You’ll never win at conversation until, like me, you master the art of making each of your topics a Rorschach-blot in which your fancy can find the next topic and smoothly transition to it before your opponent can even decide which of the thriteen absurd things you’ve said is in the most plain error. It is in precisely that manner that my previous post on understanding blessings led to this post on banal blessings as day leads to night.
Well, then. A great many blessings are banal. Sure, sometimes they change lives. A close female relative became a computer programmer because her patriarchal blessing told her to. It was the last thing on her mind, as you might imagine. It did her no end of good. Sure. But what about all the other blessings that promise a temple marriage some day, or happiness if you live the gospel, or that God loves you? They all say that, and so do the scriptures and the talks and the Primary lesson manual even, and the question is, why do we need a blessing, a personalized communication from God, to tell us the standard things that are shouted from every page of the scriptures and thundered ( well not thundered, exactly) from the pulpit. Maybe some people don’t read their scriptures or pay attention in Church, maybe a LOT of people, but that can’t be the whole explanation, can it? After all, even the scriptures repeat themselves. Good chunks of the Doctrine and Covenants consist of the same blessing given to different people.
Eugene England says he got over being bored in church when he stopped looking for new truths and started getting intensely interested in whether the speaker believed in the old ones. Each repetitive testimony was a brand new link between him and the speaker. Ah, you believe too? You are my brother then.
I recieved a blessing two weeks ago. At the end of the blessing I was told over and over that the Father and the Son loved me very much. I knew it already–I can read the canon as good as you, you know–but to hear it from their own lips (or the lips of their servants, it is the same) . . . . I walked out of there full of wonder. Me? Me?