“Let us bless the Lord”
Every once in a while, I am struck by the realization that I am becoming a crumudgeon, though I am certain it is justifiable. Recently, I have heard a refrain that has seeped its way into the colloquial language of a younger generation: “6-7.” Upon first hearing it, I did what I thought I would never have to do; I Googled it. It reminded me of when I was a kid, and my dad would use the word “cool” in the most awkward way. Though I am pretty sure he did it just because he knew it would make my sister and me cringe. Yet, here I am searching the internet for the meaning of “6-7.” I did feel slightly vindicated when I discovered that it has no meaning. That is not to say it means many things and doesn’t have a definite meaning; rather, it means nothing at all; it is just two numbers put together. So, when I heard my children running around, chanting the refrain, I told them to stop. To which their response was the obvious, “Why, it doesn’t mean anything.” And I said, “That is exactly why you shouldn’t say it. Words have meaning and purpose. Be known for your speech being truthful and meaningful, not meaningless.” I am sure they thought me a crumudgeon, though in my estimation, justified. Now, I am not saying this to tell people how they should respond to the colloquialism, but rather, to make the point that our words have meaning.
Because words have meaning, there are times in the liturgy when particular words strike me as being odd. I think it is important that we allow these oddities to arrest our attention. We find these words odd, not because they are wrong, but because we often don't associate the words with that particular semantic usage. When we allow these words to stick out to us, rather than brushing over them, it becomes a learning opportunity of both linguistic and spiritual importance.
An example of words having a larger semantic range than we often attribute to them today can be found in the dismissal for Advent and Lent. While the dismissal (as reflected in the words “depart in peace” at the end of the liturgy) is not found in the '28 Prayerbook, I can’t recall attending any 1928 parish that did not include the dismissal as part of the service. I guess there is something helpful in letting people know the service is ending, as well as the task to now go out into the world. However, before the 60s, particularly in the Roman service, “Depart in peace” (“Ite, missa est”) was replaced with “Let us bless the Lord” (“Benedicamus Domino”) during penitential seasons or when the Gloria was not sung. After Vatican II, Rome largely stopped changing the dismissal and kept “Depart in peace” except for in the Daily Office. However, many Anglican churches have maintained the practice, as is evident in the Missal, the 1979 BCP, the 2019 BCP, and liturgical aids. Yet, if our words really do matter, the question that arises from the dismissal for Advent and Lent remains, “How can we 'bless the Lord?’”
When speaking of blessing the Lord, my first thought is of the doxology, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.” Or Psalm 67:6, “Then shall the earth yield her increase; and God, even our own God, shall bless us.” Not to mention the liturgical action of blessing, which is a priestly action of proclaiming God’s blessing, but, if we look a little deeper, the semantic range of “bless” is expanded. The psalmist in Psalm 103 says, “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.” Or, again in Psalm 34, “I will bless the Lord at all times.” The Hebrew word can help us understand what is being said here. The word being translated is “barak”, which means to bless, exalt, worship, or praise. When we “bless the Lord,” we are not giving to God something he is lacking; we are offering what is due to him alone.
So when we come to the end of the liturgy during a penitential time, and omit the Gloria, we end with “Let us bless the Lord” because he is still worthy of our praise and worship. While we refrain from singing of his glory to emphasize the penitential aspect and spiritual preparation of the season, we still exalt him as we have been nourished in the sacrament and entered into the heights of the Christian life in Holy Communion, where we have received Christ. The only response to this sacrament is to exalt and worship. The dismissal of “Let us bless the Lord” not only recognizes the worship due to God alone, but it commands us to take what we have received here in the service and sends us out to bless the Lord with our whole being and in all aspects of our lives, not as hypocrites or cultural Christians, but as members of Christ's Body. To which we respond, “Thanks be to God,” for even our proper and right worship is dependent upon the grace and mercies of God.
Let us bless the Lord,
Fr. Aaron,