Bless Me
October 20, 2008
Sometimes in life we have to become less
to be more. We become whole people, not on
the basis of what we accumulate, but by
getting rid of everything that is not really
us, everything false and inauthentic.
Harold Kushner
Richard the butler, You found God, sir?
William Wilberforce, I think He found me.
(from the movie Amazing Grace)
No matter how much of your self you are
able to objectify and examine, the
quintessential, living part of yourself will
always elude you, i.e, the part that is
conducting the examination. Thus you do not
solve the mystery, you live the mystery.
Frederick Buechner
In a memorable M*A*S*H* episode, there is a
wounded bombardier who thinks he is
Jesus.
The camp is mixed. Some say he's crazy, most say he's doing an act in order to get discharged from the army.
One person in camp believes him. Radar.
It's time for the man's release. Radar walks out to the jeep where the man sits. "Excuse me, Jesus, sir. Could you bless my friend?"
"Yes," the man replied.
And Radar pulls his Teddy Bear from behind his back. Jesus blesses the bear.
"Excuse me, Jesus, sir. Could you bless me?"
"Yes, Radar."
Radar steps back in deference. "Thank you. And my name. It's not Radar, sir. It's Walter."
Bless me.
What is he asking for? Most definitions say that to "be blessed" is to be granted God's favor and protection, or the bringing of welcome pleasure or relief.
This is good news in a world where we live bombarded by the need to achieve, or pursue, and we are rewarded by having more, or by being "somebody."
To be blessed, is to know that place of no striving.
To be blessed, is to know that place of rest.
To be blessed, is to know that I am loved by a gracious Creator, and that I can own and celebrate my identity, knowing that it is enough.
And it all begins simply, with the affirmation of my name.
There is a similar story in the Gospel of John. Mary is looking for Jesus. He's not where he is supposed to be (in the grave). She is weeping. She's lost what she needed for stability.
She sees a man (she assumes is the gardener), and asks, "Please tell me where you've put him."
And Jesus (the man Mary believes to be the gardener) says only one word, "Mary." And in that one word, her name, is the blessing.
The blessing is the permission to be. Without the need for absolute security.
Or certainty.
Or answers.
Or striving.
So Bless me.
Not for what I've done or failed to do.
Just Terry.
Not my accomplishments or my accouterments or my masks or my roles or my achievements. To be blessed to to know that in that moment, I can just BE.
Mary.
Walter.
Terry.
I had such a moment today. After a long weekend, I slept on Cayucos Beach, on the central California coast. I could see Morro Rock, and I listened to the wind. And I knew that my identity rested in the hands of a loving and faithful Creator.
And my striving ceased. And I knew I was blessed indeed.
The camp is mixed. Some say he's crazy, most say he's doing an act in order to get discharged from the army.
One person in camp believes him. Radar.
It's time for the man's release. Radar walks out to the jeep where the man sits. "Excuse me, Jesus, sir. Could you bless my friend?"
"Yes," the man replied.
And Radar pulls his Teddy Bear from behind his back. Jesus blesses the bear.
"Excuse me, Jesus, sir. Could you bless me?"
"Yes, Radar."
Radar steps back in deference. "Thank you. And my name. It's not Radar, sir. It's Walter."
Bless me.
What is he asking for? Most definitions say that to "be blessed" is to be granted God's favor and protection, or the bringing of welcome pleasure or relief.
This is good news in a world where we live bombarded by the need to achieve, or pursue, and we are rewarded by having more, or by being "somebody."
To be blessed, is to know that place of no striving.
To be blessed, is to know that place of rest.
To be blessed, is to know that I am loved by a gracious Creator, and that I can own and celebrate my identity, knowing that it is enough.
And it all begins simply, with the affirmation of my name.
There is a similar story in the Gospel of John. Mary is looking for Jesus. He's not where he is supposed to be (in the grave). She is weeping. She's lost what she needed for stability.
She sees a man (she assumes is the gardener), and asks, "Please tell me where you've put him."
And Jesus (the man Mary believes to be the gardener) says only one word, "Mary." And in that one word, her name, is the blessing.
The blessing is the permission to be. Without the need for absolute security.
Or certainty.
Or answers.
Or striving.
So Bless me.
Not for what I've done or failed to do.
Just Terry.
Not my accomplishments or my accouterments or my masks or my roles or my achievements. To be blessed to to know that in that moment, I can just BE.
Mary.
Walter.
Terry.
I had such a moment today. After a long weekend, I slept on Cayucos Beach, on the central California coast. I could see Morro Rock, and I listened to the wind. And I knew that my identity rested in the hands of a loving and faithful Creator.
And my striving ceased. And I knew I was blessed indeed.
Poems / Prayers
Gardener
Some of the seeds of hope
Planted tentatively in the fall
Have not come up
They lie stillborn and unrealized
somewhere in the spring soil
Decaying
The strongest and the best ones
Pushed up through leaves
And layers of cold, hard resistance
Right into clear blue air
And stand there nakedly green
Breathing
It's always that way with growing things
Never knowing at the start
Which will make it and which will fail
But the thing to hold fast to
Never to lose faith in
Is simply
Sowing
Ann North
The Blessing of Peace
Deep peace of the running wave to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the Son of Peace to you.
Ancient Celtic Prayer
Peace,
Terry Hershey
