Blessed Are You Who Bear the Light

 

Blessed are you
who bear the light
in unbearable times,
who testify
to its endurance
amid the unendurable,
who bear witness
to its persistence
when everything seems
in shadow
and grief.

Blessed are you
in whom
the light lives,
in whom
the brightness blazes –
your heart
a chapel,
an altar where
in the deepest night
can be seen
the fire that
shines forth in you
in unaccountable faith,
in stubborn hope,
in love that illumines
every broken thing
it finds.

– Jan Richardson

Blessing for the Longest Night

 

All throughout these months,

as the shadows

have lengthened,

this blessing has been

gathering itself,

making ready,

preparing for

this night.

It has practiced

walking in the dark,

traveling with

its eyes closed,

feeling its way

by memory,

by touch,

by the pull of the moon

even as it wanes.

So believe me

when I tell you

this blessing will

reach you,

even if you

have not light enough

to read it;

it will find you,

even though you cannot

see it coming.

You will know

the moment of its

arriving

by your release

of the breath

you have held

so long;

a loosening

of the clenching

in your hands,

of the clutch

around your heart;

a thinning

of the darkness

that had drawn itself

around you.

This blessing

does not mean

to take the night away,

but it knows

its hidden roads,

knows the resting spots

along the path,

knows what it means

to travel

in the company

of a friend.

So when

this blessing comes,

take its hand.

Get up.

Set out on the road

you cannot see.

This is the night

when you can trust

that any direction

you go,

you will be walking

toward the dawn.

—Jan Richardson

Blessing for Carrying a Long Sorrow

When long sorrow.

When the endless

bearing of grief.

When sadness

has been waking

with you

for what seems like

forever

and going to bed with you

for what approximates

an eternity.

When your heart

has become

an ancient timepiece,

its beat measuring ages

and eons,

ticking the turning

of centuries,

and the stars

have nothing on you

for long enduring.

May there come

a moment

when time

falls away.

May there come

a space

between the beats

of your heart

when you know

your burden

carried.

May there come

a gap between

your painful breaths

when you sense

your own self

borne,

unalone in your

endless sorrowing,

no longer solitary—

as if you could

ever have been

left in your grief,

as if you could

ever have been

for one moment

abandoned to this weight,

unencompassed by the love

more ancient still

than the sorrow

you bear.

—Jan Richardson

[Photo of Ensley and Thea--two beautiful babies who will be forever loved/missed.]

Still

A Blessing for Good Friday

This day

let all stand still

in silence,

in sorrow.

Sun and moon

be still.

Earth

be still.

Still

the waters.

Still

the wind.

Let the ground

gape in stunned

lamentation.

Let it weep

as it receives

what it thinks

it will not

give up.

Let it groan

as it gathers

the One

who was thought

forever stilled.

Time

be still.

Watch

and wait.

Still.

—Jan Richardson

How Joy Works

 

You could not stop it

if you tried—

how this blessing

begins to sing

every time it sees

your face,

how it turns itself

in wonder

merely at the mention

of your name.

It is simply

how joy works,

going out to you

when you least expect,

running up to meet you

when you had not thought

to ask.

—Jan Richardson

Blessing for the Place Between

When you come

to the place between.

When you have left what you held most dear.

When you are traveling toward the life

you know not.

When you arrive

at the hardest ground.

May it become for you

a place to rest.

May it become for you

a place to dream.

May the pain

that has pressed itself into you

give way

to vision,

to knowing.

May the morning make of it

an altar,

a path,

a place to begin again.

Jan Richardson

Blessings for the Brokenhearted

Let us agree
for now
that we will not say
the breaking
makes us stronger
or that it is better
to have this pain
than to have done
without this love.

Let us promise
we will not
tell ourselves
time will heal
the wound,
when every day
our waking
opens it anew.

Perhaps for now
it can be enough
to simply marvel
at the mystery
of how a heart
so broken
can go on beating,
as if it were made
for precisely this—

as if it knows
the only cure for love
is more of it,

as if it sees
the heart’s sole remedy
for breaking
is to love still,

as if it trusts
that its own
persistent pulse
is the rhythm
of a blessing
we cannot
begin to fathom
but will save us
nonetheless.

—Jan Richardson