Solomon and Wells: Is Love Stronger

March 7, 2019 joanna seibert

Solomon and Wells: Is Love Stronger?

“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.” Song of Solomon 8: 6.

Samuel Wells is the vicar at St. Martins-in-the-Fields in London and a frequent writer for Christian Century who last week spoke at Pulaski Heights United Methodist Church in Little Rock. He recently titled his article in Christian Century, “Is Love Stronger.”1 Wells tells the story of visiting with the husband of a wife who committed suicide whom he did not know and hearing their story, then delivering the homily at her service suggesting that all is now well. When he went to visit the husband a week later, he was met with anger about his homily. All had not been well with the woman who had a painful wasting disease and all was not well with her husband. The husband said he told Wells that before the funeral.

Wells said he learned from this experience that when being with people living with tragedy or living in the aftermath of tragedy, all he has to offer is his presence beside them. There are not words to make the situation better and attempts to clean up the situation do not affirm the difficulty they are facing. Wells believes that his role is “not to make things better for someone. It’s to face the truth with them.” This is what the love stronger than death is. It is presence, not words.

This is also true when we meet with spiritual friends. Trying to see God in any difficult situation often is just listening to our friend’s story and letting them know that we are beside them. We are not there to make things better, but to be a loving presence beside them in a great storm. In times of great tragedy, I remember people who just came and sat beside me and cried with me. Often the person who can best do this is someone who has known a similar tragedy. This is the love stronger than death.

1 Samuel Wells, “Is love stronger?” Faith Matters, Christian Century, April 25, 2018, p. 35.

Joanna joannaseibert.com

One opportunity Sunday March 10 to purchase a signed copy of A Daily Spiritual Rx for Lent and Easter at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Little Rock in the narthex after the 8 and 10:30 services. Proceeds from the book go for hurricane relief in the Diocese of the Central Gulf Coast.

Buechner: Lent, Ash Wednesday

March 6, 2019 joanna seibert

Buechner: Lent Ash Wednesday

“In many cultures there is an ancient custom of giving a tenth of each year's income to some holy use. For Christians, to observe the forty days of Lent is to do the same thing with roughly a tenth of each year's days.” Frederick Buechner, “Lent,” Originally published in Whistling in the Dark: Doubter’s Dictionary, “(Harper&Row, 1988) p. 82.

We begin our Lenten journey on this Ash Wednesday. It is a day to remember our mortality, "dust you are and to dust you shall return." I think of my favorite aunt who had Alzheimer's for over ten years who died today on Ash Wednesday.

I watch the members of our parish receive the imposition of ashes. Some have cancer or are ill, and I know well they worry whether they will be present in this body at this church next Ash Wednesday. Some are filled with tears at the altar. I wonder who will meet death face to face before next Easter. Could it be even myself or a member of my family?

I travel in time back to the Cathedral School where I remember comments from the elementary students as we placed ashes on their foreheads. “Will it stay on? How do I look? You look funny.” Now a beautiful young mother holding her three-month old baby girl comes up to the altar. Our priest puts the sign of the cross on the mother's forehead. I do not want her to put the cross on this baby's head. I watch as she asks the mother and then puts the black ashes on the tiny forehead. The little girl does not cry out, but I want to stand up and cry, "No, don't do that!" My life profession has been to take care of small babies. I do not want to think of this precious one dying. I will not permit it. I still have no answers as how to handle the death of a child.

Ash Wednesday is a reminder of our immortality. I still have difficulty with it. There is a huge part of me that lives as though I and others will live forever. Easter tells me there is more than this life, resurrection, what Barbara Crafton calls TheAlso Life, but I still cling to this present moment.

I think again of my aunt. In fact, I feel her presence. A friend calls to tell me that a dear friend is having her first baby today and has asked for prayers. I pray that the spirit of my aunt will be by the bed of my friend to guide and protect her and her unborn child.

One friend dies, another is born. We all carry the blackened sign of the cross on our forehead. I return to the Cathedral School and remember a sermon by Beth Maze, “creation is made from dust.”

It is good that we have these forty days to ponder all this.

Joanna joannaseibert.com

One opportunity Sunday March 10 to purchase a signed copy of A Daily Spiritual Rx for Lent and Easter at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Little Rock in the narthex after the 8 and 10:30 services. Proceeds from the book go for hurricane relief in the Diocese of the Central Gulf Coast.

Present Moment

March 5, 2019 joanna seibert

Present Moment

“During these turbulent times we must remind ourselves repeatedly that life goes on. This we are apt to forget. But the wisdom of life transcends our wisdoms; the purpose of life outlasts our purposes; the process of life cushions our processes…

It is just as important as ever to attend to the little graces by which the dignity of our lives is maintained and sustained.

Birds still sing;

The stars continue to cast their gentle gleam over the desolation of battlefields;

And the heart is still inspired by the kind word and the gracious deed.”

-Howard Thurman, “Life Goes On.,” Meditations of the Heart, (Beacon Press, 1981), pp. 110-111, InwardOutward.org, November 12, 2018.

On the last Sunday of Epiphany as we read about Jesus’ transfiguration, I sit in the early morning before dawn and watch light coming into the tiny part of this universe outside my window. Initially it is pitch dark. I am unable to discern where the trees are. I can barely see the house in the next yard. Then the trees appear as separate streaks of the dark, next the leaves begin to form, and finally I can make out the outline of the bird feeder outside my window. I hear the birds singing but none have come yet to the feeder. With more light, a multitude appear, and they eat their breakfast as I am doing the same. I observe them, but I rarely see them looking my way. They are intent on what is presented before them.

I have noticed that if I become distracted or look away even for a few seconds, I miss an important part of this developing scene that blends seamlessly from one part to another. I learn that this day has come for a unique visit, and I can easily miss an integral part of her introduction if I do not stay in the present moment with her. I have missed a measured part of who she is becoming.

We learn so much from our outside world, but especially at sunrise or sunset. Both are times for us to practice for a few minutes at the most, what it means to be living in the present, observing and living into each moment of time, each slowly progressing change as we sit or stand and watch a gradual transition of light from dark or dark from light. It is like seeing the parts of a puzzle move together before our eyes.

If only I could describe what happens to our bodies, our minds, our souls as we stop and live into the present moment presented to us by the natural world outside of us. There is a feeling of connectedness, joy, and peace. Our heart rate and breathing slows down. We come to a brief awareness of the gift and beauty of each day. We come to know all shall be well, all shall be well.

Joanna. Joannaseibert.com