Bless You

I started out thinking about what you WANT from me here tonight, what you WANT me to say, how you WANT me to distinguish your momentous event.  But then I realized, I’m retiring, so I don’t care!  Then I began to think about what you NEED from me, and things got a lot more interesting.

You don’t need me to tell you what you’ve done over the last 4 years or assemble your memories for you.  You have each other for that.  And you don’t need me to give you advice or inspire you to do better or be better, because every adult in the building at West Valley has been working to do that for the 1,369 days since you walked in as freshmen.  You each have a teacher who said the right thing at the right time and you took that into your heart and it changed you forever.  It would be folly to presume I could add to that now.  What you need ME to do is bless you.  It may not be a word used much right now, but the need is still real, and here is why.

You need me to bless you because blessing isn’t something you have to earn.  Blessing isn’t about your GPA, or about how many times you were absent, or how many tardies you racked up, (and there were MANY).  

Blessing is about a vision of wholeness I can see for you that you might not yet see for yourself.  My favorite blesser, Jan Richardson, writes, “The power of a blessing [is] to encompass us with shelter and sanctuary even as it frees us to imagine and live into a world made new.”  And what is tonight if not one last sanctuary that frees you to live into this new world opening in front of you?  

But I can’t bless you alone.  Families, friends, and faculty, I need your help.  This can NOT work without you.  I need every grandma and grandpa.  I need every big sister, every little brother, every loud mom, every quiet mom, every super-embarrassing dad who always hollers at events, and every dad who has never once whooped in his life.  I need every auntie and uncle, rowdy cousin, neighbor and teacher.   

Here’s what I need you to do: right now I’m going to give you 10 seconds to think of what you want MOST in the world for these people you love.  This is easy because you’ve wanted it for years.  Think of the ONE SENTENCE.  It might be “You are loved.  You are strong.  You are (fill in the blank).”  It might be 3 words about what to seek: “Seek joy and grace.  Seek wisdom and light. Seek (blank) and (blank.)”  

It might be about how to show up for others: “Be kind. Be generous. Be hopeful. Be (blank).”  What do you need them to remember about themselves when they are apart from you?  I’m going to give you 10 seconds now to pull that sentence to mind and HOLD IT, and don’t tell anyone yet.  Gather your short gift to bless these people and fix it in the center of your thoughts. 

10 SECONDS

Okay, here’s my ask.  I’m going to offer a blessing, and then AFTER I FINISH, I’ll tell you it’s time and I’ll say, 1, 2, 3, GO!  That will be your cue to shout your blessings all at once, in a big chaotic frenzy. I need you ALL to help with this blessing because not every right person is here tonight, so we who ARE here are going to add EXTRA to honor not only these beautiful new adults, but the empty seats.  It’ll feel weird to yell next to people you don’t know.  Maybe you’ll feel like you should be polite and let others go first, but you can’t.  It’s okay to be weird for a minute.  We can just be weird in a room because love is always awkward.  The best way this works is to let all this truth rain down in a crazy shower that positively drenches these people we love.  

So I’m going to do this, and you hold your Short & Shoutable gift, and be ready when I say, 1, 2, 3, GO.

Back to you people in the robes.  Jan Richardson also writes, “A blessing is, finally, something wild. It leads us where we did not imagine to go, and never in a straight line.”  All of you are just a little wild, and I want to honor that by assuring you that life after tonight is not some tame straight line or passive slide into adult routine and mundane habit.  Life after tonight is just as wild a ride as you hope that it is, and I want to bless you for what’s coming.

So please take a breath in, and then breathe out.  Settle your feet squarely on the floor and your hands in your lap.  Open your chest and look at my face to receive this, and feel the weight of my hand pressing lightly on your head.  Here is the blessing that’s been waiting for this night.

This blessing takes all of you
all of you,
together, like this, here and
orderly, in rows,
the alphabet of you, 
this library, 
each of you a book, 
a spine – a story made of days 
you haven’t even seen –
because this blessing 
doesn’t want to miss 
a single one.  It wants
to hold each face
and name each name
and stare into both eyes
and say, I know
sometimes this hurts.
I know sometimes 
your body isn’t big enough
to hold the shock 
of your own joy,
the pulse of your delight
the awe at living in this skin.
I know sometimes
the only thing to do
is quake with how much
eagerness you hold
to go and see
and do the thing 
you’ve heard about
since the first day that you learned
that you could open doors.

But this blessing needs for you 
to wait a moment more, 
to linger, here, 
and lift your hands
because this blessing is confetti,
from the Italian
meaning literally sweets,
something prepared 
and thrown at carnivals
to flicker kindness,
flutter honor,
catch the breeze and scatter
double-sided mercies
on the celebrating mass
on a day that has stayed 
hidden in plain sight.
This blessing knows
every calendar is marked, 
in certainties of stars,
with days of magic transformation
mapped and meant
before the day when you were born,

and what more can we offer
when such a day comes into view
than these scraps 
from our own hearts
torn and tossed above your heads
like a thousand tiny prayers
for wholeness, richness,
common wonder you will share 
with people who are strangers
till they’re not,
and to sit beside them – 
as you sit together now – 
is to see where you have stored a portion
of yourself, and the miracle begins
that joins a life to life
like river meeting river
and rushing toward that splendor,
shared immensity of sea.

So now, and here,
prepare to stand and find
your world, the hosts 
who brought you
into time and space.
Prepare to let 
the tinsel shreds of love
pour down, 
a shower shouting
all the treasures we have stored,
the paper storm of voices 
who have begged
and yelled 
and comforted
and calmed
and whispered while you slept 
about the dreams
we dreamt awake
for you,
and fill your hands 
with such a bursting flurry 
that I take some of yours
and you take some of mine
and these voices
flood and inundate
until you’re covered
so in slivered ribbons,
disco chips of silver,
red, and gold affections
that you find loose snippets
in your pockets
years from now.

May your pockets never
empty of the shiny bits
of sweetness
exploding with all hope
and exultation, lavish 
and ecstatic
in this holy dome
of air.

Graduates, please stand and face your fans.

Crowd, because you love these people, because you want wholeness for them, take in a big breath — breathe in — and yell your wishes for them on 1, 2, 3, GO!  (Glorious mayhem erupts.)

Congratulations, and bless you, class of 2025.