Progressive Patterns

He drank my cup

Throughout my life I have sinned.

I have strayed from the path.

I have hurt others.

I have been selfish over and over again.

That is not the way of heaven.

It is not the way of eternity.

I am rightly condemned

for my crimes against the universe.

It is just to reduce me dust,

to remove my evil

that it will no longer harm

those who are pure.

For this I am sentenced to drink,

to drink the cup of death,

the cup of dark, everlasting death.

Separated from all that is light and life,

removed from all that is perfect,

cut off from my Father

and from my brothers and sisters—

this is just and right and necessary.

That cup is the cup I filled.

Every transgression,

every unholy act,

was another drop in that cup.

Now I must drink it,

and that is completely fair.

But wait!

I hear Someone in a garden.

I hear a prayer of submission.

The Son of God will trade cups with me.

He will drink mine

that I might drink His.

Even if I refuse His, He will take mine.

He puts it to His lips

and He bows in agony.

He falls to the ground under the weight.

He is swallowed up by the darkness

that I created.

He dies the death that is mine.

He is removed from the universe

like I should have been.

Now all is quiet

and still

and empty.

I am speechless.

I was prepared to endure my death,

but I do not how to deal with this.

Just then

the Father puts His arm around my shoulder.

He says softly,

"Here. He wanted you to drink this.

I want you to drink this."

My rebellion and my stubborness melt.

My fears transform to gratitude.

My pride steps down to humility.

I will drink His cup,

and I will live His life.