A Memory Book of Past Easter Vigils

A Memory Book of Past Easter Vigils

“How blessed is this night when earth and heaven are joined, and man is reconciled to God.”—Book of Common Prayer (Church Publishing, 1979), p. 287.

I revisit this past Holy Week and especially remember beautiful stories about the excitement of the Easter Vigil at each church where I served. I remember one priest telling us in his homily many years ago that our presence at the Vigil didn’t earn us extra points with God. We weren’t getting more stars in our crown for being there. Being among the first at the empty tomb was a privilege to meet the risen Lord. 

One of my favorite surprises was watching to see how the Altar Guild would decorate my larger harp for the Easter Vigil.

Many congregations then follow the Vigil service with an elaborate reception or dinner late at night at church or someone’s home.

Once at Trinity Cathedral, as the deacon tilted the candle ever so slightly to light its wick from the first fire, oil ran out of the top of the candle, and the flames took on a surreal quality, like the tongues of fire described at Pentecost. At St. Margaret’s, we held the Vigil in the Columbarium garden, and I played a smaller lap harp to keep the Exsultet on key as I chanted. I cannot describe the exhilaration of shouting in the open air, “The Lord has risen indeed!” 

At St. Luke’s, a lector reading one of the Old Testament lessons had difficulty seeing in the dark. In the middle of the long reading, my dear friend moved her candle closer to the lectern microphone, which set the microphone’s foam covering on fire. She promptly and elegantly blew out the fire and didn’t miss a beat in the reading. Also, at St. Luke’s, one of the fantastic teachers in the children’s ministries and her two children planned a flashlight egg hunt for older children after the Vigil. The young people searched outside around the church, and it was a huge success that increased the number of people who came to the service! 

If you look online at a virtual Vigil during the pandemic at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, the Easter fire looks like it is coming out of the air! Spectacular!

It is now more contained, but still very moving.

We recently handed out bells for people to ring during the Great Alleluia. At the end of the service, our other deacon, Susan, and our associate priest, Patricia, spontaneously began ringing their bells whenever the closing hymn, “Christ the Lord is Risen Today, Alleluia,” reached an Alleluia. The congregation soon joined in ringing their bells. It was incredibly moving, since we could not sing because of COVID restrictions, but we could ring!

The Vigil is so unusual that it is easy for clergy to get caught up in the many tiny details of this once-a-year liturgy and to view it as a performance rather than an offering. The Vigil is a service to be enjoyed and celebrated.

We can always count on the Vigil to bring surprises, as it did this year and at that first Easter.

Joanna. joannaseibet@me.com

Servant Ministry and Diaconal Ministry

Charleston: Servant Ministry and Diaconal Ministry

“This is not our first day on the job. I know many of you have been here for a long time, and even more have been working overtime. I wish I could tell you it is time to take a break. I wish I could say the job is almost finished. But that’s not the case. In fact, it looks like we have even more work to do.” 

The task has grown larger, and the stakes have risen. That means we must all work harder to create a culture of inclusion, clear a path to peace, develop a sustainable ecology, and repair the bonds of justice that hold us together. And one last note, we still get paid the same: zero dollars, but more smiles and hope than we can spend.”— Steven Charleston

Deacons are aware that there is no stipend, since ours is a non-stipend ministry. However, there is something gratifying about working for free when possible. It means the deacons may be retired or have another income from a reimbursed job, allowing them to work without compensation in their second job. 

The diaconate is a ministry that keeps you in the world because that is where you are monetarily compensated. Deacons are called to be a bridge between the church and the world, bringing the world’s needs to the church and bringing the church to the world. They are directly under the leadership of their bishop.

The best recent book on the diaconate is Unexpected Consequences, The Diaconate Renewed, by Susanne Watson Epting.

The deacon stands alongside others in ministry, cheering them on as they are called to it. Frederick Buechner would say this is where their “deep gladness” meets the “world’s great need.”

The deacon stands beside the priest at the Eucharist and beside those working for inclusion, peace in this world, justice for all, and care for our ecology. The deacon stands for, leads, and supports others in servant ministry.

When people are deciding what kind of work to pursue, they are often told, “Choose the job you would do even if you were not paid for it.” Most people who do ministry in the church are not paid. However, the icon for this statement may be deacons, who take a vow to be servant ministers.

This month, I  will celebrate the privilege of being an ordained deacon in the Episcopal Church for twenty-five years.  Join me at the forum at 9:15 on Sunday, April 26, at Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church to hear more about what it has been like to be a deacon.

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

Easter Child Story

Easter Child Story

See once again that young face — the you from many, many summers ago — smiling from the past, so earnest, so curious, so innocently wise. See that young face again — the once and future you. Hold onto that memory with yourself, embrace the child you once were, and release the love of a lifetime. Bishop Stephen Charleston.

I was born on Easter Sunday. My name is Joanna. My parents had planned to name me Jo Anna after my mother’s parents, Joe and Anna. However, before my mother woke up from her anesthesia after I was born, my father combined the names Jo and Anna and added a middle name, Marie. This reveals something about my parents’ relationship, which probably began before I was born. Marie, my father’s favorite sister, married the day before I was born. My father missed most of the wedding celebration because of my imminent arrival, so I guess I was his wedding gift 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 in low light, giving the photograph an Easter film noir look.

I believe my woven-brimmed hat is white with a black ribbon around it. My memory indicates that my coat is made of light pink wool with fake pockets and large buttons. The coat drapes unevenly, just above my knees. I am sure one of my kind grandmothers made my Easter coat. My left shoulder seems slightly higher than my right. The tips of my hands are barely visible, tucked under the coat as my arms hang straight down, almost at attention by my sides. 

I am wearing a small homemade corsage on my left lapel. I can't quite tell what the flower is, but it might be a tiny rose. Around my neck and overlapping my coat is a ruffled white collar with a small black bow, which must be the top of my homemade dress hidden underneath my coat. I can't see my feet, but my legs look good. My eyes are wide open, and my straight blond hair has been curled, probably with toilet paper, the night before. I have a look of serene panic on my face, as if I don't know what will happen next, but I will be ready. 

This picture symbolizes my inner child. I hope to meet her again someday. For now, I keep her close, always on my desktop next to my Apple. I want her to know that everything is okay and that she will never be harmed. It's Easter, a celebration of new life overcoming death. She will never 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, such as violets, tulips, or daffodils. We will attend 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 decorate 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 this year, Easter was once again a celebration of her birthday. Her real name is JoAnna, and the God who loves her constantly tells her she is deeply loved, especially by those who share her name.

Our inner child may have been frightened during this pandemic and during these times of social and global unrest. Do something joyful and caring with them; it can make a big difference. Our inner child exists in the present moment, where God most often resides. We often encounter Jesus through our inner child, where Jesus loves to dwell.

Anyone who does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will never enter it. Then he took them 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 our country who are in harm’s way.

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