Can you drink the cup? (S. Surrency, O.F.M.)

   Can you drink the cup?

Drink, not survey or analyze,

ponder or scrutinize –

from a distance.

But drink – imbibe, ingest,

take into you so that it becomes a piece of your inmost self.

And not with cautious sips

that barely moisten your lips,

but with audacious drafts

that spill down your chin and onto your chest.

(Forget decorum – reserve would give offense.)

Can you drink the cup?

The cup of rejection and opposition,

betrayal and regret.

Like vinegar and gall,

pungent and tart,

making  you wince and recoil.

But not only that – for the cup is deceptively deep –

there are hopes and joys in there, too,

like thrilling champagne with bubbles

that tickle your nose on New Year’s Eve,

and fleeting moments of almost – almost – sheer ecstasy

that last as long as an eye-blink, or a champagne bubble,

but mysteriously satisfy and sustain.

Can you drink the cup?

Yes, you – with your insecurities,

visible and invisible.

You with the doubts that nibble around the edges

and the ones that devour in one great big gulp.

You with your impetuous starts and youth-like bursts of love and devotion.

You with your giving up too soon – or too late – and being tyrannically hard on yourself.

You with your Yes, but’s and I’m sorry’s – again.

Yes, you – but with my grace.

Can you drink the cup.

Can I drink the cup?

Yes.

--Scott Surrency, O.F.M. Cap. (2015)

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