The Cana Mystery Page 2

  “I’ll be happy to consider your résumé when I return from the G8 Summit in Italy,” the author replied smugly.

  After the lecture, Ava and Jess walked to the Garage, a converted building that housed a variety of shops and restaurants. Ava’s favorite served authentic Vietnamese cuisine. Inside, boisterous students dined, joked, and debated. While Ava visited the rest room, Jess ordered a bowl of pho large enough to share. Minutes later, Jess spotted Ava threading her way through the maze of busy tables. Suddenly, Ava stopped. The restaurant’s TV had captured her attention. A CNN reporter spoke.

  “Catholics around the world were shocked when Pope Benedict XVI announced that he will resign for the good of the Church . . .”

  Ava commanded the room to hush as the report continued.

  “Thousands gathered in St. Peter’s Basilica to attend the pope’s Ash Wednesday service. The crowd gave Benedict a standing ovation. Many in the throng had tears in their eyes. Some observers waved papal flags, others lifted a huge banner reading GRAZIE SANTITA. Speaking softly in Italian, Benedict asked that the faithful ‘continue to pray for me, the Church, and the future pope.’ A chorus of schoolchildren sang in German. Benedict, who is Bavarian, thanked them for singing a hymn ‘particularly dear to me.’ He is the first pope to resign since Gregory XII, in 1415 . . .”

  Ava shook her head. She turned from the television, came to the table, slid into a chair, and whipped out her iPhone. Jess saw that her companion was annoyed.

  “What is it?”

  “It wasn’t . . .” Ava inhaled deeply, paused for a beat, continued. “CNN just compared Benedict’s resignation to that of Gregory XII. The comparison isn’t valid. The circumstances are different. Gregory refused to resign unless the antipopes—”

  “Antipopes?”

  “After the Great Western Schism, three men claimed to head the Church: Gregory XII in Rome, Benedict XIII in Avignon, and John XXIII in Pisa. Five years of chaos convinced Church leaders to hold the Council of Constance, which strongly suggested that all three popes resign. When Benedict refused, the council excommunicated him. John and Gregory both stepped down to become cardinals, but it wasn’t an entirely voluntary move.”

  Jess nodded. Ava was Googling. She found a more historically precise article and read it aloud.

  “Italian newspapers have lauded Benedict’s shocking, unprecedented decision. ‘We’ve entered uncharted territory,’ remarked La Repubblica’s editor in chief, Ezio Mauro. In March, cardinals will convene to elect a new pope. Regardless of who next wears the Piscatory Ring, Benedict will enjoy a life of quiet prayer in a monastery on the Vatican gardens’ far northern edge. His final papal acts will be audiences with key world leaders. Benedict has already agreed to see prominent politicians from Romania, Guatemala, Slovakia, San Marino, Andorra, his native Bavaria, and Italy. Many more requests are expected. The influential G8 has invited His Holiness to address its annual conference.

  “While most Catholics praised the pope’s decision, others fear the unexpected news validates an ancient prophecy that Benedict XVI will be the last good pope, that ‘the seven-hilled city will be destroyed,’ and that these events signal the end of the world. Such dire forecasts are found in the Prophecy of the Popes, a collection of cryptic Latin phrases attributed to Máel Máedóc Ua Morgair . . .”

  Ava rolled her eyes and closed her phone.

  Jess laughed. “Wow. That last bit is something Bagelton would enjoy.”

  “I know. Can you believe that guy?”

  “He really got under your skin, didn’t he?”

  “No. As much as I disagree with Bagelton, I’m really furious with our classmates. They should have laughed him out of the building. Why do we tolerate pseudoscholarship? Success eludes responsible, legitimate writers who never plagiarize, monkey with facts, or exaggerate findings. Meanwhile, garbage like Bagelton’s book sells a million copies.”

  “Are you surprised? People love myths. We invest in fantasies to make existence feel—what’s the right word? Richer? More rewarding? Humdrum lives of quiet desperation take on meaning when they’re populated by exciting supernatural beings and apocalyptic events.”

  “Does that make it rational to believe in the Roswell aliens? In Bigfoot?”

  “Maybe not rational, but comforting. Lonely, frightened individuals form a community around their creed—any creed. Accepting and defending the existence of flying saucers, ghosts, angels, or Sasquatch helps certain people get along. Call it rational irrationality.”

  “If people need an emotional crutch that’s fine, but it’s still a delusion. No logical person believes things without evidence. Jess, I’m not demanding irrefutable scientific proof. There’s not even a scintilla of evidence. Nil! Do these credulous saps believe a mad fairy zips from pillow to pillow collecting teeth?”

  “Some probably do.”

  Ava laughed. “Okay. Good point. What did Mencken say? ‘You’ll never go broke underestimating the public.’ People were convinced the world would end in 2012, and in 1844, and in the year 1000. I’d like to think humanity has advanced since the medieval era, but given the prevalence of superstition and magical thinking, I should probably be grateful no one wants to burn us as witches.”

  Jess grinned. “So you don’t buy any of that stuff? Never check your horoscope?”

  “No. No astrology. No conspiracy theories. No mysticism. I believe in scientific fact. Humans apprehend truth through rigorous experiment and analysis. Suggestions to the contrary are soft-minded nonsense or snake-oil scams.”

  “That sounds like your father talking.”

  It did. Richard Fischer was a paragon of scientific integrity. An atmospheric chemist at NASA, he’d been pressured by two administrations to revise data on how chlorofluorocarbons—CFCs—destroy ozone in the presence of high-frequency ultraviolet light. Both times he’d refused, obliterating his prospects for advancement. Yet he’d become a hero in Ava’s eyes. She smiled, thinking of her father, and wondered how her parents would react if she went to Yemen.

  Sipping a spoonful of savory broth, Ava had a brainstorm. “Hey, I’m going to read you a message. Tell me if you know what it means: ‘Something sought in a historic hat bag has been found.’”

  Jess frowned. She mouthed each word, reflected a moment, then replied, “I’ve no earthly idea. What is it?”

  “I don’t know. It came this morning—supposed to be a riddle.”

  “A guy sent it, right?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Only a person who never shops would say ‘hat bag.’ Hats come in boxes.”

  Ava’s eyes widened, and for a second she looked dazed. She fell back in her seat.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m perfect,” Ava replied, tossing her napkin onto the table. “Could you cover a few of my classes next week?”

  Back at Lowell House, Ava climbed the stairs and let herself inside with the key that Gabe insisted she have. Dropping onto the ratty couch, she borrowed Gabe’s iPad and wrote H-A-T-B-A-G on the touchscreen. Then, she rearranged those six letters into “T-A-B-G-H-A.” A search under that spelling revealed dozens of websites. She picked one at random.

  Historic Tabgha, a city lost for centuries, was the setting for Christ’s calling of the disciples. Here Jesus walked the shore and hailed Simon, Peter, and Andrew, three fishermen casting nets into the lake. Tabgha was rumored to be the hiding place of the legendary lost jars of Cana.

  “What are the lost jars of Cana?” asked Gabe, biting into an Oreo.

  “Just Google it,” Ava said. “There’s an entry on Wikipedia.”

  “Yeah, but you probably wrote it.”

  Ava sipped her chai and smiled. “No, although I suspect I know who did. It contains a few historical errors and is confused regarding—”

  “Just tell me!”

  “Tell you what? The legend?”

  “No. Tell me how you can drink that foul brew. You added, what, six Splendas?”

 
She grinned. “I like it that way.”

  “Gross,” muttered Gabe. “I don’t know how you stand it. Now please relate the legend of the lost jars.”

  “I’ll tell you what I remember. In undergrad I was studying for Professor Cusanus’s final. Her lectures referenced several biblical legends, things like the Holy Grail, the Spear of Destiny—”

  “The Nazi thing?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Nazis thought the spear would make them invincible, but it predates them by centuries. Back in biblical times, a Roman centurion, Longinus, used the spear to stab Jesus. Hundreds of years later, Baldwin II sold it to Louis IX to be enshrined in Paris. It disappeared during the Revolution—supposedly taken by Napoleon—and it’s in the Vatican now. Anyway, you’ve diverted me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Cusanus also mentioned the lost jars, so I looked them up. The gospel of John says Jesus attended a wedding feast at Cana. When the party ran out of wine, Jesus ordered the servants to fill empty stone jars with water. The host tasted the contents, and shazam! Water had become wine. John considered it Jesus’s first miracle. Anyway, the jars were taken . . .”

  “Hey, I remember that story. These are those jars?”

  “Exactly. The various Bible translations call them jars, water vessels, waterpots, or jugs. You can see them in Giotto’s Marriage at Cana, although that artwork might not be the most accurate depiction. The relics are the subject of several wild stories. Apparently, the Crusaders searched for the jars. St. Peter may have taken them to Rome. A few historians claim the jars are hidden under Jerusalem, others suspect that the Knights Templar stashed them at Rosslyn Chapel.”

  “Or maybe they came from Atlantis and were created by Martians.”

  Ava giggled. “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Are they supposed to be magic or something?”

  “Yeah. I mean, no, not magic, but almost anything Jesus touched was considered a sacred relic that could protect you from evil or cure diseases. Some medieval Christians thought the Holy Grail bestowed eternal youth.”

  “I saw that in a movie. What do the jars do?”

  “I’m not sure. They might predict the future. According to legend, Jesus related a secret prophecy to his disciples. They hid the message in the jars and concealed them at Tabgha or Nag Hammadi or someplace. No one really knows. One account says they were taken to Rome and hidden in the catacombs. Eventually, the pope found the jars and tried to read the message.”

  “That’s why the Church is so rich! Because the pope knows all the right lottery numbers and who’ll win the World Series!”

  Ava laughed. “No. This was centuries ago. I’m blanking on who was pope, and it’s unclear if even he understood the message. One legend warns that no human can read it with mortal eyes. In another story, the pope decided the prophecy was demonic and ordered the jars destroyed. The version I like says the pope couldn’t comprehend the message because some jars were still hidden in the desert and the prophecy is too complex to be understood piecemeal.”

  Gabe nodded. “Was the message encoded?” he asked.

  She could see that the notion appealed to him. Gabe saw the universe in terms of code. There was probably a fascinating information-

  theory problem nestled somewhere in her story. She suspected his subconscious was processing brilliant, nonlinear solutions as they spoke. It occurred to Ava that she might need his help.

  “Maybe so,” she said, encouragingly. “You wouldn’t want just anyone reading it. If they took the trouble to hide the jars, why not encrypt the text?”

  “And that’s why no one can understand it!” Gabe said. “The apostles intended it that way. They knew the message might fall into the hands of wicked Emperor Nero or whoever was in charge. They didn’t want evil people to know the future. If Nero foresaw that Christianity would spread throughout Europe, he’d have thrown all Christians to the lions. So the apostles separated the code into mutually interdependent sequences . . .”

  Gabe was a rabid cryptography fan. As he rattled off ideas about the relative value of compression algorithms, Ava’s mind wandered back to the mysterious phone call. What had they discovered, and why had Paul called her?

  Gabe stood at the window, gazing out. After a minute, he turned. “Yemen?” he asked. “Don’t you need a special visa? Do we even have an embassy there? What if something freaky happens?”

  Stiffening, Ava said, “I’m a strong, independent woman. I speak three dialects of Arabic, and I’ve had all the necessary inoculations. I’m not a helpless little girl in need of male protection.”

  He wilted. “I know. I know all that. That’s not what I meant, but you hear crazy stories about women traveling alone. Remember what happened to that CBS reporter in Cairo?”

  She looked into his worried eyes. “You want me to be safe. I appreciate that, but I’m going. It’s important. Will you help me?”

  Gabe sighed. “Yes. Of course I will. You know I always will, but if you end up a prisoner in some nasty Sultan’s harem . . .”

  “Then you’ll hack into the DOD mainframe and send Delta Force commandos to rescue me.”

  Gabe laughed. “Mainframe?” He shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t—”

  “Anyway,” Ava interjected, cutting off his digression into technobabble, “I’ll call each day until I’m safely home.” At this remark, Gabe’s eyes flashed with an idea.

  “Here, take this.” He tossed her a chunky black mobile phone that looked years out of date. Ava regarded him quizzically.

  “It’s a satphone, LEO. Should be fully charged.”

  “LEO?”

  “Low Earth Orbit,” Gabe explained. “I hacked it. Free unlimited minutes.”

  She smiled, impressed. “It wasn’t my hack,” he said quickly. “I got the code from a guy online, but it works. You can download data into my system, send me video of you in the shower—”

  “Ha, ha, ha.”

  “I installed some cool encryption, making it untraceable. It should keep our conversations confidential, except from ECHELON and the NSA,” Gabe joked.

  Ava wrapped him in a bear hug. Gabe was wonderful. She knew he’d help. In her mind, Gabe was the kind, protective big brother she’d always wanted. Of course, she kept this to herself. Gabe didn’t think of her as a sister, and Ava couldn’t stand to hurt his feelings. Better to leave the matter unspoken, postpone the conversation, indefinitely if possible.

  Chapter 2

  2

  The plane began to roll. Runway lights flickered past Ava’s window. The jet lifted off, lurched, and then steadied. Ava grabbed her laptop and began reading about the lost jars and various related miracles and locales. As the captain’s voice announced passengers’ freedom to move about the cabin, Ava reviewed her research. The first article was from CNN Online, dated December 21, 2004, and titled “Water to Wine: Are These the Jars?”

  Among the roots of ancient olive trees, archaeologists have found pieces of large jars. . . . Experts believe these could be the same kind of vessels Jesus used in his first miracle, and the site where the jars were found could be the location of biblical Cana. . . . Christian theologians attach great significance to the water-to-wine miracle. It was not only Jesus’s first, but it also came at a crucial point in his ministry. The shards were found during a salvage dig in modern-day Cana, between Nazareth and Capernaum. Israeli archaeologist Yardena Alexander believes the Arab town was built near the ancient village. The jars date to the Roman period, when Jesus traveled the Galilee. “Just the existence of stone vessels is not enough to prove this is a biblical site,” Alexander said. Nevertheless, she believes the vessels are the same type of jars described in the Gospel of John.

  “How could she know?” Ava wondered. There were probably thousands of similar jars in ancient Israel. What’s more, Ava didn’t believe modern Cana was located in the same place as historical Cana. This seemed too pat. Scanning her research, she fou
nd the heading “Cana, Location.”

  A tradition dating back to the eighth century identifies Cana with the settlement of Kafr Kanna, eight kilometers from Nazareth. Scholars have suggested alternatives to Kafr Kanna, including Kenet-al-Jalil, Qana, and Ani Kana.

  Ava scrolled down absently. She doubted that so-called experts would ever agree on historical Cana’s true location. Then, something caught her attention.

  . . . led to speculation about the ultimate location of the historically significant lost jars of Cana. John 2:12 states that, after the wedding, Jesus “went down to Capernaum with his mother, his brothers, and his disciples; and they remained there a few days.” During this period, Christ may have announced a prophecy, which his followers recorded and sealed in the jars. Archaeologists sought the jars in Capernaum, others dug near modern-day Cana, but most maintain the jars were hidden in Tabgha.

  She clicked on the file for Tabgha and found an article illustrated with a picture of a Romanesque mosaic.

  Tabgha was described by a contemporaneous source as “not far from Capernaum, facing the Sea of

  Galilee . . . a well-watered land where lush grasses grow, with numerous trees and palms. Seven springs provide abundant water.” The Synoptics locate the city in “a desert place” near Bethsaida, but the Gospel of John describes it as lush and grassy. Today, scholars believe a newly discovered archaeological site is the lost city of Tabgha, where the Church of the Multiplication stands. Tabgha is derived from the Greek name Heptapegon, meaning “seven springs.” According to legend, Tabgha was situated on the northwest shore of the Sea of Galilee. St. Jerome referred to Tabgha as eremos, meaning “the solitude.”

  Ava opened the next file: “Newly Discovered Archaeological Site.”