Blessings: a ritual for times of transition

Especially when one has that 'stunned-bird' feeling

Hello friends –

It’s been a big week here in sandwich season, and I’m still processing recent events.

The sensation I feel is similar to one I’ve had before and what I can best describe as “stunned bird.”

You know that muffled “thump” you hear when a small bird has mistaken glass for sky? You look out the window, or maybe you go right out the door, and try to find the poor thing.

More often than not, the bird is sitting in grass or in a flowerbed. Some I’ve found listing to one side, like tiny beached boats, eyes at half-mast. Others are very much alert but frozen in place. Most, given a little time, do fly away.

I’m that second type of stunned bird. Wide-eyed. Unsure of what will come next. Wary but hopeful. As long as a crisis doesn’t sneak up on me, I am going to be fine.

And in this extended metaphor, so is everyone else in my flock. More on all that later.

The power of rituals

Today I want to talk about the power of rituals.

We all have them. Going to church or synagogue. Filling plastic eggs with jellybeans. Saying grace. Developing a certain way of making our morning coffee or tea. Saving bottlecaps and wine corks in a dedicated vase. Touching the outside of the airplane in blessing as we board.

Why? Rituals connect us to ourselves, to each other, to a broader community and to the One we put our faith in. Often they make us feel safe. At home.

Lately, I find rituals give me something tangible to do in the midst of life’s uncertainties. Offering blessings has become a go-to ritual for me.

When my parents moved into their retirement community last March, I’m pretty sure I prayed my way through their apartment, although I don’t have a clear memory of what that looked like. Just a few months later, leading up to my mom’s passing, almost every time I left her I lay one or both of my hands on her and offered a blessing, sometimes in my mind, sometimes out loud. Doing so helped me walk away.

A few months ago, as Jon, Max and I were preparing to move into my parents’ former house, I wanted my dad’s blessing on that space, where he and my mom had lived so fully for 32 years.

My son, Max, helped me recognize the perfect opportunity.

Late in the process of fixing up the house, we realized the ivory-colored carpet that covered most of the main floor had been there the full 32 years as well. It was time to retire it.

Jon and Max ripped out the carpet, and I joined them for a staple-removal party. We spent hours on our knees taking out carpet staples and getting to know the plywood subfloor. In the course of that family project, Max and I decided we should invite people over to write on the subfloor before we covered it up again.  

---

---

We asked people to come over and bring some sort of blessing. When they arrived, we handed out sharpies, and invited them to write wherever they wanted. When they finished, each person read their blessing aloud. Here’s one:

I’ll include the other blessings at the bottom of this newsletter.

Given everything he’d been through in recent months, my dad wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to get down on his hands and knees. So I invited him to read a “new home” blessing by the Irish poet John O’Donohue. Here it is:

May this house shelter your life.
When you come in home here,
May all the weight of the world 
Fall from your shoulders. 

May your heart be tranquil here,
Blessed by peace the world cannot give.

May this home be a lucky place, 
Where the graces your life desires 
Always find the pathway to your door.

May nothing destructive 
Ever cross your threshold.

May this be a safe place
Full of understanding and acceptance, 
Where you can be as you are,
Without the need of any mask
Of pretense or image.

May this home be a place of discovery,
Where the possibilities that sleep 
In the clay of your soul can emerge
To deepen and refine your vision
For all that is yet to come to birth.

May it be a house of courage,
Where healing and growth are loved,
Where dignity and forgiveness prevail;
A home where patience of spirit is prized,
And the sight of the destination is never lost
Though the journey be difficult and slow.
May there be great delight around this hearth.
May it be a house of welcome
For the broken and diminished.

May you have the eyes to see
That no visitor arrives without a gift
And no guest leaves without a blessing.

(From To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings, New York: Convergent Books, 2008.)

Recently, when another loved one moved into a new home, I read aloud a blessing by Jean Gaskin that chaplain Christine Vaughan Davies shared on her Substack,

Journeying Alongside

. Here it is:

May this home be glowing with warmth
in the chill of winter
And a cooling shade
in the heat of the summer sun,
May it be a place
where one awakes with eagerness,
And a haven from stress,
when the work of the day is done.
May God, our Mother,
safely cradle this house in her strong arms,
And breathe the comfort of her love
through every room.
May God, our Father, fire the minds
of those who dwell here with hopeful dreams
And give them the strength
to make those dreams come true.
May God, our Companion,
fill this home with laughter
And weave a satisfying peace
in times of solitude.
May the cupboards be forever full,
And the table spread with welcome cheer.
May friends come often through the door,
But yet the need for privacy
be respected here.
May the wild beauty of God,
May the indwelling peace of God
May the surprising mystery of God
Inhabit this home.
Amen.

(From Human Rites: Worship Resources for an Age of Change, compiled by Hannah Ward and Jennifer Wild, London: Mowbray, 1995.)

In each case, these blessings have given me a sense of peace in transition times.

And now in our new place, my parents’ old place, I love sitting in the living and dining rooms knowing that beneath us, just out of sight, are the prayers and blessings of family and friends.

Committing to the moment

One final thought: As I walk through this week feeling slightly numb, it is comforting to see the spears of my mom’s iris poking through dead leaves in her garden, neighbor kids shooting hoops, Leo’s furry ears bouncing along as we trot through the neighborhood.

The familiar in the midst of the new.

On our cooldown walk this morning, Leo and I were a block away from home when I became aware of a chorus of birds. Peering up into the bare branches overhead, I saw my first robin of spring. And then another and another—a whole flock of them had arrived, bouncing about and singing.

Don’t they know three rounds of snow are forecast this weekend? I wondered.

Then I thought, It doesn’t matter what’s ahead. They made it this far, and now there is nothing to do but commit to this place and this moment.

Just like me. Maybe just like all of us.

Sending blessings to you and yours,

Sarah

P.S. Scroll down for more!

---

---

Share your thoughts

What are some of your comforting rituals? Have you offered blessings to others? What does that look like for you?

---

More blessings

A gallery of blessings written on our subfloor