Bless the beasts and the BMWs: with the Catholic practice of blessing, nothing is too ordinary to be called holy.

THREE YOUNGSTERS APPROACH THE HOUSE AFTER DARK, bent on a little freehand evening artwork. Are they graffiti vandals armed with cans of Krylon Icy Grape, intent on tagging up the victim's front porch? Nope, just kids out celebrating Epiphany. Their mission: to bless the house in the name of Jesus. Their medium is chalk, and they'll use it to mark the doorway with this odd cryptograph: AD 20+C+M+B+06. It stands for: "Anno Domini (the year of Our Lord) 2006, Caspar, Melchior, Balthasar," the names of the Three Kings. Depending on your source, the letters may also mean Christus mansionem benedicat, Latin for "May Christ bless this house."

The custom of blessings goes back to the beginning, literally. When God was cooking up the world, he clocked out on the fifth day with a blessing bestowed upon all the fish, birds, and "sea monsters" that had been created (Gen. 1:22).

Noah got blessed for his work on the ark deal (Gen. 9:1) and was the first to bless God back (9:26). Melchizedek was the first professional blesser (Gen. 14:18), followed by Balaam and his trusty ass (Num. 22:6). Isaac was tricked by his wife, Rebekah, into blessing their younger son Jacob instead of their firstborn Esau (Gen. 27:27). The first woman to give a blessing was Micah's mother in the Book of Judges (Judg. 17:4).

Potiphar got the first house blessing when he took in Joseph, who had been sold to the Egyptian by his snotty brothers (Gen. 39:5). We've been blessing houses ever since.

A blessing is a spiritual makeover. It directs the grace and goodness of God and focuses it on a person or an event or an object. It makes the ordinary holy. You can kiss a frog and make it a prince, but you can't make it holy unless you bless it. There are holy frogs hopping all over Assisi because St. Francis liked to bless them.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that blessings are first among the sacramentals, sacred signs that bear a resemblance to the sacraments. There are rites for the blessing of houses, schools, hospitals--buildings of every kind.

In my 23 years as a priest, I've blessed just about everything. Houses are fun because I get to peek in all the rooms. But I've blessed baseball bats, a restaurant, a bowling alley, three tortoises, a macaw, lots of computers, an airplane, tons of rosaries, a million statues, and a horse.

I've blessed a few boats, too, but the champion boat blesser is the bishop of Norwich, Connecticut, who presides at the annual Blessing of the Fleet, a two-day festival in the Borough of Stonington honoring the memory of local fishermen lost at sea. There's a parade featuring high school bands, politicians in convertibles, the Knights of Columbus, Miss Connecticut, the American Legion, Portuguese dancers, and fire engines from miles around. Peter Benchley wrote a novel, White Shark (St. Martin's Press), in which his monster comes ashore in the middle of this festival.

To bless also means to be blessed, since God's grace fills the blesser as well as the blessee. My favorite blessing of all time came a few years back when a parishioner asked if I would bless her husband's new car. I said sure, so Blanche and Bob came around with his new Corvette C5.

If cars were houses, the C5 would be the Taj Mahal. We're talking major horsepower, a six-speed transmission, Bilstein shocks, and tires as fat as the lady who sings when it's over.

VESTED IN ALB AND STOLE AND ARMED WITH MY TRUSTY aspergillum, I gave them the deluxe package. I even had Bob pop the hood so I could sprinkle that lovely fuel-injected aluminum V-8. Afterwards he asked if I'd like to go for a ride. I said, "Sure. Which seat?" He hesitated; there were only two. "Um..." he hemmed, then asked, "Would you like to drive?"

Moments later we were headed down the driveway leaving an astonished Blanche at the door.

Swinging onto a wide two-lane blacktop that was virtually traffic free, I turned to Bob and asked, "May I?" He nodded his assent and I nailed it. In less than five seconds we had blown right through venial sin and were quickly overtaking mortal. I backed it down a little, but my heart was in high heaven. Like the Three Kings of Epiphany, I had been blessed by my own blessing.

PAUL BOUDREAU, a priest of the Diocese of Norwich, Connecticut, who writes for Today's Parish and This Sunday Scripture, both from Twenty-Third Publications.