Public domain image.
I’ve been thinking lately about benedictions. These are simple phrases we say at the end of a moment, a gathering, or a conversation. When we begin to expect them, they gather weight. They remind us that we belong somewhere. Over time, they become a form of care we carry with us.
Before he died, my chosen Dad and I had a benediction we offered one another at the end of phone calls. He would begin with a smile I could hear through the line:
“Now remember, you’re loved as strange as you are.”
And I would respond,
“And you’re loved as strange as you are.”
It was playful. Affectionate. Uncomplicated. I’m smiling as I write this now.
Sometimes, in recent years, as I’ve helped lead worship services, I’ve noticed myself ending with another benediction:
“There’s a love you cannot lose. And that means it’s yours to share.”
Typed out, it might sound matter-of-fact. Maybe even a little plain. But spoken aloud, it carries the tone of discovery — warm, steady, and freeing. I like saying it. I like offering it.
Benedictions aren’t conclusions. They’re reminders. They send us out knowing we are already claimed, already held.
Benedictions are belonging.
Smuggling Grace 