Filled to the Brim
Room for more
Something needs to be empty before it can be filled. Or at least have room for more.
Think about that for a minute.
In the story of Jesus’s first miracle, at the wedding at Cana, there’s a crucial phrase that sets the scene: “when the wine was gone” (John 2:3, NIV). All the jars containing wine had gone empty.
These days, so many things have “gone out” of our lives. The COVID years, for one, took away an ease in connecting that we’re still trying to recover from. For some of us, ordinary aging or unexpected health issues have taken away an ease in living we used to take for granted. Kindness and caring seem to have given out as well. Like many of you, I shudder at the angry atmosphere we are living in, where harsh, hurtful words are being thrown around like grenades.
With headlines blaring conflict and hatred, the question is, what are we going to let ourselves be filled with? It’s understandable that we’re frustrated or angry or afraid. But I think the key is not to be so full of these emotions that there’s no room for anything else. The constant negative news makes it all the more important—urgent, even—to find ways to keep our hearts open to something more.
At minimum, we need space for light to break through. Leonard Cohen’s piercing line, “There is a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in,” comes to mind.
At maximum, we need space for love to hold us together. We need to make room for caring and happiness and hope. We need to make room for the fullness that Jesus offers. When he gave instruction at the wedding to “fill the jars with water,” the results were anything but ordinary. Not only were the jars “filled to the brim,” but they also contained “the best” wine. Jesus transformed emptiness into abundance.
Infinite boundaries
As I write today, I’m still thinking about last week’s post, “What Are You Looking For?” There, I wrote about my first diagnosis of breast cancer; what I didn’t write about was the “filling up” that took place a year later.
The year had been long, and hard. After two surgeries, chemo, and radiation, my body was as “cured” as medical science could get me. But emotionally I felt hollow. My spirits had gone empty.
Then, in what I can now look back and see as a God-moment, I discovered a wonderful organization in Wisconsin called Breast Cancer Recovery, whose mission is “helping women with breast cancer heal emotionally.” When I learned they were offering a retreat for breast cancer survivors on Madeline Island, one of the Apostle Islands in Lake Superior, I gathered enough energy to sign up and prepared to head north, way up north, 460 miles north!
It was a LONG drive but SO worth it. Later, I learned that all Infinite Boundary retreat sites are chosen for their scenic, natural locations, as part of the healing process. But I wasn’t prepared for how much my spirits would immediately be touched by the peace of the woods and water. Walking with other women into the retreat house, I could already feel the beginning of a shift.
Each woman had a story to share. And each of us was given time and music and prayers and art—even kayaking! One experience in particular stands out in my mind, even all these years later. A chaplain was with us, and she spoke about the story of Jacob wrestling with the angel, refusing to let him go until Jacob had received a blessing. Her words were, “Go forth and claim the power of life … that is your blessing.”
During that retreat, I drank in beauty and stillness. I was touched by tears and tenderness. I felt cared for and encouraged. I moved from feeling alone to feeling together, from emptiness to abundance. In that time of openness, connection, and nature, I was “filled to the brim.” I knew deep in my soul that I was part of something greater than myself. I could claim the power of life.
Peace like a river
Fast forward ten years, and I experienced another time of being filled to the brim. I was worn out, yet again, and decided to give myself a three-day solo retreat in a VRBO house on the Wisconsin River, in the Driftless Region. This time I wasn’t recovering from a physical illness, but I was surely in need of spiritual healing.
The house had a large deck overlooking the river, and I spent a lot of time sitting out there, thinking, journaling, even singing. I often found myself singing “I’ve got peace like a river,” almost like a wish or a prayer. As the peace of the river began to seep into me, a different hymn started playing in my mind: “Wonderful Peace.” I took a few liberties with the lyrics and started singing to the trees. I shifted from THINKING about peace to FEELING it settle into my body, my bones, my breathing.
Maybe, if you’re familiar with some of the old hymns, the melody of “Wonderful Peace” will “play” in your head as you read these lyrics:*
Peace, peace, wonderful peace
Coming down from the heavens above,
Sweep over my spirit,
and fill me I pray,
with fathomless billows of love.
My last night on the river, I sat on the deck watching the stars begin to peak out, then burst into sparkles against the deep night sky. I wanted to absorb the awesomeness of those dazzling stars. I wondered: ‘Could this limitless brilliance also be an expression of love? How could the Creator of galaxies care about one person, about me?’
The only response I could come up with that night was this: The universe IS love. Love isn’t just an “add on.” It is in every atom of that celestial expanse, just as it is in every atom of my body. I was in that space as much as God was. Perhaps a better way of saying it is that God and I were in the same space. I was with God and God was with me.
I pictured God sitting on the deck, smiling at me and saying, “Lovely, isn’t it?” And me, crossing the threshold to join Her. Sitting together, quietly looking at the stars and candles and moonlight on the water. Sharing a beautiful evening. Nodding once in a while as another star popped out or a bird called out a wistful cry.
To say I was “filled to the brim” is the best way I can convey that experience, that fullness of peace I took home with me, embedded in my body.
On the brink of everything
Lately I’ve been re-reading Parker Palmer’s book On the Brink of Everything: Grace, Gravity & Getting Old. Palmer’s title speaks to me, since that is where I am in life. From the very first paragraph of the acknowledgments, I feel as if he is talking about me: “My life has been graced, but it certainly hasn’t been graceful.”
But it is Palmer’s perspective on life from the vantage point of aging that really opens my heart and mind:
I like being old because the view from the brink is striking, a full panorama of my life … I can see how it all belongs, even those days of despair when the darkness overwhelmed me. Calamities I once lamented now appear as strong threads of a larger weave, without which the fabric of my life would be less resilient …
I’ve doubled down on my gratitude for those who’ve helped me along with love, affirmation, hard questions, daunting challenges, compassion, and forgiveness.
—Parker Palmer, On the Brink of Everything: Grace, Gravity & Getting Old
I picture myself standing high on a mountainside, looking out at the valley, at the landscape of my life. From here, I can see things I might have missed earlier. I can appreciate how things connect. I can claim the changing trajectories of rivers and paths, and see how they all led to my becoming who I am today.
Each week as I write these blog posts, I am revisiting life experiences, seeing new patterns, acquiring new learnings. But most of all, I am recognizing that my life has been “filled to the brim.” I treasure the people who have walked with me and encouraged me. I’m grateful for the experiences that have honed my rough edges, healed my brokenness. I thank God for the people who have been there to pull me out of ditches of despair. From this vantage point, I can see how God has always been with me, even in the times I’ve felt empty.
These days, it’s not likely that I’m heading off to a retreat in the far north woods of Wisconsin—let alone go kayaking—or even doing a solo getaway. But I can still sing! I can still share my feelings with others, and listen to theirs. I can still go out and look at the night sky. And I can rest.
Jesus’s offer to fill me to the brim still stands. So I will keep claiming the power of life. I will keep claiming my blessings. And I will keep making room for more.
—Marcia Broucek, graphic designer for Narrative Alive
I welcome your comments about my reflections. If you have anything you want to share about your journey, I invite you to share your experience in the Comments field below.
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*If you want to listen to “Wonderful Peace,” here’s a YouTube clip, sung by Ann Kim, that I particularly like: https://youtu.be/rXGCqrmoY1A?si=4TmifihPE3-VEu5c
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are from the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition. Copyright © 2021 National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Click here to read more of Marcia’s blog posts.
Click here to see the Narrative Alive graphics and sermon themes for the Narrative Lectionary reading “Wedding at Cana.”
