The Briar Philosopher - The Cup of Christ

I know that the “Holy Grail” is a great big concept for a little Briar to tackle. It’s one of those ideas we’re usually encouraged to leave to learned men and theologians and not worry our pretty little heads about. Someone more qualified will explain it to us and tell us what we’re supposed to feel about it.

I’m afraid though, that the best way to get me thinking about something is to pat me on the head and say, “There, there, you wouldn’t understand.” Apparently somebody must have done just that to me once upon a time because I’ve been thinking about the Cup of Christ and what it really means for about as long as I can remember.

I may indeed be getting way in over my head here, but just bear with me if you would and then you can decide whether “briar philosophy” has anything worthwhile to say about it or whether it really is a subject best left to professionals.

Folks have been searching for the so-called “Holy Grail” for nigh on to 2000 years now without finding it. According to legend the Knights of King Arthur’s round table spent a great deal of their lives on quests trying to find this sacred object. History even tells us that Constantine, the first Christian Emperor of Rome, had his own mother out searching the Holy Land for this vessel believed to be the very cup Christ held in his hand at the Last Supper. She never found it either.

Down through the ages the search has continued and claims have been made that it is here or there or is this vessel or that artifact. Documentaries are still made today on the topic, with scholars, theologians and archeologists bringing theories and higher technologies to bear in this age-old quest. It still hasn’t been found.

Now, I may not have any credentials or certificates that prove I have a right to my own theory but I think I know why they can’t find it….IT ISN’T MISSING!
I know it isn’t missing because I’ve seen it myself, and not just once but many times. I’ll tell you about the first time I saw the Cup of Christ and recognized it for what it was and then you can decide whether or not to turn me over to the inquisition. (They don’t burn heretics anymore do they?)

I don’t know exactly how old I was but I must have been about 10 because I’d already read the New Testament through a couple of times by then. That particular day though I happened to be reading the legend of King Arthur and the Quest for the Holy Grail.

I’d just been reading about how the Knights would stop while out questing and seek shelter and comfort from peasants and country folks along the way. About that time one of the other kids yelled, “Greely’s comin’ up the hill.” Greely was an old man who lived up the road from us. He rode his old mule everywhere he couldn’t reach on foot.

My mother got up, picked up the water bucket and dipper and headed out the back door to meet him. I followed because I liked Greely and his mule. I still had visions and images of Knights and horses and grails in my head when he, as usual, pulled his mule to a stop by the well and Mommy, as usual, handed him up a dipper of cold well water.

The sun hit that water and glinted off that beat up aluminum dipper just as he reached down to take it from Mommy’s hand. The light hit me dead in the eye. It was in that instant, right then and there, that this little ole sawed off briar found herself standing in the presence of the Cup of Christ. I saw that old dipper full of water for what it really was – the cup of kindness, of compassion, of sharing.

That dipper contained more than water. It contained my Momma’s time, her energy, her attention – things that she could have kept for herself but chose to share with another human being. The true Grail, of course, was her heart. The dipper was just the vessel she used to share it. That must have been just what happened at the Last Supper.

That’s when I knew the Grail wasn’t missing and that all those Knights were doomed to failure from the start. I felt bad for them and for all the others who spent their lives searching. I had to wonder how many times they might have had the Cup of Christ in their own hands, passed to them by someone like my mother, and didn’t recognize it for what it was, just passed it back and went on searching.

I’ve seen the Grail several times since then. I’ve seen it in soup kitchens. I’ve seen it with yellow ducks and blue sheep on it when a mother passed it to her child. I’ve seen it with chips missing from the rim when on old veteran offered me a cup of coffee. We’ve all seen it whether or not we knew what it was at the time.

It’s not hard to figure how we came to think it was lost. We, not just as a society, but as a species, seem to have a tendency to get the symbol of a thing confused with the thing itself. Christ, at least to my way of thinking, was not a cross, or a cup, or a crown of thorns, or a shroud and his love, his life, his salvation cannot be contained in those things.

Symbols are good only as long as they simply reflect the meaning of something that exists in our hearts. When the symbol comes to replace the meaning that should be there we are in danger of becoming idolatrous and our empty hearts will rattle with nothing but the gold and tin of graven images. Maybe that’s why the Creator went to so much trouble to warn us against such things. It’s probably a good thing Jesus didn’t mention the plate the bread was on or we’d probably still be looking for that as well.

Y’all can call the inquisition now if you want and I’ll try to borrow some fireproof pajamas to sleep in so I’ll be prepared when they come haul me off for heresy.
It is possible that I ate too many lead paint chips as a child and I ain’t quite right in the head, but, be that as it may, I still say it’s high time we pass the cup of our shared humanity to one another and, for Christ’s sake, Call Off the Search!