No one wants to need a blessing.
It offends the self-reliant heart.
But good words have brooded over you
Since the benediction: “It was good.”

And sometimes blessings sound like curses,
When kindness and mercy toll like death.
But may our blessing and our cursing
Reverberate with Love’s own breath.

May you lose the war.
May you lose the game.
May you lose your money.
May you lose your fame.

May you fall.
May you put down your gun.
May you lose control.
May your lies be found out.
May your reason desert you.
May your friends betray you.
May your strength decline.

May someone hear what you say in secret.
May someone see when the masks come off.
May someone touch the part that disgusts you.
May someone clean your puss-filled sores.

May an old enemy stop to help you.
May you stand tall on rock bottom.
May you find friendship
Among the forgotten.
May you find forgiveness
After your debts have run red.
May the wisdom of children
Show the way to play the game.
May a power disguised as weakness
Rise up to meet you on the road.
And as you fall,
May you find yourself held.

And when someone else’s child dies,
On a street near his home,
May your heart break
As if he were your own.
May all this and more happen to me.

May I stand beside you.
May we stand together,
Hearts aching.

Note: This post originally appeared in the Brodhead Free Press and the Independent Register as part of their weekly “Pastor’s Corner” column.