Sharing the Blessings
In 1979, I was organist and choir director at St. Edward the Martyr, a small Episcopal church, sitting just at the north end of Central Park in New York City and known as Spanish Harlem. I loved being a musician for that little church with its friendly congregation, including a fascinating combination of people from the Caribbean Islands, plus people, young and old, who had grown up in Harlem. Perhaps 20 percent of the congregation was white. The “high” Anglican mass was quite unfamiliar to one who grew up in a southern Methodist church, and I was immediately drawn to the Anglican liturgy with its austere Gregorian chants. I especially loved the Asperges Me (pronounced “may”) which we chanted at the beginning of the service.
In Latin, “Asperges” means “sprinkle” and the Asperges Me chant says,
“Thou shalt sprinkle me with hyssop, and I shall be clean.
Thou shalt wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. ”
In ancient times, a hyssop was believed to have medicinal value. It’s a small shrub-like plant of the mint family, and was used for sprinkling ceremonies in Jewish rites of purification. Later, the sprinkling of water became part of Christian rites such as the Christening of babies. Interestingly, over the centuries, most translations substituted the word “sprinkle” for “purge,” which was the word we used at St. Edward: “Thou shalt purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean.”
“Purge” is surely a stronger word than sprinkle, isn’t it? A purge usually involves some form of cleansing of the digestive system. It’s far more time consuming than sprinkling some water over your head, and much less pleasant. If you have had a colonoscopy, you know what I am talking about. Ingesting Clorox would certainly qualify as a purge, but its doubtful the early Church Fathers would have approved.
In these days of quarantine and social distancing, circumstances have forced us into a kind of behavioral purge that was unimaginable just a few months ago. We are asked to cover our faces with masks and to keep a minimum of six feet apart from one another. It’s as if something utterly unknown and unknowable has literally forced us to change social patterns that have been laid down in the unconscious for thousands of years. But I should be more circumspect. “Adjusting” patterns is a far cry from changing who we are, as every psychotherapist who ever lived eventually learns.
The unknown and unknowable is who we chanted to at St. Ed’s when we sang, “thou shalt.” Yesterday, I heard a new country song out of Nashville, with a lyric calling “from earth to God,’ asking Him to please check in with us, in this time of need. For thousands of years, millions of us turned to “thou shalt” in times of pandemics and panics (same latin root), But this time, unlike any other, St. Peters was empty on Easter Sunday. The doors to churches, synagogues, mosques and temples were closed, including St. Edward the Martyr. Throughout the world, every country restricted gatherings of people who wanted to pray. When has this ever happened? If it can close St. Peters Basilica on Easter Sunday, Science has clearly gained a temporary first place position in its marathon contest with Religion.
I wonder how history will look back at this pivotal moment. Will this be seen as the time when some personal aspect of Christianity lost its powerful and unconscious connection to us, when “Earth to God” became a clever lyric without meaning? Many thousands have flocked to California beaches in spite of the governor’s insistence that we remain in self-isolation, and anyone with a brain can see that there are absolute limits to the behavioral purge science has been asking. In truth, we wait, not for a vaccine (which of course we do), but for the virus to infect enough of us to create a “herd” immunity. This has been true for as long as we have been a human herd, and herds don’t change that easily.
I began these reflections with the thought of sharing the Asperges Me that we sang in 1979, a time when New York was just on the cusp of the AIDS virus. But perhaps a better ending for now is a Buddhist chant called “Sharing the Blessings,” which is not personal, nor does it plea for a God, a Buddha or Jesus to come down from Heaven on a white horse to save us, in an array of light. It merely says that the Buddha is a refuge - which is as true of the Christ. Perhaps as we humans struggle to grow up, the best we can do is to take refuge in a “thou shalt” as utterly unknowable and not necessarily focused on our small human needs. Here are the words of Sharing the Blessings, which I have found comforting in these hard days. The melody was written by yours truly.
“Through the goodness that arises from my practice,
And through this act of sharing,
May desire and attachment quickly cease,
And all harmful states of mind.
May I have an upright mind
With mindfulness and wisdom,
Austerity and vigor.
May the forces of delusion not take hold,
Nor weaken my resolve.
Until we realize nirvana, in every kind of birth,
Until we realize nirvana, in every kind of birth.
The Buddha is my excellent refuge.
The Dharma my protection unsurpassed.
The Sangha is my supreme support,
And through the power of these
May darkness and delusion be dispelled,
Until we realize nirvana, in every kind of birth.
Until we realize nirvana, in every kind of birth. ”
