from Alan Crowley, Burlington, Vermont, "Summer Wounds"

 Blessing the Wounds of Summer

Emily Dickinson wrote that winter “slants of light” can wound us with “heavenly hurt,” reminding us of our vulnerability to time, change, and death.  The Latin verb for the power to wound  or be wounded is “vulnerare.” 

Paul Verlaine wrote that the strong cold winds of autumn, sounding like sighs evoked by a sad love song played on a violin, wound our hearts  with a numbing languor, ultimately leading to the speaker’s self-discovery in a desiccated and fragile leaf.. The French verb for wounding is “blesser.”

When I “bless” a friend, I’m confessing that something deep inside of me recognizes their goodness. The english verb “to bless” can mean to confer favor, approval or happiness on another, particularly from God’s point of view.

When the psalmist, a rabbi, or a pious Jew says the words “Baruch Hashem yom” (Blessed be the Holy Name of God every day) he is inviting both himself and God into deeper involvement with one another.The Hebrew verb for blessing, “baruch”, means to ascribe gratitude or praise

I sit now amid the loveliness of a summer evening. At this solstice time there are no slanted rays, no plaintive winds, no dead leaves, but I am still aware of my vulnerability and my woundedness. Why does the beauty surrounding me  evoke pangs of longing that belong to those other seasons? Even as my body and spirit are running over with delight, my mind starts to bleed from word wounds like  “not for you,” “not yet,” “not anymore” and “not for long.”   And yet, I still want to bless the world with my attention. I still  yearn to express  my thanks and praise to God with my words and my presence.

I choose to quiet myself and rest in the refreshing, cleansing waters of memory and learning that minister to my soul.  I remember that life has taught me that I am woundable in my openness and that my longing can nurture a tender heart and a kind spirit. As I am pleasured by the warm sun,  caressed by the cooling breezes, delighted by the vibrant life of flowers and trees, and serenaded by an orchestra of playfully plaintive birdsong, I realize that beauty and vulnerability have kissed and that they are beckoning me into a bridal chamber, into a marriage bed.

I remember that Jesus’s arms opened wide on the cross are an expression of God’s passion for an ever deepening, mutual involvement with all of us. The apostle Peter wrote, “by Christ’s wounds we are healed.” I would rather say, “by all of our wounds we are blessed.” 

Alan Crowley     June 20, 2025     at the Good Shepherd backyard picnic table