The Cup of the Carpenter

I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord (Psalm 116:13)


What is more valuable, the cup or the space in the cup?

I heard this question recently, and it encouraged me to think about the nature of what we value.  As Trinity Sunday begins the season of "Ordinary Time", we leave behind the events of Easter and launch out into a season where the mystery of Christ is expressed--and experienced--not just in one aspect but in many aspects.  Green is the predominant color for Ordinary time (named because the Sundays are enumerated--in Latin, "ordinarius") because it is a color of hope, of newness, of growth and verdancy.  Questions are often a way to explore growth, and a way to share mystery.  As Christians we seek to see value in things that either reflect or point to the Spirit, and this question is one that encourages useful rumination.

I am struck that as Americans we are so often engulfed by advertising that all too often--by design--appeals to what is most vulnerable in us.  We are told that this or that object is the one that we must have if we are to be happy.  When we get the object, we are happy with it, but we soon see that our happiness is short-lived.  In the same way, we acquire things--and people--in our lives based mostly on the container, rather than on the content.  Some call that marketing.

But how do you market the space in the cup?  How do you market the spirit within a person?  How do you market the love of somebody that impels them to give of themselves to people in need, or to causes that promote the dignity of humanity?

I remember that in one of the Indiana Jones movies, the main evil character is lusting after the Holy Grail, and he and Indiana Jones, after an epic struggle find themselves in an ancient temple standing in a small room with a selection of cups. Wanting to be immortal, the evil character chooses an elaborate and expensive cup to drink from.  As he does so, he begins to shrivel and morph into a desiccated corpse in a fashion only Hollywood could create. St. Andrew, the nearly immortal guardian of the grail, stood by and watched this happen commenting that "He chose poorly". The hero, Indian Jones, chooses the plainest and most humble of the cups with trepidation. Of course, it was the actual Grail--he chose well.

I've always remembered that single line from the movie--"He chose poorly".  The greedy and self-centered character chose based upon the outside of the cup, not what was inside.  So often we also choose poorly, losing sight that what we so often desire is right in front of us all the time, but we were too concerned about what we thought it should look like to notice it.  We inject our personal ideas of what a blessing should be, how it should come, and from what direction it may visit us.  We spend too much time anticipating something in the future, rather than being with what is.  We get in our own way projecting our ideas upon others, and when the results are confusing and unsatisfying we wonder what went wrong.  When we are in our meditation, our deep prayer, or are with the Sacraments, we often find our attention somewhere outside of time, outside of rational thinking.  We find ourselves simply being.  We find that what is valuable in life is held by--bracketed by--the events that surround them.  We find that what is valuable is in front of us.  How shall we celebrate the space in the cup?

As I am getting older I find myself more and more content with the space in the cup as being the place of dynamic transformation rather than a container for something.  I see the emptiness of the cup as full--full of potential, full of promise. When that cup is empty, it is a place of all possibilities where we see ourselves--sometimes--anew.  When that cup is full, it is full of the promise of life--a promise of life in God.

And so this month I offer you a poem--my answer to the question above.

I Am The Cup of the Carpenter

I am the cup of the carpenter, the crucible of life.
I am the holder of sunbeams and song, of pain and joy, of laughter and love.
I am the place where all things collide and meld and become new.
I am the place of fullness and of emptiness, of verdant pasture and brittle desert.
I am the place where all is made Holy.
In me, I am the ocean where sky becomes earth and rainbows reflect
  infinite possibilities of my beingness.
In me, I am the sky where aspiration meets measureless light, and
In me, I am the stars and the vastness of my body reaching in all things.

In me, I am the soil where you are rooted and sprout, each tender tendril reaching and wanting and waiting.
In me, I am the sun who gives in joy because light is my laughter, and
In me, all things are seen.

In me is the motion of my life, and in me, is the stillness of by breath as I breath in, and out, and in, and out, until only silence remains.

I am the cup of the carpenter, the crucible of life, where all things are reconciled.
From the One came the many; from the many are made the One.

I am made of the earth that you may be made of the sky.  I am made humble that you may be made exalted.

Hands lovingly held me, and shaped me, and molded me until the heart was satisfied.

I will do no less for you.

I am the cup of the carpenter, the crucible of life.  I am the place where love waits patiently.

In me, I wait for you.