This week I received the happy news from the publisher at Orbis Books that my new book, Vessels of Love: Prayers and Poems for the Later Years, is on its way into the public sphere. I’m elated that it’s being released earlier than expected. While this book focuses on people in the final decades of aging, the concept of being a vessel of love pertains to all ages. Think about the containers we drink from every day. Each one is meant to receive something into it and then to be emptied of what it contains. This concept applies to the life-long process of spiritual transformation in which this cycle of filling and pouring out continually takes place in the growth of our becoming a self-giving, loving person. I envision this to become so much a part of us that by the time we reach old age we are fully attuned to graciously receive kindness from others and freely share those benefits. I refer to this cycle of receiving and giving in the “Introduction” to Vessels of Love:
“During this lifetime, whether we’ve been aware or not, a Presence of immeasurable love has been flowing through (our) experiences, quietly filling the vessel of our inner being. Like vats of matured wine, our ripened goodness has readied itself to move outward. The Beguine mystic, Mechthild of Magdeburg, trusted that “the great flood of divine love never ceases. …It flows on and on effortlessly and sweetly and without failing until, finally, our tiny vessel becomes full and spills over.” Now is the time to tend “our tiny vessel” so this graced goodness strengthens in us and goes on to benefit the life of those we encounter.”
One morning last week I witnessed this very thing when I spent several hours reflecting and writing by my favorite river. I noticed a small boat anchored in the middle of the water. An older man was standing in the boat, repeatedly tossing forth his fishing line and reeling it back in. I didn’t pay much attention to this, although I did notice he was pulling in a fish from time to time. I wondered how he could stand up in one place for that length of time without his legs aching and his “throwing arm” getting really tired. Just as I was preparing to leave, the fisherman, who by then had been standing over two hours in the boat, finally put his fishing pole down and started the boat’s motor. I presumed he’d head down the river. Instead, he turned the boat and aimed it for shore, at a place not far from my spot where a small group of two men and several children had been fishing the entire time I was there. (It appeared they had not caught anything for their efforts.)
The fisherman kept coming closer to shore until he reached the group. He held out a rope for them to pull the boat to the riverbank. The people’s first look of concern turned to curiosity after he said, “I have something for you.” With that he lifted a bucket heavy with at least a dozen catfish. To their amazed look and huge smiles, he motioned for their still-empty bucket and began handing the fish to them, one by one, until his bucket was empty and theirs was full. His gift-giving exemplified the act of being a vessel of love. I thought of the hard work of standing, casting out repeatedly, taking the fish off the hook, and filling his bucket. Then he gave it away. All of it. Graciously. Without hesitation or fanfare. I want to embody that sort of kindness—receiving abundance and then giving it away.
Abundant peace,
Joyce Rupp
