Easter Child Story

The Child in Us

“Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it. And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.”  —Mark 10:15-16.

I was born on Easter Sunday. My name is Joanna. My parents had intended to name me Jo Anna after my mother’s parents, Joe and Anna. Before my mother woke up from her anesthesia at my birth, my father put Jo and Anna together and added in a middle name, Marie. This is a statement about my parents’ relationship, which most probably began before my birth. Marie was my father’s favorite sister who was married the day before I was born. My father missed most of the wedding celebration because of my impending arrival, so I guess I was his wedding present to his sister!

The first Easter I remember is in a picture that I keep as a sacred reminder on my desk. It was taken the Easter before my brother was born, so I must have been barely two years old. I am standing in front of our first house by the Mattaponi River at the corner of Second and Lee Streets. The screened-in front porch is in the background with maybe an Easter basket on it. There is a scruffy shrub to my right side. My head barely reaches the floor of the screened-in porch. The small photograph is in black and white, and the silver from the photograph has transformed the clear plastic cover over the years to a grayish yellow color, leaving parts of the picture mystically missing. Other parts are without as much light, giving the photograph an overall Easter film noir look.

I think the woven brimmed hat I have on is white with a black ribbon around it. My memory is that the coat I am wearing is a light pink wool with fake pockets and big buttons. The coat falls not quite evenly just above my knees. I am sure that one of my sweet grandmothers made my Easter coat. My left shoulder looks slightly higher than the right. The tips of my hands are barely seen, sheltered under the coat as my arms hang straight, almost at attention by my side.

I am wearing a little homemade corsage on my left lapel. I cannot make out the flower, but I think it may be a small rose. Circling my neck and overlapping the coat is a ruffled white collar with a small black bow that must be the top of my homemade dress, which is otherwise in secret beneath my coat. I cannot see my feet, but my legs are looking good. My eyes are wide open and my straight blonde hair has been curled, most probably with toilet paper the night before. I have a look of serene panic on my face as if I do not know what will happen next, but I will be ready.

This picture depicts for me my inner child. I long to meet her once again someday. For right now I keep her by my side always on my desktop right next to my Apple. I am seeking to let her know that all is well, and that no harm will come to her. It is Easter, a celebration of new life overcoming death. She will never ever be abandoned again.

We will go shopping for her new Easter outfit. I will tell her the Easter story and remind her how much she is loved. I will bring her flowers, violets or tulips or daffodils. We will go to an Easter egg hunt, and I will give her a noisy gong to ring at the Easter Vigil. I’ll gather more flowers for her, maybe azaleas from our backyard, to flower the cross on Easter Day, then ask her if she would like to sing with the other children at the Easter Day service. I’ll secretly leave for her a little extra chocolate at the Easter Brunch, rest with her in the afternoon, play with her on the next day, Easter Monday—maybe even go to a movie.

She is my inner child, born on Easter Sunday. I will remind her that Easter Day next year will again be a celebration of her birthday. Her real name is Jo Anna, and the God who loves her constantly tells her she is greatly loved, especially by those whose name she bears.

Joanna. joannaseibet@me.com

Purchase a copy of A Spiritual Rx for Lent and Easter from me, joannaseibert@me.com, from Wordsworth Books in Little Rock, or from Amazon.

Nouwen: Easter Message

Nouwen: Easter Message

“When you forget your true identity as a beloved child of God, you lose your way in life.”  —Henri Nouwen, “Holy Saturday/Easter Vigil: Be Not Afraid” from Fear to Love: Lenten Reflections on the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Creative Communications of the Parish, 2009).

Jim and grand son Zach

So many spiritual friends I talk with well understand Nouwen’s Easter message to us. For a multitude of reasons, often fear based, we lose our true identity. We forget that we are loved by God and seek love everywhere else. We stop becoming the person God created us to be and turn into the person others or our society wants us to be. We become people pleasers, fearing rejection. We become insecure, fearful, frightened, and look for relief in power, addictions, fame, money, or attachments to others. We grow dependent on what others think about us; or we may become paralyzed and unable to make any decisions. We eventually become acutely aware that we have lost our connection to God. Where can we find help?

My experience is that it is in community where we are helped. We talk with others who can share their connection to God. In recovery groups this is known as “sticking with the winners,” “staying close to those who still have their lights on.” Eventually we are healed, and we stay connected by reaching out to others who have gone through a similar experience.

As the alcoholic or addict in recovery stays sober and clean by telling his or her story, we talk to someone else who is seeking recovery and share our story of Resurrection from Good Friday.

Some may not call it Easter, but that is what it is. I was reminded of this by a dear friend, Jim Waldron, who now lives in the resurrection—who indeed did become sober on Easter Sunday many years ago.

Joanna joannaseibert.com

Purchase a copy of A Spiritual Rx for Lent and Easter from me, joannaseibert@me.com, from Wordsworth Books in Little Rock, or from Amazon.

Easter Vigil

Easter Vigil 1

“Dear friends in Christ: On this most holy night, in which our Lord Jesus passed over from death to life, the Church invites her members, dispersed throughout the world, to gather in vigil and prayer.” —Book of Common Prayer.

For the church, the Easter Vigil is one of the most complicated and beautiful services of the year. The difficulty is that it is only once a year, so it is hard to remember all the tiny details from year to year. This means that sometimes there is more chaos on this evening than the church would like. But this is also what adds to its beauty: light and creation coming out of chaos. The service starts with the lighting of the Paschal candle from a fire, usually outside of the church, and then bringing it inside into the complete darkness.

The deacon carries the Paschal candle in as he or she lights the congregation’s candles while singing “The Light of Christ” three times, each time in a slightly higher pitch. This is followed by the deacon chanting the beautiful Exsultet.

It is time for me to turn the Exsultet over to someone else. I have loved chanting the Exsultet for more than seventeen years. It has been a privilege. A newer deacon singing the Exsultet this year has been practicing it for two years and so lovingly and beautifully chants it from her heart. The Exsultet is followed by Old Testament readings about God’s history with God’s people. Next come baptisms, crying babies, and curious toddlers escaping from their parents, all still in the dark. Finally, the cacophony of the great noise of bells of every size announces that Christ has risen indeed, as the lights come on and we see all the flowers of Easter surrounding the inside of the church. Then we celebrate the first new Eucharist of the Easter season.

The service may have some similarity to what the spice- bearing women experienced when they came to the empty tomb on that early Easter morning, and saw one or two angels in dazzling white telling them that they were the first to know that Jesus had been raised from the dead!

Joanna joannaseibert.com

Purchase a copy of A Spiritual Rx for Lent and Easter from me, joannaseibert@me.com, from Wordsworth Books in Little Rock, or from Amazon.