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An Empty Cup

"An Empty Cup"


"It takes more than bread to stay alive.

It takes a steady stream of words from the mouth of God."

(The Message)


There's a wonderful Buddhist story that tells of a Zen master named Nan-in. One day Nan-in had a visit from a foreign scholar who was himself a specialist in Eastern religions. The scholar came to Nan-in to learn more about Zen Buddhism. Instead of listening to the master, however, the visiting scholar pontificated on and on about his own ideas and everything that he knew.

After a while of this endless talk, Nan-in decided to serve tea. He poured tea into his visitor's cup until it was full. And then he kept on pouring. The tea began to flow over the sides of the cup, it filled the saucer, it spilled onto the man's pants, and then it puddled all over the floor.

Finally the visitor spoke up and said, "Don't you see that my cup's full? You can't get any more in!"

"Just so," replied the Zen master, and at last he stopped pouring. "And like this cup, you are filled with your own ideas. How can you expect me to give you Zen unless you offer me an empty cup?"1

I am so drawn by the imagery of an empty cup! Tea pouring unstoppably over everything. It reminds me of my own way-too-busy mind. When I come to God in prayer, I ask for guidance and understanding, and often I just ask to be held. But I am always so full up! Full of worries, full of to-do lists, and my own small solutions to problems. There's no room for God. No room for the Spirit to slip inside with gossamer wings to soothe me, to give me a bit of insight, to claim me as her own. In my endlessly chattering mind I leave no room for God to shape the mysterious and wonderful relationship God wants to have with me. And I will bet you that I am not alone in this dilemma!

These gorgeous summer days give us a perfect opportunity to step off that mental merry-go-round. These days are less crowded, less hassled, and the most leisurely of the year. They invite us to recognize something we don't usually take time to explore: namely a hunger within us. Hunger for a truer centeredness in God. Golfing, shopping, reading a murder mystery . . . these things may be fun, but they will not satisfy this hunger.

So what will satisfy such a hunger? Simply put: a deeper practice of the presence of God.

Such a practice of the presence of God is what Jesus undertakes in his time in the wilderness. Jesus sets out to lay his soul bare, to open himself fully to God. And somehow, in the fasting, in the loneliness, and in his steady gaze upon God, Jesus achieves an inner clarity of spirit that will become a touchstone for his entire ministry. In the desert his refusal to misuse his power emerges.2 In the desert a fierce conviction springs forth in Jesus - a conviction that absolutely nothing is more precious to him than submitting in love to his God.

Author Richard Foster says that the long contemplative tradition in Christian thought can show us the way into a similar kind of intimacy with God.3 Foster calls the place deep inside us that hungers for God's constant companionship the "amazing inner sanctuary of the soul." The amazing inner sanctuary of the soul. We all possess it. The contemplative life consists simply in "the steady gaze of [our] soul upon the God who loves us."

Such God-gazing is not reserved just for mystics and saints. But the contemplative way of life does call for a deep solitariness. It emphasizes a one-on-one relationship with God that contrasts sharply with the bustle of our gathered Christian community. There's a delightful humming energy when we come together on Sunday mornings. And one way or another we are usually urged to go out into the world and make a difference, to live the Gospel. Sometimes, however, it might seem like a droning message. Marching orders that direct us to, "Go, go, go into the mission field." Even harsher is the accompanying message I sometimes hear, "But you can never do enough." For me, that's the "God of my childhood" talking, who was always, alas, stern and nearly impossible to please.

I'm grateful that in adulthood I've grown to know that God is our greatest champion, the One who desires unimaginable good for us. If we love God, of course we'll want to live the Gospel to the very best of our ability. But first we need to come to God with an interior space that's open. We need to come with our empty cup in order to receive all that God longs to give us. If we truly practice the presence of God, we will become aware of the delicate balance that exists between private piety and the demands of God's justice in a broken world.

Richard Foster writes that the saints who've been steeped in this contemplative tradition use two common words to describe it: fire and love. "Purging, purifying fire and enveloping, comforting love." Purging, purifying fire and enveloping, comforting love. Foster says these are the "stuff" of the contemplative life.4 Here's a paradox: how do you hold the conflicting images of purging fire and tender love together? Fire can be a destructive and wildly uncontainable image. Yet maybe this is exactly what God uses to scour out a space within us. Clearly a fire burns within Jesus while he's in the desert, a fire lit by the love of God that enables him to resist horrendous temptation.

The Zen master spoke about the learner's need of an empty cup. Writer Sue Bender, who's also a potter, comes at this concept from a slightly different perspective. She tells the story of opening a big, new bag of clay one day and suddenly having in her mind the clear image of a begging bowl. Now all she knew about begging bowls was that each day a monk would go out with his empty bowl in his hands. Whatever was placed in the bowl would be his nourishment for the day. The begging bowl became Bender's primary symbol for the openness she wanted to cultivate in her spiritual life, an openness that would help her to receive all the bits of grace that life had to give.5

I find that my most frequent prayer is to ask God to create within me an empty cup, a begging bowl so that I might receive whatever God chooses to put into it. As I try to set aside all my inner "stuff," I wonder: Will I be able to give up my wanting to be right all the time? To give up my perfectionism? To give up the "good girl" rules I was brought up with that sometimes squelch righteous anger or healthy assertiveness? Clearly, we will need to trust God lay aside all our inner "stuff." Recall the words of Jesus: "I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and your joy may be complete." Jesus Christ promises that whatever goes into our cup is rooted in the generous heart of God.

"It takes more than bread to stay alive," Jesus says. He is pointing to that deeper hunger. I believe that you and I have been mysteriously created to hunger for God, to rove restlessly until we rest in God's self, as Saint Augustine put it. I further believe that it's the most glorious thing in the world to fall ever more deeply in love with God, and to serve God gladly in all the ways we are able. When we become an empty cup, a miracle takes place: slowly we are transformed into the likeness of Christ.

If we bring an empty cup to our journey, the Spirit will fill us with extraordinary insights. We might discover God in the barren places of our lives where we thought we had been abandoned. We might plumb the depths of God's love only to find it really is limitless. We might learn to relinquish our own desires in favor of God's larger purposes. There's no end to the Spirit's eagerness to fill our cup!

Your journey with God and my journey with God will not look exactly alike. But I urge you: Let yourself be an empty cup, a begging bowl. In the balmy, fragrant greenness of this summer season, look for fireflies in pitch-dark woods. Trace the Milky Way across the sky. Watch your garden grow. Watch your children grow. And in all things give the Holy Spirit room to stir up questions and feelings and insights. Feel the spaciousness within you expand as God drops gift after gift into your waiting heart. Amen.

1 Doorways to the Soul, p. 39

2 A Season for the Spirit, Martin Smith, pp. 14-15

3 Streams of Living Water by Richard Foster, p. 25

4 Streams of Living Water , p. 49

5 Everyday Sacred, Sue Bender, p. 6