“If this world
Was not held in God’s bucket
How could an ocean stand upside down
On its head and never lose a drop?
If your life was not contained in God’s cup
How could you be so brave and laugh,
Dance in the face of death?
There is a private chamber in the soul
That knows a great secret
Of which no tongue can speak.
Your existence my dear, O love my dear,
Has been sealed and marked
“Too sacred,” “too sacred,” by the Beloved-
To ever end!
Indeed God
Has written a thousand promises
All over your heart
That say,
Life,life,life
Is far foo sacred to
Ever end.”
~ Hafiz,1320-1389
Being held in God’s cup seems a reassuring gift to me these days. I have found that the ways of the world are weighing down my spirit and I have been searching for a way to come up from the dark waters that seem to be rushing over us, to find an opening where clear, clean air can rush into my constricted lungs. As I listen to those in whom we have placed our confidence as leaders, take sides about how we give name and honor to those we love, I feel a sickened despair. When I think of the ways in which our nation allows fear to be our common food, I want to cry tears that will not stop. As I watch even our faith communities elevate violence to a sacrament and create laws that would exclude any of God’s beloved ones, I wonder at what point we will cease our never-ending hurt of one another. Plainly put, I wonder when we who call ourselves Christians will begin to live in the Way of Jesus.
And so I have been doing what I find helpful. I have spent time talking with friends, friends who may not be in the low-riding valley of life’s roller coaster right now. And I have been reading poetry and stories that weave beautiful phrases that lift my spirit. This poem of Hafiz did the trick. To be reminded of being held in God’s cup brings a healing balm. And to reaffirm that deep goodness I believe exists within each of us is grounding. Without ‘preaching’, that art that often contains too many words for me, poetry places just the right amount of syllables on my plate, allowing me to breath between the thoughts and find my way back to the home of myself.
This poem of the ancient Sufi mystic calls from someplace beyond time and wakes me up with his “too sacred, too sacred.” Affirming that this life which we have been given by a loving Creator is too sacred to ever end is, for me, the wisdom of the Easter story. The assurance that no terror or fear ever plays the winning hand, that no harm we can ladle out or legislate ever ultimately prevails over the sacredness of life, allows me to breath more fully, to have an optimism that is choice, not logic.
Yesterday, a group of dear ones I call both colleagues and friends, lamented many of the same situations that have been nagging my spirit. We spoke of hope as choice. We spoke of making the choice to walk hopefully into each day though we might have ‘considered the facts’ as poet Wendell Berry writes. Perhaps we do this because we are all church ‘professionals’ and we have been schooled in the ways of doing so. Perhaps we have decided to choose hope because we are of a certain age and to do otherwise would be simply too depressing.
But what I pray is that we have chosen hope because we know deep, deep down in that ‘private chamber of our souls’ that the secret planted there, the secret of the sacredness of never-ending life prevails and we can do nothing else but choose. Choose to hope. Choose to live up to the promises of God’s imprint on our hearts. Choose to dance in the face of death. Choose to speak,act, vote, pray, and live this life which is “too sacred, too sacred” to do otherwise. And that we will live this way, not only for ourselves, but for all people, for all creatures, for all the world.
Have a blessed and hope-filled weekend……….