The Vase |
| Posted by Mark (mark) on Apr 30 2008 at 1:42 PM |
Once there lived a rich man. He lacked no earthly possession or power, and whatever he desired he made his own. No whim went hungry, no longing unfulfilled. In the prime of his life, having lived this way since childhood, he realized there was something vastly empty about his life. There was something missing he could not fill with earthly things. Thus a spiritual quest ensued which led the rich man to a wise man.
The wise man had spent his life pursuing the unseen, and his peaceful depth was unparalleled in the land. Learning quickly from his new mentor the rich man came one day with a question. “Why do you teach of perseverance and suffering, if Jesus suffered on the cross already? Why must we face trials? Isn’t that the point of the cross?”
“Do you genuinely desire to know the answer?” replied the wise man.
“Yes I do!”
“Then go and fetch your two most valued possessions, and bring them back to me.”
“You can’t just answer my question?” said the puzzled rich man.
“You cannot know anything by simple words. You must experience. You must live.”
Thinking carefully the rich man was hesitant now, but his curiosity burned and soon he set off to retrieve the items. Returning several hours later the rich man arrived with two ornate, and strikingly beautiful vases.
“Those are your two most valued possessions?” queried the wise man.
“Yes, they are the most expensive and beautiful in all my household. They are the most precious things I could bring.”
“And you’re sure you genuinely want to know?” he said reiterating the earlier question.
“Yes I am, but I’d be grateful if you didn’t break them,” he said, airing his latent concern.
“I’m not going to break them, but I will fill them if that’s alright.”
“Fill them...I suppose that’s okay,” said the rich man scratching his head.
Holding his arms out the wise man received the vases and headed inside his tent with the rich man right on his heels. There he opened a jar and began filling one of the vases with dried meats and vegetables. When it was full he left the tent with the remaining vase and took it to the well. There, under the watchful eye of the rich man, he filled it to the brim with fresh water. With both vases now full he fashioned stone lids and using some sort of resin, he sealed them. Apparently satisfied he gave the vases back to the rich man.
“What now?”
“Give me all the possessions you brought, except the vases,” he directed, “your wineskin and camel as well.” Reluctantly the rich man handed it all over and stood, a vase under each arm, staring quizzically at his mentor. “Now,” continued the wise man, “Have you heard of the spring in the middle of the desert named Entos?”
“Yes, most everyone has. Some say it doesn’t exist though, that it’s a fairy tale, an oasis created by men delirious with thirst.”
“It exists, I’ve drunk from it. That is where you’re going.”
“Where I’m going?” snorted the rich man, almost dropping the vases.
“Yes, it’s the journey you must make to know your answer.”
“Well which way is it then?”
“You should head due west.”
“Don’t I get a map or something?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have a map to give you.”
“Then how will I find it alone?”
“Yes, that could be a problem.”
“And I must make this journey to know?”
“Yes.”
“Very well,” agreed the rich man. He was certain the wise man would not send him out to his death, and felt that the trial of having no map was part of the journey. So he set off, vases in hand, with many thoughts whirling around his mind. He was sure the spring could not be far; for the vases were not large, and only held enough provision for a few days.
It was hard desolate country. Stony and craggy, devoid of trees, speckled with sharp looking shrubs and scalding sand that barely covered the naked rock upon which it baked. Stopping after many hours fighting that hostile land, the rich man rested and decided to wet his parched mouth. He was surprised to find the vase lid immovable. Prying at it and carefully wrenching it back and forth, he worked for a full ten minutes to loosen the lid, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic began to set in and he quickly grabbed the other vase to see if it too was stuck.
Failing to open either vase his countenance began to darken. “What’s the lesson in this?” he wailed at the rocks. “Does he think I’ll give up so easily? I’m gonna find that spring and drink deeply of it.”
Gathering the vases he thrust himself forward into the desert forge once more. His mind was frenetic as he tried to analyze the vases, and what the point was. He slept little that night, uncomfortable, cold and curios. The next morning found his mind still in a frenzy, and he trudged on in search of answers. By the third morning it had waned, and the oppressive weariness of his body had now pressed itself upon his mind. One thought permeated his languid intellect: the spring must be close. But as midday approached his dehydrated body began to cramp. Though he was still singularly focused, his body would not move and he found himself sprawled along a cracked canyon floor.
Staring at the vases which lay next to him, he pondered breaking them for the first time. But they were his treasures and he stubbornly refused, “No, the spring must be close by. Probably just around the next corner.”
Hours later and still unable to move the rich man felt his life beginning to slip from his grasp. Battered, burned, and starved the rich man suddenly saw with a new clarity. He lay dying with food and water only a foot away. In fact, they’d been in his arms the whole time. “Should I admire these vases unto death?” thought the rich man. How foolish it all seemed to him, that which once was precious and treasured was killing him.
Strengthened by the sure promise contained within those vases, he slowly sat up and taking the first vase, carefully broke it and drank. Then, shattering the second he ate. It had been a bitter journey, but in that moment there was no sorrow at the loss of the vases, only joy in the life found therein.
Awaking the next morning refreshed, the rich man abandoned his quest for the spring and set out for home. Half-way there and growing weary once more, the rich man spotted someone in the distance. It was the wise man and he brought with him food and water.
“Where are your precious vases?” asked the wise man.
“I broke them.”
“You sacrificed your most treasured possessions?”
“Yes, I suppose I did,” said the rich man wistfully. “But I’m afraid to tell you that I failed on my journey. I didn’t find the spring in the desert. If you had only come with me to guide me,” he lamented.
“I surely would have, if you’d asked.” An exasperated stare filled the rich man’s eyes, but no words filled his throat. “Did you find the answers you sought?” continued the wise man.
“I told you, I didn’t find the spring. I failed.”
“Are you sure? The spring is not found in this desert. It’s found in the desert of your heart.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Why have you come back without finding the spring?”
“Because I couldn’t do it alone. I would’ve died out there.”
“Yes and part of you did. That is the work of the cross in life’s trials. You must share in his death to join in the resurrection. The outer man must be broken to release the life of the inner man. The damn must be shattered for the spring to flow forth. And that which we value most, those things we cling to harder than the rest, those are what really break us; break our independence.
“The cross did not remove the trials from this life; but it does redeem us in them. It does resurrect us in the midst of them. It brings life where there shouldn’t be life. It causes a spring to burst forth in the middle of a desert. It shatters our precious vases, our precious lives, to release the life and sustenance within. Trouble you will have in this life, but take heart, he has overcome the world.”
