drinking water from a dirty vessel

a meditation

Jan 15, 2025

let me see if I can trace this thread.

when I learn that Abraham Lincoln held contemptible views of Black people, what should I do? (shall I dismiss him entirely? after all, how could he miss something so basic?)

when I find out that one of my childhood heroes, who once said something encouraging to me—something I’ll never forget—has recently been exposed for some immorality, what should I do with that? (need I rewrite their history, and my understanding of them? if they were dishonest, then were they dishonest with me?)

when I hear of yet another well-known leader, religious or otherwise, falling headlong into reckless self-destruction, what should I do with that? (disavow them? publicly? add to their shame? burn their books?)

or put another way:

when I read a line from an author, or from a religious text, that I generally disagree with, but that resonates deeply with me, or seems at least to resonate with the fabric of reality, what should I do?

when I find that the other side of an argument, one I have long closed my ears to, has some points that, if I pretended to disagree with them, I’d be violating my own conscience, what shall I do with that?

Andrea Briguglio, San Pedro, California (1989); photo by Ken Light

can you drink water from a dirty cup?

well, sure you can. but is it good for you?

how dirty does a cup have to be for me to say no, I won’t drink that?

my world has felt more full of this kind of question than I like. my wife and I have experienced the “death of an ideal”many times over the last decade. it can be sobering.

but does that mean the ideals were wrong? that we had been carrying around our eggs in a basket that was always going to break and drop them… eventually?

and if our ideals were merely idealistic, and not tethered to some greater reality—some truth—then heck, is truth itself there?

maybe all cups are dirty. maybe there’s no such thing as “clean water”…

one of those little school things that stuck in my head was learning how water is cleaned naturally through the water cycle, and how the soil works as a filter in our watersheds. the plants, swamps and grasslands, the open fields and stretching soil, all serve us in being thirsty and drinking down the rain. and, if the watershed is reasonably healthy, it will make that rain good for drinking.1

there are other ways of cleaning dirty water (this is new to me as of Monday night):

of course I could drink water from a dirty cup.

if dirt & water are all that’s in it, I’ll be just fine.

but there’s a cut-off point, right, where I would no longer take the cup to my lips.

if I knew the water was poisoned,
or contaminated with e. coli,
or iocaine powder,
then I would abstain.2

or if it was a well and had a history of being safe, and my horse had already been drinking from it, then sure—even if the sides were dirt (not stone), I’d take a drink…

and I’d be more likely to do so if I were very thirsty.

but if the cup is filthy beyond use,
and the water is questionable,
then it’s a hard no from me.

no, if the cup is filthy, and the water undrinkable, then I am left with a few options:

a) I could take the cup to a waterfall
and scrub, and then fill it with new, pure water,
fed by mountains, no runoff polluting the source.

b) I could make a new cup
and fill it with new water.

c) I could, at least for a time,
take some ash from burned wood
and sprinkle some in the water
and it would become clean enough for me to drink.3

I suppose this points, to me, towards a clean conscience and the purifying, holy spirit of God.

in the book of Proverbs, it says, Guard you heart with all diligence, for from it flow the springs of life. or as Jesus says, Out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks.

the vessel that I carry with my life gets dirty. and I must clean it. humility admits the cup is dirty. repentance cleans it.

Jesus again in the book of John said, If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever trusts/is faithful in me, as it is written: ‘Streams of living water will flow from within them.’4

the water in me, good for bringing life to others and the things in my care, must sometimes be renewed, must be refilled. through listening in prayer, receiving, my cup is filled. in giving, the water stays sweet. (moving water doesn’t stagnate)

every day I am thirsty, and I drink.

and whatever good water I carry, I recognize the humble honor it is to carry and to share, pouring from my imperfect cup (that indubitably needs a good wash).

so when a good word comes to me from a dirty cup, I am grateful. I give thanks. I might need to use some divine filtering, but God knows I need filtering myself.

this meditation feels somewhat incomplete—not all of the metaphors interlock perfectly, and I don’t answer some of my own questions... sometimes I feel there are questions that don’t need answering, because they were the wrong questions. sometimes the answers I find, I didn’t have the questions for.

sometimes I feel we do a disservice to our imaginations (and maybe our souls) by always being quick to answer questions. perhaps we would get stronger/more creative by wrestling with it.

I’m curious to know what, if anything, this little meditation might have stirred in you.

thanks for being here. I write weekly sharing poetry, songs, musings, thoughts on creative life, and hopefully some encouragement… my first collection of poetry, Snowmelt to Roots, is available in my shop, (or on Amazon). and my music is available here.

peace,