Ballad Of The Common Cup

Mike Vanden Bosch. Trowel & Sword. November 1988
From the Magazine “Reformed Worship”

Preamble: While many of the articles in Trowel & Sword tended to be weighty, theological treatises, (perhaps contributing to a common idea that T&S was mainly a magazine by ministers for ministers), we do sometimes come across an item such as the following “tongue in cheek” poetic composition describing how one particular congregation, led by its Minister and Elders, dealt with the vexing question of large, shared cups as opposed to individual cups when partaking of the communion wine. For our non-Dutch speaking subscribers we have included translations for the occasional Dutch words used in the poem which were not part of the original script.

Ballad Of The Common Cup

(In several of our congregations discussions are being held – and at times emotions are running high! – about some aspects of the Lord’s Supper celebration, viz. the common cup or individual cup, and wine or grape juice. We thought it good to introduce a lighter note as well, and received permission to reprint the ‘Ballad of the Common Cup’)

Grace CRC, some years ago,
served wine at its Lord’s Suppers. 
They passed a cup from hand to hand, 
for they were “common cuppers.”

The young resented cups from hands 
still stained from greasing tractors; 
some said their appetite for wine 
was spoiled by such factors.

If work-stained hands did not offend, 
long whiskers did much quicker; 
for wine like pearls of blood would stick 
to whiskers dipped in liquor.

Yet old folks loved the common cup 
the supper was their mecca. 
Jan Klinker, having sipped his wine, 
would whisper loud, “Smaakt lekker.” (tastes good)

But lo, a preacher came to town 
whose wife was somewhat spiffy. 
He said some habits would be changed 
in what he called a jiffy.

He lectured his consistory 
on germs and all diseases; 
He said a fly could put a germ 
on anyone it pleases.

He said a kiss imposed a threat, 
a real though hidden danger, 
especially from the lips of one 
who could be called a stranger.

Whenever pigs would die, he’d say, 
“The germs have been invadin’.”
Soon fear began to rise in hearts, 
and elders said, “Ach heden.” (Oh dear)

And so since lips had deadly germs, 
as preacher had been noting,
they asked the people to decide 
and waited for their voting.

Alas, the vote was tied that day, 
for older folks insisted 
tradition shouldn’t be changed for germs, 
and sternly they resisted.

They told the elders they believed 
that God ordained their sneezing. 
If germs in fact were on the cup, 
he gloried in their wheezing.

The elders sensed theology 
too deep for them to touch
so deep it couldn’t be explained 
unless one spoke in Dutch.

Alas, the preacher’s Dutch was weak 
in terms he sorely needed. 
He knew he wouldn’t convince a soul 
no matter how he pleaded.

“They’ll never change their minds,” he said. 
They see like old Cyclops.
No heads in all the world are like 
the ones we call Frieskops.” 
(Frieskoppen – person from Friesland, Northern Holland 
known for their stubborn nature)

So since he couldn’t wrench these folks 
by force from their tradition, 
he planned a skilful strategy 
to win by sure attrition.

He stopped his arguing at once; 
he vowed he wanted peace 
(but casually noted that his wife 
thought common cups were vies). (dirty)

The statement stabbed them to the quick, 
though some were quite offended.
But then he offered them a plan 
that everyone commended.

We’ll offer wine in common cups 
to you who love tradition.
You’ll choose the kind of cup you want 
by choosing your position.

“Those on the right, appropriately, 
get wine from cups prodigious;
but larger cups cannot be said 
to mean you’re more religious.

“Those on the left, you may have guessed, 
with fingers youthfully nimble, 
will get their wine in little cups 
no larger than a thimble.

“But they mayn’t think that dainty cups 
make holier Lord’s Suppers.
Nor should they brag because they are
the only bottoms-uppers.”

The elders sensed some wisdom which
the church so badly needed, 
but thought the preacher somewhat weak 
in having so conceded.

“Won’t strangers think we’re odd,” they asked, 
“with cups of different sizes?’
One thought perhaps Leviticus 
had banned such compromises. 

The preacher said such difference
could well be overlooked, 
but elders said, “Theology 
should save us from such drukte.” (fuss)

But soon they sensed the preacher’s plan 
though earlier confusing; 
he knew the flu could make them choose 
for cups no one was using.

So through the years the thought of germs 
and long untrimmed moustaches 
moved nearly all conservatives 
in silent, beaten batches.

From thimbles then one Sunday morn 
two hundred people sipped; 
around the rims of dinky cups 
their mouths were tightly lipped.

But from a cup ten times the size 
with others slightly jealous 
a lone man drank communion wine 
from one big silver chalice.

Jan Klinker was the man who drank
in swallows long and easy. 
The elders thought his attitude 
was just a bit too breezy.

Said one, “We shouldn’t have given in,
for now we pay the price.
We give the man ten times the wine
for being eigenwijs.” (pigheaded)

The preacher had been pleased because 
his plan to change some drinking 
had changed, without an argument, 
some quaint, outdated thinking.

But when he served Jan Klinker wine
his joy was somewhat muted;
his plan in Klinker’s stubbornness 
seemed oddly now refuted.

So soon the preacher hoped (in guilt) 
Jan Klinker would catch cold 
or flu or whooping cough and then 
get prematurely old.

Jan Klinker died a ripe old age, 
a chalice in his hand.
He said he’d drink from it in joy 
in heaven’s promised land.

But when Jan Klinker breathed his last, 
the preacher, with some malice, 
put in his hand a tiny cup 
and took the silver chalice.

“If heaven has the common cup, 
you won’t need this,” he sighed. 
“You’ll drink from golden goblets then 
and never be denied.”

The preacher spoke quite warmly, 
but his thoughts were more malicious.
A puny cup in Klinker’s hand 
brought feelings quite delicious.

“Big cups,” he said, “will always stand
for antiquated people 
who worshiped in a wooden church
with one old-fashioned steeple.”

But when he died, his heirs passed ’round 
a common cup for drinking; 
and they were praised for love and warmth 
and innovative thinking.

Mike Vanden Bosch

(Mike Vanden Bosch is a professor of English at Dordt College in SIOUX Centre, Iowa).

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