From the hymnal · From This Cup
From This Cup
The title hymn of our communion record — cut, like all eight, across a single weekend and in a single key. We tracked it on the fellowship-hall folding tables the Saturday after a Sunday that had moved us, the leftover bread and grape juice still on the counter and the side door propped for the warm of the night. If you listen near the bread you can hear Zacchaeus, our raccoon, at the edge of the light. We print it as we sang it that weekend, in the one key of D.
We were handed a cup we did not fill,And we lifted it slow, so as not to spill;We did not weigh it or ask what was inside —We said thank you first, and we drank, and we tried.
There was bread on the counter and bread on the board,And somehow a loaf that was never once poor;We passed it one row, and then down the next,To the back of the hall — and there still was some left.
We propped the side door for the warm of the night,And a small striped guest came in out of the dark to the light;He took what was offered and judged not our key,And we let the door stay — you don't pick who comes free.
It was juice in the cup, not the other, and fine,For the point was the hand and it never was wine;We counted the cups, and we counted the chairs,And we bowed our heads after, with thanks and with prayers.
Refrain
From this cup, from this cup, we will drink and be glad,For the hand that has passed it is all that we had;So pull up a folding chair, come to the light —There is bread enough, always; the door's propped tonight.
A note for the folding chairs
From This Cup (2009) is our communion record, and "From This Cup" is the title track — the hymn on the cup you are handed and do not get to choose, which you drink from by first saying thank you. We cut it on the fellowship-hall folding tables the Saturday after a Sunday that had moved us, one weekend and the one key of D, the way we have kept every record since. Every detail in it is literal, because we do not know how to sing about communion any other way: the loaf that is somehow always enough for one more row; the grape juice and not the other, which is a smaller doctrine than people make it, the point being the hand that passes the cup and never its contents; and yes, the raccoon. We propped the side door on a warm Friday and a small striped guest let himself in, sat at the edge of the light, and stayed the whole weekend. We named him Zacchaeus, for the one who climbed up to see, and we did not chase him — you do not get to pick who the open door lets in, and the open door is still worth it. There is no quarrel anywhere in this one; it is only a table, a cup, a loaf, and a guest. If you come, come thankful, or come to be made thankful; the counting comes first and the bowing comes after. Bring a dish. Bring a small cup. Leave the door propped a little longer than feels wise, and stay for decaf.
Hymn seven of eight albums' worth — the communion record, with no quarrel in it and one raccoon at the edge of the light. Back to the hymnal — “We Held the Volume” →