Take This Cup
ZONDERVAN
Take This Cup
Copyright © 2014 by Bodie Thoene and Brock Thoene
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan,
Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
ePub Edition © February 2014: ISBN 978-0-310-33600-6
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Thoene, Bodie, 1951-
Take this cup / Bodie & Brock Thoene.
pages cm. -- (Jerusalem chronicles ; Book Two)
ISBN 978-0-310-33598-6 (softcover)
1. Jesus Christ--Fiction. 2. Lazarus, of Bethany, Saint--Fiction. 3. Bible. New Testament--History of Biblical events--Fiction. I. Thoene, Brock, 1952- II. Title.
PS3570.H46T23 2014
813’.54--dc23 2013041150
Scriptures quotations marked NIV are from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION
®
, NIV
®
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.
®
Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the King James Version of the Bible, public domain.
Scripture quotations marked ESV are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version
®
(ESV
®
), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version
®
. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved. NKJV is a trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.
Note: the format and spellings of some Scripture passages have been changed for general consistency.
Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers printed in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Cover design: Kirk Douponce
Cover photography or illustration: Robin Hanley
Interior illustration: Ruth Pettis
Interior design: Katherine Lloyd, The DESK
Editing: Ramona Cramer Tucker, Sue Brower, Bob Hudson, Anna Craft
Printed in the United States of America
14 15 16 17 18 19 /RRD/ 23 22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For my prayer warrior stars, with love from Bodie
Every Friday at 5 o’clock we toast one another with these words:
“Here’s to the women who went before us, to those who will come after us, and to us . . .”
Contents
As a deer pants for water, so my heart longs for you, O Lord.
P
SALM
42:1
1
M
y mother’s name was Sarah. She was the fifth daughter of Boaz, a weaver of fine wool prayer shawls in Jerusalem. Sarah was taller than most men, ample hipped and heavy-set, with thick, curly hair, and wide green eyes in a square, practical face. Her teeth were straight and strong. Such things as teeth mattered.
Sarah’s weaving of prayer shawls was skilled, her work meticulous. Her shawls were worn by the Temple priests and pilgrims alike.
Sarah’s one flaw was that she walked with a limp. But her father was quick to remind everyone that Sarah was a cheerful, loving girl and a hard worker. She would bless any man in search of a good helpmate.
One after another, Sarah’s older sisters married. There were, however, no suitors for Sarah. Her limp, though not severe, was problematic. It was not easy for her to ascend and descend the hundreds of steps in Jerusalem. The streets were steep, and a woman’s duties of shopping in the souk and fetching water would surely be hindered by her handicap. And men desiring to be head of a household did not want the head of a woman taller than their own.
Year after year she hoped and prayed. But there was not one man in all of Israel who asked for Sarah’s hand in marriage.
Sarah resigned herself to remaining an unmarried virgin in her father’s house. Content with her life, she helped her mother and father in the little shop, located fourth from the high end of the Street of the Weavers.
Sarah’s place was at the entrance of the shop. There, she and the loom were a sort of fixture on the street. Sarah played the loom like an instrument. She sang in perfect rhythm with the movement. Passersby gathered in a half circle to watch and listen as she performed.
Sarah was twenty-three, well past marriageable age, the morning her mother’s distant cousin Lamsa ben Baruch entered the shop and fixed his steady gaze upon her as she worked.
“May I help you, sir?” Sarah’s mother asked as she braided and tied the knots on the four corners of the prayer shawl.
“Aye. If you are Rebekah, wife of the weaver Boaz, then I am your cousin Lamsa . . . here from the land of Gan Eden.”
Sarah’s mother squealed with delight and laid aside her work. “Boaz! Boaz! It’s my cousin Lamsa! Lamsa, from beyond the four rivers of Eden!” She rushed to embrace him.
“You’ve gotten plump, Rebekah,” Lamsa drawled in his Eastern dialect. “But you are still pretty!”
The
thump, thump, thump
of Sarah’s loom continued as she observed the reunion through the screen of warp and woof.
My grandfather, Boaz, rushed from the back room and clasped Lamsa’s arms. “Lamsa! And you’ve gotten lazy! Fifteen years or more since you delivered your wool to Jerusalem personally! Sent a steward to Jerusalem to us every year but now . . . look at you!”
Sarah observed Lamsa. He was tall and strong, but not as tall as she. Lean and muscled, he clearly did not live a life of ease. Though she knew he was in his early forties, his grizzled beard
and weathered skin made him appear older than he was. Yet his brown eyes, quick and observant, took in details of the shop.
His expression was pleased as he observed bolts of fine woolen fabric. A rainbow of colors and constellations of patterns filled two walls. Prayer shawls of intricate weaving were priced for rich or humble, a variety of sizes neatly folded on shelves. Finally, he took in the loom and Sarah and grinned.
“My flocks would be flattered that their wool has become such a fine and holy covering. I will tell them next season when they are shorn.”
Sarah smiled shyly and looked downward but did not break the rhythm of her labor.
A lock of wild black hair spilled from beneath Lamsa’s turban and across his brow like the forelock of a horse.
“There is no wool like the wool of Lamsa’s sheep,” Boaz praised. “It is the fleece of Eden—that is what I tell our customers. Nothing so thick and yet silky. No fleece like it in the world.”
Rebekah clapped her hands in delight. “But you are here with us! How’s the family? Your sons? Three of them, yes? And your wife?”
“My sons are well and strong. Ten, twelve, and fifteen.” His smile faltered. “But my beautiful Jerusha flew away last spring, trying to give me our fourth child, and I am without my great companion.”
Boaz and Rebekah clucked their tongues and wagged their heads in unison at the news.
“Oh, Lamsa!”
“Poor Lamsa!”
“So sorry to hear your news!”
“ . . . very sorry. May she rest in peace.”
“ . . . in peace.”
“What’s a man without a wife . . .”
“ . . . a wife.”
“Only half . . .”
“What’s life without a woman?”
Boaz’s eyes glanced furtively at his daughter. His lower lip extended. Eyebrows rose and fell as he turned his face slightly to one side as a thought passed through his mind and out his ear. “Rebekah, go fetch your cousin something to eat quickly. He has come a long way to see us.”
Sarah thought her father made it sound as though Lamsa had not eaten in a thousand miles and that he had come all the way from Eden just to share a meal. Sarah saw that her father and mother had invisibly tattooed the word
widower
across Lamsa’s forehead.