Did you ever wonder how did wine arrive on our Passover table? There is a contrast in how the joy of wine persists while all our bread has gone flat. I was brought up with Manischewitz kosher wine through my Judeo-Christian religious upbringing in which I celebrated both Easter and Passover. Then, as an adult, my tastes matured and that heavy, sweet Manischewitz I once loved lost its appeal to me. But, in moving on to more adult wines a contrast troubled me repeatedly through many years, and I have questioned God for his apparent blessing of alcohol. You know, it may be a surprise to some Protestant guests at our Messianic Seders, that we use four cups of alcohol. And alcohol causes notable problems in our society. In the fermentation of my thoughts, though, many beautiful revelations have also come to astound me as I consider this unique process from the grape vine to that wine glass we lift at a joyfully expressive Seder. From the particular fruit and its care, to its production as alcohol and the way its presence is celebrative in various circles, this wine, "boray pri hagafen," speaks volumes to me of what can happen in our spiritual community.

The fermentation of wine's alcohol allows some bitter flavor to become part of a rich, delightful blend. Then, that joy of wine persists while all our Passover bread has gone flat. Together, the joy after sorrow is an important theme of Passover; your cup of joy, after all, can only be as deep as your cup of sorrow. This must be one reason we celebrate, attentive to the bitterness of slavery and exultant with new freedom to serve a loving master. So, today, with sweetness and sorrow together comes joy by God's literal presence, by his Spirit with us. And the taste of this whole life, with its blend of bitter and sweet, is wonderful to sense when a holy joy is the outcome we inherit, starting by nothing but the simple faith it took to say, "we had better leave Egypt the first chance we get." After some reflection, which of us isn't glad for salvation and other experiences, becoming strength to us through the many years? The wine wafts its gladdening scent to my senses, and I marvel at the mix of both the joy and the sorrow, a pleasing aroma, shalom in my life.

But there are many spirits sold in shops with signage that say "spirits." Can it be we are just another club who makes wine part of our activities? Many gather to taste, test, and compete, or just enjoy their particular wines of this field and that year. Why compare the Holy Spirit to such an environment? This is a point where I think there is still room, and we can stand apart. When Ephesians read, "Do not be drunk with wine, but filled with the Spirit (Eph.5:18)," didn't they consider that super sensation in giving over control of their very bodies to that Holy Spirit of God? We are not lost in wines. And wine is not lost on me. Nor on King David, when he wrote, "But God is the judge, putting one down, and lifting up another. For in the hand of the Lord is a cup, and the wine is red; it is well mixed, overflowing from his hand: he will make all the sinners of the earth take of it, even to the last drop. But I will ever be full of joy, making songs of praise to the God of Jacob (Psalm 75:7-9 BBE). This fruit and vine, oft noted for alcoholism and destruction, is not something I take fearlessly, or carelessly. But knowing how God risks its presence in our Seder, I take heart. God has risked placing me in this cluster of grapes called Kehilat Ariel. I have sometimes been drunk, other times just seemed fruity, and, altogether, if I were God, I would often not see the benefit of taking a risk on transforming a man like me.

The husbandry is key to caring for and developing each grape. To me this whispers in my ear of God's enjoyment of human commitment, skillful involvement within our community. Husbandry is a pains-taking process. It's hard work. Other natural vines like watermelons and pumpkins get big and fat lying about on the ground; any haphazard gardener can find success planting such seeds. But the vine of Yeshua the Messiah with whom we are planted produces in us smaller fruits, though precious. These grapes are suspended between earth and sky, within reach of the expert care of someone dedicated to our wellness and profitability. The dramatic work of husbandry seems to the untrained eye to do serious harm to a plant pruned so far back. When I first drove past a wine field out of season, I thought it a scene of fire, or desolation. There is need for courage living on a grapevine in God's kingdom, which is another reason why it helps to be near other grapes and vines in the Father's garden. God puts a work before human leadership to help reap benefits which do not come to any natural, wild, lone grape. Just as God requires great care from olive harvests if the oil is to enter his holy temple — olives which can never be eaten naturally, fresh off the tree — so with grapes destined for kosher wine. So be grateful for and participate with leadership which shows loving care from the Father of husbandry.

This is not a time for rushing. Let's dwell a while on God's deliverance, let it ferment for a time. Maturity is slow, and takes at least as many years of pruning as it does for years of fruitful branches. It takes time to grow a fine vine, and wait for its fine wine. In the industry, five years is too fast to consider your grape for a classy wine bottle. But the work and the wait bring joy. Find and stick with a community you can care about. Cluster there with home groups and worship services. Press your life into the father's hands, that he might drink the wine. As Yeshua said at the last seder, "I am the vine and you are the branches; he who abides in me, and I in him, he bears much fruit" (Yochanan 15:5).