Eulogia (eu-lo’-gi-a): Pronouncing a blessing for the goodness in a person.
I loved saying “God bless you.” It made me feel powerful, granting God’s blessing. Me, tuning in, at right moment, to give God’s blessing, to make it official in words. God bless you! I knew God appreciated it, I just knew. It was at the core of my faith in the one almighty invisible God.
At first, my criteria for what God would bless were rigorous. If I witnessed a life-saving event, I would give it God’s blessing. Lesser good deeds didn’t qualify, like holding a door open or helping an elderly person cross the street.
I started hanging out near the fire station. I would follow the firefighters and watch for blessworthy events and run up and bless the person performing the deed, or who had already performed it. Even when they failed, I blessed them. For example, there was an old man who died from smoke inhalation. I blessed the firefighter who had failed to resuscitate him. The firefighter asked me “what the fu*ck” I was doing. I told him I was blessing him on behalf of God for his saintly efforts. He told me to “go fu*k” myself and threw one of the dead man’s shoes at me.
Subsequently, I was banned by NYC from attending fires and rescues. At first, I didn’t know what to do. Then, I realized that God would probably bless anything a person did that wasn’t evil. After all, He blessed sneezes.
Once I relaxed my standards, unlimited “bless you” opportunities opened up for me. My first “bless you” under my new standards was a man who washed his hands after peeing in the Burger King restroom. I walked right up to him and said, “Bless you.” He hit the button the hand dryer and ignored me, but I knew I had done the Lord’s work.
In order to reach a larger group of potential saints and increase God’s reach, I moved my “bless you” operation exclusively to the subway. I started dressing like a priest to make it easier for God to recognize me as his trusty minion. Anybody I encountered on the subway that seemed good, I would bless. It was out of my purview to damn all the miscreants I met on the subway like the weird people squirming around on the floor, incessantly farting, or talking to themselves.
I would bless people who just sat there blankly staring or looking at their phones.
Then it happened.
Somebody wrote an article about me for “The Daily News.” She called me “the Blesser.” I was characterized as “a fake priest with a fake belief in God, who mocked truly religious people with his bogus willy-nilly blessings. Beware!”
And then I thought: the kid with a crutch in “Scrooge” had said “Bless us everyone.” It’s a low-standard blessing that nobody ever criticized. In fact, it made some people cry to see a boy who should’ve been embittered by his gimpy leg, offer his blessing to everyone—no exceptions.
I wrote a letter to the “Daly News” rebuking the author of the piece about me. My faith was stronger than ever. I believed I had redeemed myself and God had spoken to me.
I made a sign that said “I’ll bless you. $1.00.” I said “God bless you” as I headed for Times Square.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.
The Daily Trope 