The long, dark nights of Advent are heavy with mystery and starlight. This year I’m celebrating by looking for unexpected Holiness.

WEEK TWO: Holiness Found by a Neighbor in My Elbows

I gave the sermon at church a week and a half ago and I ended it the way I always have, with a blessing. And because in seminary I learned the tradition of striking a blessing pose, I held my arms out wide, palms facing everyone in the congregation.

It’s always at that moment in a blessing- with my arms out wide- when I notice that each of my arms weigh 800 pounds and, good lord- my elbows have forgotten how to work. I inevitably feel all poise leaking out of my body and I force myself to finish the blessing in order to hide my weird elbows and bring an end to such awkwardness.

On the other hand, giving blessings is one of the greatest parts of being human. So while my arms fail me, at least my heart is soaring.

When church was over, one of my favorite neighbors fixed my elbows and set me free.

The thing that ruins my blessing-arms is history. Back in seminary many encouraging and successful pastor-teachers taught us to hold our blessing-arms out strong; straight at the elbow. They said something like, “Straight elbows convey confidence and power and your stance will parallel the posture of Jesus on the cross.”

The first few blessings I gave to my congregation as an intern-pastor definitely came from half-bent, yet open, arms with elbows near my sides. Straight elbows felt wrong on me. Bent elbows felt better, more natural. “Straighten out your arms,” I was told.

All of these instructors were men; well-meaning, progressive-for-their-generation men who understand strength and power way differently than I do. They are men who have many less layers to examine when assuming a Christ-like posture. I am grateful to them for much, still theirs is the history that ruins my blessing-arms.

Last week, my elbows refused to straighten during the blessing I shared. I was uncomfortably conscious of their choice, yet 800 pounds of history is a lot of weight to hold.

My neighbor, Jill, is a dancer and she told me that she really appreciated my blessing posture. I tried not to, but I laughed ungracefully. “Really?!”

She then taught me, in a new way, about the tradition of strength within women. In history, when women have not been allowed to speak our truths with words, we found ways to speak to each other in secret; in tapestries, dance, and art. The motif of women with arms raised, palms up, elbows slightly bent (like mine!) have been a message of blessing for thousands of years.

Jill helped me reclaim my blessing posture.  Perhaps it was my female spirit, or my mitochondrial DNA (genes passed along only by women) that insisted my elbows remain bent despite all the opposing instruction I was given. Whatever it was, now I’m free.

My bent elbows are strong, gracious, humble, and feminine. They were perfectly made for giving blessings; as are Jill’s and my daughter’s and my sister’s. And yours too.

May you find your blessing posture.

May you use it, giving blessings, every day.

And may you find holiness in your neighbors, too.