At the beginning of Advent, everyone in my church was given a small vial of anointing oil. We were encouraged to pick a time each day to apply a small dab on ourselves, on the wrist, perhaps, or the forehead. At the time, I had no idea how powerful this act would become.

As a former Catholic, anointing oil had always reminded me of just one thing: the Last Rites (aka Extreme Unction). It was applied by a priest near the end of someone's life. Clothed in vestral garments and the smell of incense, the priest would pray the blessing and anoint the person with holy oil so they would be forgiven their sins before leaving this life into the next. 

Last Rites offered faithful Catholics a "final chance to be absolved of their sins in preparation for entering heaven, to denounce their sinful ways, and face their individual judgment to avoid hell." I understand the words are simpler and gentler now but that was not the time in which I was raised.

And since what you experience in youth seems to stick the longest, I found myself eyeing the bottle somewhat warily. When I ventured to apply a drop the next morning, I felt almost as if I was about to do something wrong.  But I went ahead anyway and, with some trepidation, applied a small dab.

The vial smelled wonderful when I opened it and the oil felt thick and luxurious. I made the sign of the cross (another Catholic ritual) and thought of Christ and of Mary with her expensive jar of ointment for his feet. I thought of bodies being prepared for burial, brides being prepared for marriage. I thought of kings and priests of old who were dedicated for a special purpose. The drop of oil placed on my forehead felt like a blessing brought forth from the past, a sacred intention, and a holy sacrament. Could it possibly make me holy too?  

It did, in a way. Standing in my bedroom, amidst the chaos of rushing to work on a busy Monday, this small ritual made me stop what I was doing, put aside my To Do list, and focus on what was present in the moment, in the moment that Richard Rohr calls the "naked now."

As I experienced the small drop being absorbed into my body, I felt the love of a divine presence inside me, and around me. I felt somehow worthy in all my imperfection, cleansed and able to accept this gift of grace. In my busy day, I was given the gift of a holy moment. And, reflecting now, I think that may have been the point all along: to allow us to take the time to pause, to be grateful, and to accept the light of hope given to us each Christmas. And to try and make, in each of our busy lives, a home for the sacred.

BLESSING OF OIL

When the priest blesses the oil during the rite, he may use the following blessing:

God of all consolation,

you chose and sent your Son to heal the world.

Graciously listen to our prayer of faith:

send the power of the Holy Spirit, the Consoler,

into this precious oil, this soothing ointment,

this rich gift, this fruit of the earth.

Bless this oil + and sanctify it for our use.

Make this oil a remedy for all who are anointed with it;

heal them in body, in soul, and in spirit,

and deliver them from every affliction.

We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,

who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,

one God, for ever and ever. 

Amen.