary to remind me that I needed to take initiative and request the non-alcoholic option, something we did as a family religiously.
As a thirteen year old boy I was not the initiative-taking type. When the pastor got to me, feeling like the whole church (my parents included) were watching, I balked and didn’t ask for the grape juice. I accepted the wine and drank it down like the other lushes to my left and right. When we got to the car I could sense my parent’s disappointment all the way from the back seat. I vowed I would never drink alcohol, never let them down, again. Then we got to my uncle’s house later that afternoon and I found out that for lunch we were having brats—beer-battered brats. I almost started crying.
Throughout high school I never touched a drop of alcohol and shunned those who dared to. When I went to college I made sure it was a Christian school that forbade alcohol. I gladly signed the covenant that required my complete abstinence from drugs and strong…
