Myrrh Bearers

Myrrh Bearers

“But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared.”—Luke 24:1.

He Qi Women Arriving at the Tomb

I remember preparing to present a workshop at the International Community of Hope conference one summer in Texas. Community of Hope began to train those not ordained to be hospital chaplains at St. Luke’s Hospital in Houston. The training program is now used worldwide for people interested in visiting the sick and homebound. I have been involved in the Community of Hope in our diocese for more than twenty years. I continue to see it as outstanding preparation and study for anyone called to a ministry involving pastoral care in any form. (Some may believe this may be for all ministries!) One of the hallmarks of the training is that it is steeped in Benedictine spirituality.

The image of the Community of Hope Chaplains that keeps coming to me is the “myrrh bearers,” the women who brought spices to the tomb of Jesus on that early Easter morning. They brought their most precious resources to honor the one who had cared for them. My experience is that this has been the story for many called to the ministry of pastoral care.

They know what it is like to be wounded and be ministered to by other healers. They understand what it is like to be loved and cared for by others. Their only way of sharing, continuing, and keeping that love is to carry what they learned to someone else.

What happens with the myrrh bearers’ visit is something totally unexpected. They go to honor their friend and teacher; instead, they are promised a new life, a resurrection in this life, and the next.

I have never experienced a visit at which I did not receive resurrection. We are touched and healed by those we visit. We take our most precious possessions, ourselves, our time, and our presence, and make an offering. In return, we always meet the resurrected Christ in so many forms.

Our visits during the pandemic were over Facebook, Zoom, and individual phone calls. In addition, our Daughters of the King, vestry, and clergy called everyone in our parish twice. 

We also offered Community of Hope training on Zoom at St. Mark’s for those interested in using pastoral care in whatever their ministry. We had 33 graduates from all over our diocese now using what they learned in 28 different ministries. We still meet once a month on Zoom to continue our studies and support each other.

Joanna. Joannaseibert.com https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Easter child Story

Easter Child Story

“See once again that young face, the you of many, many summers ago, smiling out of the past, so earnest, so curious, so innocently wise -- see again that young face -- the once and future you, abide in that memory with yourself, embrace the child you once were, and release the love of a lifetime.” Bishop Stephen Charleston.

restored

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. However, before my mother woke up from her anesthesia at my birth, my father put Jo and Anna together and added a middle name, Marie. This is a statement about my parent’s relationship, which probably began before my birth. Marie, my father’s favorite sister, 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!

I remember the first Easter in a picture 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 on 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 features are without as much light, giving the photograph an Easter film noir look.

I think my woven brimmed hat is white with a black ribbon around it. My memory is that my coat is made of light pink wool with fake pockets and big buttons. The coat falls unevenly, just above my knees. I am sure one of my sweet grandmothers made my Easter coat. My left shoulder looks slightly higher than my 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 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, 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 again someday. But, right now, I keep her by my side, always on my desktop next to my Apple. I want 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, and then ask her if she would like to sing with the other children at the Easter Day service someday. I’ll secretly leave a little extra chocolate for her at the Easter Brunch, rest with her in the afternoon, play with her the next day, Easter Monday—and maybe even go to a movie.

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

Our inner child may have been fearful during this pandemic and social and world unrest. Do something fun and loving with them; it can make all the difference. Our inner child lives in the present moment, where God lives most often. We often meet Jesus through our inner child, for this is where Jesus loves to live.

“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.

 Pray for the children of Ukraine, Sudan, the Middle East, and those in this country displaced by recent storms.

Joanna joannaseibert.com https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Recognizing Jesus and Angels

Recognizing Angels and Jesus

“But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb, and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher).”—John 20: 11-17.

noli me tangere fresco fra Angelico Convento San Marco Florence

My mind and heart are flooded with thoughts about this Easter, as I am reading others’ works and have new images from this familiar story about the appearance of Jesus to Mary Magdalene.

Bishop Jake Owensby of Western Louisiana suggests in an Easter blog “that Mary Magdalene did not recognize Jesus because she is looking right at the risen Christ.. and yet she sees nobody. For Mary Magdalene, the gardener is a nobody.” Owensby’s theme is that our vocation as people of the resurrection is to “find the risen Christ in everybody, no matter their physical appearance.” Christ is no longer in one body, but in every one of us. No exceptions.

Frederick Buechner also speaks to this theme in The Faces of Jesus. Buechner writes that “it hardly matters how the body of Jesus came to be missing, because in the last analysis, what convinced the people he had risen from the dead was not the absence of his corpse, but his living presence.” 2

One more insight into Mary Magdalene’s visit to the tomb. Angels speak to her. There is no recognition that this is an awe-filled moment. Perhaps she sees and talks to angels all the time, but if we try to put ourselves into the scene, we may have been more like the other Mary at the annunciation, full of fear, astonishment, or wonder. If we stay in the scene with Mary Magdalene, my best guess is she may not recognize them as angels. We are reminded one more time about the difficulty in identifying the Christ in our neighbor and seeing the angels who guide us during these challenging times.

 Mary Magdalene must have recognized all this later, as is often our case. Otherwise, we would not know her story. 

Angels and the Christ, in others, were very present during the pandemic and this war in Ukraine and the Middle East. They may be wearing masks, driving a truck, putting up stock in our pharmacy and grocery stores, at the check-out counter, making take-out dinners, giving us vaccines, caring for refugees, treating the wounded, and especially the women of our Daughters of the King, who pray for us every day.

1Jake Owensby, “Everybody is Somebody,” Looking for God in Messy Places, Jakeowensby.com, April 19, 2019.

2 Frederick Buechner “The Cross as the crossroads of eternity and time,” in The Faces of Jesus (Paraclete, 2005), p. 87.

Rebecca Stephens Facasantos

Joanna  joannaseibert.com https://www.joannaseibert.com/