I’ve always been fascinated by words and their origins. I remember learning at Halloween in elementary school that the word “lunatic” comes from the term for “moon” and reflected the belief that one could become insane under the influence of that reflective object in the night sky. In college I was surprised to learn that the titles “Kaiser” and “Tsar” both originate from “Caesar,” that bloodthirsty tyrant who has served as the model for many rulers in history. And at seminary I marveled that the Hebrew term for “compassion,” the primary characteristic of God according to Jesus, comes from the Hebrew word for “womb.” Compassion is the womb-like love a mother feels for her children.
In reading Frederick Buechner the other day, I discovered the origin of our farewell word “goodbye.” Just think of all the time that word is said in different contexts and with varying intensity. A husband says a hurried “goodbye” each morning to his wife and children as she prepares for her job and the children gobble down their breakfast before the bus comes. Two friends part after a week-long visit knowing that they will not see each other until next year or possibly longer. A teenage girl and boy say “goodbye” through tears of inconsolable sorrow as the girl goes on a two week vacation with her family. (How on earth will they survive!) A pioneer couple one hundred and fifty years ago tells their parents “goodbye” as they head West conscious that they will never see each other again. A middle-aged daughter tells her mother “goodbye” at the end of an ordinary phone conversation unaware that her mother will breathe her last less than an hour later.
“Goodbye” is such a common term, one that we use often without even thinking about it. But the origin of that term reminds us how precious and holy even the commonplace is in our lives. “Goodbye is an abbreviated version of the blessing “God be with you.” (Technically, it’s an abbreviation for “God be with ye” dating back at least to the 16th century CE.) As Buechner says, “It was a long while ago that the words ‘God be with you’ disappeared into the word “goodbye,’ but every now and again some trace of them still glimmers through.”
The origin of such a word reminds me that we live our precious and precarious lives in the context of grace. We speak blessings even when are unaware of what we say. Do we know on some deep level that the commonplace, routine lives we live have meaning beyond what we and others can see and that those with whom we converse and interact are children of God who deserve and may need our blessing? I doubt if we think in those terms with our automatic and routine “goodbyes.” But wouldn’t life become richer for all of us if we spoke our goodbyes as a blessing at the end of each encounter we have with others—even with those with whom we disagree, do not like, or see as enemies?
The next time you say “goodbye” to someone, remember the origin of this farewell. Such remembering will make that occasion more holy. And I believe we could all use a little more grace and a deeper sense of the sacred in our lives.
