I’ve
been blessing myself more frequently lately.
Depending
on one’s religious affiliation, the gesture may also be referred to as crossing
oneself or simply making a sign of the cross. To a non-Christian Steeler fan,
it might be better known as that ritual that Troy Polamalu does 200 times each
game.
I
really can’t pinpoint the real reason for making a sign of the cross so often
other than it makes me feel a tad better, and a whole lot more secure.
From
the earliest of my recollections, I remember blessing myself before and after
each prayer every evening and I remember the rote repetition during my
hour-plus long Byzantine Mass every Sunday. Reciting the Rosary before Mass was
another occasion that sticks with me, too. Because it was such an ordeal for
Mom to get us all to church on time, arriving early for the recitation was not
that common, but we sure did bless ourselves if we were there.
I
still see and feel Dad’s blessing. Every
night, regardless of his shift at work, he would open the door just slightly to
our bedrooms, stand in the dimly lit hall, say a short prayer, and then bless
us with a sign of the cross. During my childhood this was a ritual for him, and
although I was asleep more times than not during his blessing, I was positive
that he never missed saying his prayer for his kids each night.
I
realized as a kid where my dad learned this custom. Every time my grandfather
visited, he would give us his blessing and conclude the practice with a sign of
the cross, too.
As
my grandfather’s age and dementia became more and more apparent, I can remember
well that he would get his days and nights mixed up and would sit up in bed and
lie back down a dozen times or so every few hours, each time whispering in
Slovak, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” It is no wonder why this sign of the cross
has had such an impact on me yet today.
For
one reason or another, I did stray away from the church for a time or two. I
think to some degree we all search for something else or we just don’t find the
purpose in our religion that we once did. Oddly though, even during those times
of searching, I discovered that I never stopped blessing myself and saying a
quick prayer every time I felt the need for some security.
Today,
I try to pass on the words to my grandkids that were repeated to me by my mom
many times, “When you’re feeling alone or frightened, simply say a quick prayer
and bless yourself and you will feel better.”
I follow that up with “And it works every time.” And it does.
During
my dad’s hospital stay recently, I noticed him kissing the cross he wore
attached to a chain around his neck. He would bless himself a few times, and
although his words were not audible, it was apparent he was blessing each of us
in the room, too.
We
often don’t realize how we miss something in our life until it’s gone. You see, Dad passed away last month in that
same hospital. Today, I would give
anything I have to have him bless his kids just one more time in person. But if
faith holds true, he just might be blessing us from above, and combined with my
own personal sign of the cross, that makes me feel more secure with each
passing day.
