| Anne Williamson |
There are a number of “churchy” words people don’t like. I took an informal survey and heard: devil, saved, psalm, believer, hell, sin, lost, and my favorite response, “I’ll email you my [presumably long] list. [wink, wink].” Sometimes we simply don’t like how a word sounds. (I’m assuming this is the case with “psalm”; “pew” would be my vote.) More often, we dislike what a word means, how it has been used. This is certainly the case with my least favorite “churchy” word: blessed. Despite often spoken with good intention, it always evokes in me a thoroughly “icky” feeling.
For me, “blessed” is the theological coin flip to “everything happens for a reason.” Life going well: “I am blessed.” Life going not so well: “I am… not… blessed?” “No no, God has a plan; we just don’t always ‘get it.’” All phrases that, somehow, claim too much control over one’s life and not enough at the same time.
Lately, though, as I flounder through the unpredictability (translate “infant”) and volume (translate “toddler”) of my life, I’ve been thinking about the word “blessed” differently. ...