Blessed Are You

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Br. Lucas Hall

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying: “Blessed . . . ” (Matthew 5:1-3a)

The word “blessed” comes from an attempt to translate Hebrew and Greek biblical terminology into Old English. Those who spread Christianity to the early English speakers searched for a native English term that captured the same sense of those Greek and Hebrew words, and found the Old English word, bloedsian.

Bloedsian referred to something set apart and marked for sacred or holy purposes, but more literally, it referred to something sprinkled with the blood of an animal sacrifice. This sacrifice, offered to a god, was holy, and its blood was used to mark sacred spaces. So, while bloedsian does refer to a thing made sacred, we might more directly translate it to modern English as “blooded.”

Our normal association with the word “blessed” is far less striking. “God bless you,” and “bless your heart” are common phrases, sometimes used almost automatically. Even in the Church, our liturgies often end in a blessing: “The blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, be upon you and remain with you always,” and we may hear it simply as a formality to end a liturgy.

Because it is so familiar, we risk allowing blessedness to become banal, or a social nicety. I don’t think that’s Jesus’ intention in using the word. It’s true that in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek, the word we translate as “blessed” does not have the same origin in the sprinkling of blood. But it’s equally true that these languages represent cultures that were very familiar with that practice. And the New Testament writers are ever willing to draw connections between sacrificial animals and the sacrifice of Christ.

Most obviously, Jesus, the Lamb of God – a sacrificial lamb, whose blood is shed – is a central image of the New Testament. The Church continues to employ this image in its liturgy, theology, and music, both ancient and modern. Living in this image, we get the sense of being with the saints in Revelation whose brilliant white garments are cleansed in the blood of the Lamb. The Lamb takes away sin through blessing, by cleansing with its sacred blood. Of this blood, the Letter to the Hebrews offers a line I find especially evocative: “you have come . . . to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.” This blood of Jesus – unlike the blood of Abel, unlike the blood shed of our human violence – speaks at last a word not of cursing, but of blessing.

As we read and pray through Jesus’ famous Sermon on the Mount, we see one of the most well-loved parts of the Gospel. But if we only understand “blessedness” as something sweet, or formal, or a banal Bible-ism, we risk losing something. When we hear of blessedness, our heart should beat a bit faster, our souls should quicken, we should be alert, excited, maybe even uncomfortable. There is a holy strangeness to an encounter with true blessing. As we continue through the Sermon, we should keep two things in mind.

First, we are talking about approaching God. We are talking about nearness to and encounter with the One in whom all have their being. We are talking about piercing the veil, seeing some glimpse of eternity. Blessedness isn’t just nice; it’s the stuff of death, and life.

Second, the lesson of this Sermon is that such a breathtaking, soul-quickening encounter is not reserved for a separate elite. The blessedness of the God who made all things can be found in all things, through our reverence, our respect, our awe of all that God has fashioned. The blood poured out for you, for all the world, has been sprinkled upon the world. In this Sermon, behold, this blood speaks a better word. Listen!

For Reflection