Moved to tears

You might think that a pagan Jew with a taste for dry, fruity, lusty red wines couldn’t fully appreciate a luminous white called Lacrima Christi, or “Tears of Christ.”

You would be wrong.

I’m actually a big believer in Jesus Christ. I think there’s little doubt he existed: a fine man, a prophet, and a pious Jew — observing Pesach as he did on what has come to be known as the Last Supper — who was crucified, as many innocents were back then, by a cruel and raucous crowd. It’s only when you come to the bit about his being any more a miracle of God’s invention than you or me or Neil Young (to whom I’ve long accredited divine status) that I begin to question. Up until that point, I’m totally on board.

What’s more, when one of my kids was going through a medical crisis recently, I listened relentlessy to DMX’s Christian ode “Lord, Give Me a Sign“. And I have to admit, I mist up every time I read Footsteps or Footprints or whatever it is that hangs on every Protestant octogenarian’s bathroom wall. You know, it’s the story about the man who complains to God that there was only one set of footprints in the sand when he was going through periods of strife, implying that the Lord had abandoned him. And God answers, “But you weren’t alone. Those are the times I carried you.” Doesn’t matter what you believe, that’s good stuff.

Nearly as compelling, narratively-speaking, is the story about LaCrima Christi, which goes like this: Jesus wept when the archangel Lucifer fell from heaven to hell, and his tears fell on the land at the base of Mt. Vesuvius, inspiring blessed grape vines to grow there. Varietals including Aglianico, Sciascinoso, Falanghina, Piedirosso, and Caprettone are used in varying blends to produce this celestial wine.

Several vintners have a version of Christ’s Tears, alternately called “Lacrima” and “Lacryma;” and there is both a white (Bianco) and red (Rosso). The one I tried was the De Angelis Bianco Lacrima Christi del Vesuvio 2005, a dry, full wine that tastes like rain — mineral-rich and brilliant — with hints of grass and exotic, unnameable fruits and a surprisingly buttery finish. (13% alcohol)

It is a complex and important question: whether a man like Christ sits in heaven looking down and weeps to see the sadness in our world. But if he does — and I’m hoping that in some plane of our existence this is the case — I believe the artisans of Campania have succeeded in approximating the flavor and tenor of his tears. This is a wine to be drunk reverently, even if you are uncertain, undefined, or lost.

Maybe even especially so.