My son is getting married soon, and one of his friends, who owns a winery, has generously offered to supply some cases of his best reds and whites. I hope it’s not too good, otherwise the question of whether there’s enough will raise its awkward head. At least the guest list is fixed, and some other beverages will be available during the canapés, and there’s always the bar as a backup. And so any possibility of running dry ought not to spoil the party.

The Book records a wedding in the town of Cana that narrowly averted a hospitality-hiccup. In typical Middle East fashion of warm and generous hospitality, invitations were sent to one and all, making the guest list more of a guess list. And unfortunately for the happy couple, not just the ‘all’ rsvp-ed to say they were coming, but extras too. And with no plan B, plan A was looking decidedly difficult.

Predictably the awkward moment came: “They have run out of wine!” But then unpredictably came another moment. Someone, one of the guests, unexpectedly supplied numerous cases of the most excellent vintage. But how and from where? From his Father’s vineyard, special edition, special delivery. The master of ceremonies was unimpressed with the disrespect for protocol – best wine first, not best wine last! – but not all the guests were unhappy. And not so much because they had tasted the most delicious drop, but because they had seen a miracle. The first of many.