Rumpled grace

St. Blaise in Dubrovnik

c. Lawrence Lew OP. Used under CC license.

"Through the intercession of Saint Blase, bishop and martyr, may God deliver you from every disease of the throat and from every other illness. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, + and of the Holy Spirit."

On February 3rd, as I stood at the cantor's stand, our deacon came over and held a pair of crossed (unlit, I hasted to add, unlike those in the example on Wikipedia) candles against my throat and asked that I be protected against diseases of the throat.  So when my voice began to fail while I was on a visit to St. Catherine's in Minnesota, I wanted to say to God, did you forget?  But as I (silently - there being no other choice) reflected on my predicament on Saturday, it occurred to me that perhaps the blessing had "taken" after all.  My voice held out all the way through my big public lecture on Friday, and even to the end of dinner.  Which was all that was necessary.

I wonder if I sometimes want grace to be graceful, like a ballet dancer effortlessly thwarting gravity and other laws of physics or poured out like oil, smoothly flowing.  Instead, grace sometimes rushes in at the last minute, arriving slightly out of breath and a bit rumpled.

Now I'm wondering about my general chemistry lecture tomorrow, and what the graces of that sacramental moment a few weeks past will look — and sound — like in the morning.  Hopefully better than I do at the moment!