As if it were new…

Blessing
Ancient One
who makes all things new,
may we receive with gentleness
and touch with hopefulness
and protect with fierceness
and love with tenderness;
and may we celebrate with gratefulness
and welcome with humbleness
and tend with gracefulness
all that you give.

Quote: Jan Richardson

Image: Virgin and Child // Cover of The Magnificat // For The National Black Catholic Congress, Orlando, July 2017

to announce or to invite — Mary’s choice

Blessing

Not to one
but to many you have called:
come
on the dancing wind
come
from the deepest forest
come
from the highest places
come
from the distant lands
come
from the edge of darkness
come
from the depth of fear
and become
the bearer of God.

 


Quote: Jan Richardson
Artist: Hi Qe

and Advent begins…

 

An invocation

The season of Advent means there is something on the horizon the likes of which we have never seen before.

It is not possible to keep it from coming, because it will. That’s just how Advent works.
What is possible is to not see it, to miss it, to turn just as it brushes past you.
And you begin to grasp what it was you missed, like Moses in the cleft of the rock, watching God’s hindquarters fade in the distance.

So stay. Sit. Linger. Tarry. Ponder. Wait. Behold. Wonder.

There will be time enough for running. For rushing. For worrying. For pushing.

For now, stay. Wait.

Something is on the horizon.

 

–Jan Richardson

lift your voice – in laughter, in weeping

BLESSING THAT BECOMES EMPTY AS IT GOES

This blessing
keeps nothing
for itself.
You can find it
by following the path
of what it has let go,
of what it has learned
it can live without.

Say this blessing out loud
a few times
and you will hear
the hollow places
within it,
how it echoes
in a way
that gives your voice
back to you
as if you had never
heard it before.

Yet this blessing
would not be mistaken
for any other,
as if,
in its emptying,
it had lost
what makes it
most itself.

It simply desires
to have room enough
to welcome
what comes.

Today,
it’s you.

So come and sit
in this place
made holy
by its hollows.
You think you have
too much to do,
too little time,
too great a weight
of responsibility
that none but you
can carry.

I tell you,
lay it down.
Just for a moment,
if that’s what you
can manage at first.
Five minutes.
Lift up your voice—
in laughter,
in weeping,
it does not matter—
and let it ring against
these spacious walls.

Do this
until you can hear
the spaces within
your own breathing.
Do this
until you can feel
the hollow in your heart
where something
is letting go,
where something
is making way.


Quote: Jan Richardson
from Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons

Image: “In the Emptying” © janrichardsonimages.com
(Inspired by Philippians 2)

Hope- with substance

IMG_2170

BLESSING OF HOPE

So may we know
the hope
that is not just
for someday
but for this day—
here, now,
in this moment
that opens to us:

hope not made
of wishes
but of substance,

hope made of sinew
and muscle
and bone,

hope that has breath
and a beating heart,

hope that will not
keep quiet
and be polite,

hope that knows
how to holler
when it is called for,

hope that knows
how to sing
when there seems
little cause,

hope that raises us
from the dead—

not someday

but this day,
every day,
again and
again and
again.


Quote: Jan Richardson
The Cure for Sorrow: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief

Image: “So That You May Know the Hope”
© janrichardsonimages.com

 

with many thanks to Jan Richardson