Blessing: An ancient posture for a modern church
As a priest, I give a lot of blessings. Usually, this happens in the church: I bless baptismal water, bread and wine for communion, and members of my congregation. One of my favorite parts of our Sunday service is what many traditions call “the benediction”— at the conclusion of worship, God’s people are sent out into the world with His blessing, an awareness of His presence and power in their daily lives.
But somewhat surprisingly, many historic rites of blessing are designed to happen outside of church. Ministers visit the hospital to bless the dying. We bless newborn babies tucked in their bassinets at home. There are also blessings for houses, workplaces, and even — thanks to St. Francis — animals.
We might find all this blessing of people and items a bit excessive. Or we could appreciate these rituals as a nice sentiment, even if a bit archaic. But I believe the ancient practice of blessing can help us recover an important aspect of our vocation in the world today.
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In the Bible, blessing is always an interpersonal reality. Proximity to God confers blessedness with all its benefits. Separation from God is a curse. Creation was blessed in God’s presence, and the seventh day was blessed as having a special relationship to God (Gen. 1-2). Similarly, Israel’s first priestly blessing described God’s favor in terms of his nearness: “The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make his face to shine upon you … the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace” (Num. 6:24-26). To be near to God is to be blessed.
This blessing-by-proximity even extends to God’s people, who act as His representatives in the world. When God called Abram to be the father of the Jewish people, He said, “I will bless you … and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you” (Gen. 12:1-3). From the beginning, God’s people were called to be not merely recipients of God’s friendship and favor, but conveyors of it.
Early Christians embraced this ministry by blessing, or setting apart, all kinds of people and things as God’s. By praying over everything from their evening meal to their enemies, Christians lived like priests, asking for God’s presence to sanctify and heal the world around them. Rather than withdrawing from their secular and unbelieving environment, the New Testament church sought to be instruments of God’s blessing within it. The apostle Paul even suggested that their faithful proximity can make unbelievers holy (1 Cor. 7:14).
This calling to carry God’s blessing to the world is a far cry from the social media style humble-brag “hashtag blessed” (#blessed) that has caricatured Christianity in recent years. And it critiques the combative, culture war mentality that fuels suspicion and resentment toward those who don’t share our values. God’s blessing is not a commodity to be displayed or a weapon to be wielded. It is a gift to be given.
As Christmas approaches, we revisit the supreme act through which God blessed the world. In becoming a human being, God bestowed the gift of His presence among us. He became proximate to creation by entering into it through the womb of a woman. The major themes of Advent invite us to reflect on the fact that though we deserve judgment, God extends mercy. To a world in darkness, God comes as light. In the face of Jesus, God has literally “lifted up his countenance” upon us to give us peace. As the familiar hymn says, he has come near “to make his blessings flow far as the curse is found.”
The Incarnation conclusively demonstrates God’s posture toward the stuff of earth. And we are called to follow suit. We renounce Satan and his work, but we name creation as good and reclaim it as God’s. Through His people, God is restoring the whole world to a kind of sacredness: as a place where He will dwell forever (Rev. 21:1-5). This means our primary ministry is to bless, not to banish. One day Satan will be defeated, but our call to bless creation will remain.
Practically speaking, this looks like abandoning an adversarial or even an apathetic mindset toward the spaces and relationships we inhabit. However “secular” or hostile our environment may be, we are called to bless and not to curse (Rom. 12:14). We also can ask for a sanctified imagination regarding the material world in our care: how might God’s presence renew and enhance whatever small corners of creation He has given us? How might we set apart our homes, our tables, our backyards and neighborhood schools as places to meet with God?
And lastly, to become the kind of people who can bring God’s blessing to others, we must reflect on the ways we need to be transformed as well. Our call to host His presence requires that we also be sanctified — reclaimed and renewed in His image. This ongoing process prevents us from falling into triumphalism or pride. But understanding God’s posture toward us, in all our persisting sin and dysfunction, also prevents us from falling into self-hatred and shame. He has chosen, once for all, to come near. He has called us very good. He has promised to sanctify us completely, that He might dwell with us forever. This is the hope we have to share.
Hannah King is a priest and writer in the Anglican tradition. You can find her on Twitter @revhannahking
