February 16, Epiphany 6C (Luke 6:17–26)
I want to be surprised by God, even if that surprise might scare the bejesus out of me.
Somewhere along the line, I started to conclude my email messages with the word blessings. Why not? It has biblical roots, and in this age of grievance it carries a contrarian ring of affirmation. But it also sounds vague—and not nearly as challenging as the blessings that God confers on biblical characters from Abram and Sarai all the way to Mary, the mother of Jesus. Those blessings are specific, unsettling, and demanding. My one-word send-off says something without really saying much of anything at all.
In his book Desert Solitaire, Edward Abbey crafts words of blessing that are pointed and breathtaking: “May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells . . . where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you—beyond that next turning of the canyon walls.”
While part of me feels daunted by Abbey’s summons to adventure, there is a deeper part of me that wants what he wants: to keep my eyes open for something strange, beautiful, and more full of wonder. I want to be surprised by God, even if that surprise might scare the bejesus out of me.
