Can You Drink the Cup? Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On October 21st, 2018 Scripture: Mark 10:32-45 In the passage from Mark’s gospel that we heard this morning, Jesus refers to drinking from his cup. This is the first of three references to “the cup” leading up to the final moments of Jesus’ life on earth. Our text also includes the third time we hear Jesus predict his suffering, death and resurrection in this gospel. The prediction is given to the disciples while they are on the road, coming ever closer to Jerusalem. Jesus says that, here in the holy city, the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes and they will hand him over to the Gentile rulers. He will be mocked, spat upon, flogged and killed. After three days he will rise again. It’s not surprising that the crowd of followers are afraid. The disciples are still digesting this grim but hopeful prediction when the brothers, James and John, come up with a bold request. First of all they ask Jesus to give them whatever they want. They are already acting kind of forward. And then when he asks what it is they want, they say: “grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left in your glory.” These young fishermen, who left their father’s business to follow Jesus, seem to have a notion that glorious things lay ahead of them. They are ready for their reward. And, although it may seem pushy, they want to seize the moment. What’s to lose if they ask Jesus about getting the best seats in heaven? He can only say no. Jesus does not say yes and he does not say no. There’s always a different way of looking at things with Jesus. He tells them that they don’t know what they are asking. And then, as a Rabbi would, he answers them with a question: “Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?" The book “Can You Drink the Cup?” was written by Dutch Priest, theologian, and author, Henri Nouwen. This small volume is entirely focused on the question Jesus asks the brothers, James and John: “Can you drink the cup?” Henri Nouwen, a celibate gay man, was known for his quest to live his faith authentically. Ultimately he left a successful academic life and an appointment at Harvard Divinity School. He went to live in L’Arche community at Daybreak: a community for people with mental and physical disabilities in Canada. There he served as pastor and cared for a young man named Adam, who had severe disabilities. In that setting, Nouwen was finally able to live into his true self and to confront his own hidden wounds. [1] Nouwen sees the response to Jesus question “can you drink the cup?” as living life deeply and fully. It means discovering our true selves and exposing the wounds we have hidden. In Mark’s gospel, Jesus’ first reference to the cup is in the passage we heard today. A few chapters on, we can read of Jesus gathering with the disciples for the last supper before his crucifixion. During this gathering, Jesus takes the cup of wine from the table where they are feasting, holds it and give thanks for it. He says “this is my blood of the covenant which is poured out for many.” He offers the cup to each friend gathered around the table. Later that same night Jesus and the disciples are out in the garden of Gethsemane. Jesus is waiting with James, John and Peter. Soon the soldiers will come and arrest him. Jesus asks the disciples to sit with him while he prays, but they keep falling asleep. While they are sleeping, Jesus prays “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible: remove this cup from me. Yet, not what I want, but what you want.” He is talking about the cup of sorrow. He is wrestling with his calling to go to the cross and die. The communion cup was central to Henri Nouwen’s life. He had known he wanted to be a priest from a young age. He was honored on the occasion of his ordination, when his uncle, also a priest, gave Nouwen his own communion cup. This was a golden cup, embellished with diamonds, that had once belonged to Nouwen’s grandmother. Since his ordination, Nouwen was the only person to touch that cup. At the time he was ordained in the Catholic Church, only the priest ever drank from the cup during communion. Years later at L’Arche community, communion was celebrated with several glass cups. Every member of the community could hold, lift and drink from the cup. The cups were transparent and the contents could be seen. The residents and staff knew what they were taking and they drank gladly. Daybreak was a place of both joy and sorrow for Nouwen. At first he had feared Adam and his disabilities. He says “After caring for Adam for a few months I was no longer afraid of him. Waking him up in the morning, giving him a bath and brushing his teeth, shaving his beard and feeding him breakfast had created such a bond between us … knowing Adam became a privilege for me.” [2] The sorrows of L’Arche community at Daybreak were evident and on the surface. The residents clearly struggled each day just to get through the tasks of living. Some had terribly sad family histories and L’arche was the first place they had found a family. The able-bodied people who came to assist at L’Arche, like Nouwen, also had sorrows. They had broken families, sexual unfulfillment, spiritual alienation, career doubts and confusing relationships. The only difference is that the assistants’ sorrows were hidden. There was also great joy at L’arche, Nouwen says. The members of the community lived together and ate together, they also laughed and cried together. Sorrow was on the surface, but so was joy – joy in the power of human community. This past summer, Pr. Alissa, of Good Shepherd Church, and I led some spirituality sessions at a local addiction treatment facility. We had thirty minutes, first with a group of women and then with a group of men. We’d share a story from our tradition with the group, inviting the participants to “find themselves in the story.” We were careful to say that we were not there as an attempt to convert or persuade anyone to join our churches. We were simply there to sit with those in treatment and share stories. Once we’d told our story, we’d lead the men and women in a short meditation. Some people in the groups were resistant to our ideas, and so we’d remind them that they could leave the group at any time. Others would find the stories opened wounds that were too raw, and they would leave of their own accord. Some people stayed in the group but couldn’t grasp how to find themselves in the stories. And others made themselves vulnerable, relating powerfully to the stories and sharing their struggles with addiction. One week, two young women told us about their struggles simply to sit still and meditate. “I have never known joy” said one woman. I couldn’t speak for a moment. The sadness was too much. No moments of joyful play from childhood, no moments joy in a body that can run, and swim, and embrace another, no moments of sheer pleasure with family and friends. I couldn’t imagine living a life without even moments of joy. Being present with this woman in her sorrow felt like a great privilege. We invited her, in the meditation, just to imagine freedom from her addiction as a possibility. My prayer is that one day she will taste joy. I believe that being present to one another in sorrow and joy is what Jesus is talking about when he asks us if we are willing to drink his cup. During the last supper Jesus goes through the motions of demonstrating how the cup contains both joy and sorrow. It is passed, in celebration, around the circle of a shared community. The friends look into each other’s eyes. Communion accentuates both sorrow and joy. The most sorrowful moment of Jesus’ life was when he was taken to the cross. He knew the pain and suffering he was about to experience, but the sorrow came from something deeper. This moment was his deepest connection with all of humanity. He experienced all the sorrow that human life has to offer. He took on all of the suffering of the world. His invitation to us to drink from his cup means to participate in all the joy and the sorrow of the world. This is the cup of salvation. I’m afraid that James and John, though, live in their optimistic “first half of life” when Jesus offers them the cup. For these young men, living life fully means shooting for the stars. They are ambitious disciples, focused on the honor of getting alongside Jesus when he rises in glory. They have not yet encountered the cup of sorrow and joy, and they do not know their need for the cup of salvation. We meet Jameses and Johns in life all the time – the ones who have their “eye on the prize.” Our schools tell our children that they can live their dreams. And we buy into the story, cheering them on, whether in sports, academics, or the performing arts. Even in our church, we sometimes skirt the need for true community gathered around the table. We are anxious to be released from the intimacy of communion to the bustle of the coffee hour in the social hall. But Nouwen brings us back to the cup. He offers us three ways to drink from it: The first way to drink our cup is in silence because, he says, “it is precisely in silence that we confront out true selves.” [3] So often we’d rather distract ourselves with entertainment than face ourselves in silence. When the quiet becomes uncomfortable, do you turn on the TV or reach for your phone ready to check email or social media? The second way to drink the cup is with the word, says Nouwen. We need a trusted circle of friends to share and hear our stories. “Silence without speaking is as dangerous as solitude without community.” [4] Do you have a hope or fear you have not spoken out loud? Can you find someone in this church community, or among your close friends, who will listen to that joy or sorrow with respect? And the third way to drink the cup is in action. This may sound like being busy, but it is not. Nouwen says “true action leads to the fulfillment of our vocation.” [5] What action are you being called to right now? Have you explored this as a part of your vocation? Does this action lead you to drink more completely of the cup of your life? Does this action draw you more deeply into true community? Today, I ask more questions than I answer. The most important question is the one Jesus asks those brothers: “Can you drink the cup that I drink?” May all God’s people say, Amen [1] Henri J. M. Nouwen, Can You Drink the Cup? (Ave Maria Press, Notre Dame, IN, 2006) [2] Henri J. M. Nouwen, Can You Drink the Cup? (Ave Maria Press, Notre Dame, IN, 2006), 44 [3] Ibid., 102 [4] Ibid., 106 [5] Ibid., 109
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