Priesthood and blessing

I can’t recall ever being blessed by my father. It’s neither a complaint or a whine, just an observation. It could be that my father did bless me when I was an infant, but I’ve no recollection. I’ve also no blame for him. It would surprise me very much to learn that my father’s father had blessed him, even though my father was the first born son. And there’s no blame being assigned to my grandfather either. I don’t know how many generations it has been since the Church taught blessing as a Christian’s prerogative. But I do know that when I’ve asked how many people in a congregation of 100+ were ever blessed by their fathers, less than half dozen hands are raised.

Blessing is a priestly act, but it doesn’t require a priest in the sacramental/institutional sense. As Russ Parker notes in his book Rediscovering the Ministry of Blessing, blessing is more than just good wishes or nice words. It conveys the presence of God on the person being blessed. It can mark the healing of old and deep wounds. It can also restore a sense of purpose in the life of that person. Most of all, blessing is a sacramental unsaying of the curses our world loves to give. When Jesus instructs disciples to bless those who curse you he is doing more than just breaking a cycle of meeting curse with curse. He is inviting his apprentices to engage in a ministry of healing the wounds the world inflicts.

That’s good news, but there is even better news. Even when there is no specific wound to heal, when there is no curse to lift, blessing builds. That’s why I do wish my father had known he had both the authority and ability to bless. Even today, when perhaps our children are grown and the opportunity to bless in childhood has passed, it is still possible to bless our children and teach our children to bless their own. In the ministry of blessing we incarnate Christ’s new priesthood. The fallen priesthood of Adam, so often a priesthood of unmeaning, will now never have the last word.

Apprentice?

I’ve been ordained as a priest in the Episcopal Church for 35 years this December 17.  So why am I still an apprentice? The term refers to someone who studies under an expert until she or he masters a craft. But the apprentice relationship conveys not only the acquisition of a skill set. An apprentice also learns character from the master. And in fact, the term apprentice as it was chosen for these reflections does not refer to ordained ministry, but to my fundamental relationship with Jesus the Messiah.

I picked up the term apprenticeship from the late Dallas Willard. He was using it as an alternative to the more common term discipleship. Discipleship is particularly common in Christian jargon, though its meaning is by no means clear. Willard referred to the role of an apprentice learning character from the master, not just studying the master’s techniques and teachings. Yet one thought fought its way to the forefront of my consciousness. One can be a disciple of almost anyone, living or dead. All the master need to is leave some teaching behind; or in the case of Socrates, have a student who makes a record of the teaching.

But apprenticeship is different. While you can be a disciple of anyone, you can only apprentice yourself to someone living, someone with whom you communicate. Being an apprentice of Jesus implies a lot of things that many Christians are not that sure of.