Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth May 31

VISITATION OF MARY AND ELIZABETH

Luke 1:39-49

12-step Eucharist, June 3, 2026. St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Little Rock

Mary’s visit to Elizabeth is perhaps our best example of what happens when two people allow the Holy Spirit to intervene in their lives. Elizabeth, late in her third trimester, hears Mary, in her first trimester, greet her. We don’t know what Mary initially says to Elizabeth, but the baby in Elizabeth’s womb leaps for joy. Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit, then greets Mary with these words: "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb."/ If only we had the courage to say that to each other as we meet. “Blessed are you among women; blessed are you among men.” 

Mary then breaks into the song of praise and thanksgiving, known as the Magnificat. "My soul magnifies the Lord,

And my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant."/ If only we would remember to say every morning as we awaken, “My soul magnifies God.”

How wonderful when we meet our neighbor, if the child, the God, the resurrected Christ within us, could leap for joy to see the God, the Christ within our neighbor. What does this story tell us will happen in our lives and in our neighbors’ lives when this occurs? We will be filled with the Holy Spirit, and our neighbor will be empowered to live out a song of gratitude and praise. 

This is one of our most descriptive passages about being and having a spiritual friend, a soul mate. As spiritual friends, we are called to see Christ, new life, in each other. Our friend's response may sometimes be as miraculous as the joy of the Magnificat. How do we see Christ, new life, in our neighbor? It is a gift from the Holy Spirit. Our job is to put ourselves in a position to receive this gift of the Holy Spirit, to see Christ in our neighbor, and then to honor Christ in our neighbor. The promise of this story is that when we reflect Christ, new life, back to our neighbor, she may also see Christ in herself and be enabled to live out the Magnificat. 

What does it mean to "sing out the Magnificat"?

"My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God, my Savior.” The words are clear. It means living a life of gratitude and remaining open to God working in our lives, even in our greatest times of stress. Our role model is an unmarried, pregnant young girl, empowered by the love of her older relative, who eloquently expresses her faith in God. Through the Holy Spirit, Elizabeth sees God in her young cousin. /When Mary is open to God within herself and can also see and feel God within herself, her response is this great hymn of gratitude and praise.

       What a difference we could make in our own lives and in our neighbors’ lives if we each became an Elizabeth to the Marys we visit and live with daily, at home and at work. When, through the Holy Spirit, we see God, Christ, and new life in our neighbors, the God within us will also "leap for joy" as we continue to meet others/on this road to a happy destiny, one step, one person, one greeting at a time!

Joanna Seibert

Pentecost 2026, Mary 24, St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Little Rock

Pentecost 2026, May 24, St. Mark’s, Acts 2:1-21, John 20:19-23

Today is the third most significant celebration of the Christian year. After Christmas and Easter comes the Day of Pentecost, when a gale wind blows through a house on a backstreet in Jerusalem, equipping Jesus’ disciples with everything they need to turn the world upside down. It is God’s own breath, the Holy Spirit, the most mysterious and least typecast person of the Trinity, the muse and soul of Christ’s church.

We have Christmas pageants, Easter parades, but Pentecost has no Hallmark cards

 Maybe we are spooked by the Holy Spirit. At 8 o’clock, we sometimes call it the Holy Ghost, which adds a more macabre effect.

Today, Jesus’ disciples receive the miraculous good news that their bodies are to take the place of Jesus’ body in the world. The same Holy Spirit who has filled him comes into them, giving them all they need to carry forward his ministry.

The day of Pentecost is also celebrated as the birthday of the church, the whole state of Christ’s church, united by God’s breath and empowered by God’s Spirit. All over the world today, people are wearing fiery red clothes to church, releasing balloons, reading the gospel in foreign languages, or blowing out candles on a cake with red frosting that says, “Happy Birthday, Church!” //

To understand why a church has a particular personality, find out how it began. If a congregation is founded to oppose something, that opposition composition will remain part of that church’s DNA and its relationship to the world. If a church is born, like St. Mark’s, to embrace and expand something, you can expect that inclusive posture to be passed down to every generation.//

 This makes it all the more fascinating when we hear two distinct birth stories of the church involving the Holy Spirit today. One, from John, and the other, from Luke.

John’s story unfolds on Easter evening, as the eleven disciples are locked inside the upper room of a house in Jerusalem. Whenever we experience traumatic events, nighttime takes on new meaning. Ordinary fears are magnified, and we lock windows and doors. Jesus enters without a key. John says he simply “came” and stood among them. “Peace be with you,” he says. Next, he shows them his ID, the wounds in his hands, feet, and side.

Then John describes Jesus doing something creepy and mystical. He commissions them by breathing on them, opening his mouth, and pouring his breath inside them so that their hair poofs up and their eyelashes flutter. They can smell that breath, not just from Golgotha and Galilee, but back before the world was born. Their own lungs fill with the smell of Eden: salt brine, river mud, calla lilies. His breath restores all that Fear killed inside them. It is a second Genesis, as they are created over again by the power of the Spirit coming out of Jesus’ breath.

“Receive the Holy Spirit,” Jesus says. With a gentle breath, Jesus breathes his Spirit into his disciples, who now become the guardians of that Spirit./ According to this Gentle Breath story about the church’s birth, the Church has received the Holy Spirit. The world has not. It is the church’s job to carry that Spirit into the world.

A birth story like this creates a distinctive form of church. Some Gentle Breath congregations forget the “send” part that Jesus says: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” They like being breathed on so much that they stay right where they are, clapping their hands and praising God for the breeze, without ever unlocking the doors.

Other congregations hear the “send” part and go out into the world, to lead those who don’t know about the Spirit back into the church so they can meet God in person.  

This is a very Jo/han/nine idea of the church. There is nothing wrong with it, but it is not the only biblical account of the church’s birth. //

Luke describes a different delivery room for the church’s birth in Acts. The disciples are still in a house, but Luke’s story occurs fifty days after Easter. About 120 people are crowded into a house instead of 11. The doors and windows are open because those inside know they are waiting for something to come in. According to Luke, Jesus’ last words are “Stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.” While they don’t have a clue what it looks like, they open all the doors and windows so whatever it/ is can get in

On the day of Pentecost, “it” turns out to be something even Luke has difficulty describing. It begins with a sound like the rush of a violent wind, filling the entire house. Then it bursts into divided tongues like flames above their heads. When they open their mouths to shout, “Watch out! Your head’s on fire,” different words come out, speaking languages none of those Galileans ever learned. Perfect strangers, foreigners, have to tell them they are talking about God in their native language. The disciples are behaving so bizarrely that bystanders describe them as/ drunk.

But Peter says no. “It’s only nine o’clock in the morning,” and then the Spirit rescues Peter by giving him something to say in his language. He describes an old prophecy from Joel, who foresees days like this, when God’s Spirit is poured out upon all flesh, not just chosen people, not just eleven male people, not just church people, but all people, young, old, male, female, slave and free. 

EVERYONE upon whom the Spirit is poured is called to spread the word. God’s fiery, transforming Spirit is LOOSE in the world, and from this day forth the church’s job is to FAN it wherever it is found.

In Acts, we hear about the birthing of an alternative church, not a Gentle Breath congregation but a Violent Wind congregation, propelled more by God’s sneeze than God’s breath, where such a strong wind blows toward the open doors of the church that people must lash themselves to the pews to stay inside. They come back weekly to rally, rest and reflect, but then God’s finger goes back under God’s nose, and it is out into the world again, not just to take the Spirit out but to discover it in all the surprising people upon whom it has already been poured.

Members of Violent Wind congregations count on the Spirit to guide them as they go out in search of Holy Fire. They may find it absolutely anywhere: at a disaster-relief station, in the beauty parlor of a nursing home, in a jail where Free Read books go, in the food pantry line, around a family supper table, at a homeless Vets dinner, at VBS, or at Camp Mitchell.

How do we know when we find it? Wherever the Spirit is,/ there is heat and light. People’s lives are being changed around that fire, and they are so excited about what is happening to them that they speak the language of love, a love so generous that it cannot be contained by any human institution.

As different as John’s and Luke’s church birth stories are, they share this: the church doesn’t need a sign out front, a copy machine, or adequate parking,/ though these things certainly help. All it needs is people with a story about how their life together began and what it was like to be LOCKED UP, short of breath, waiting for God knows what. They do know what it is like to be awakened/ by some mysterious divine breath, whether it comes as gently as a sigh /or so violently that their life turns upside down.

Best case scenario, most churches have an obstetrical team trained in both Pentecost deliveries.

These stories do not tell us where God’s wind is going, but they do tell us that God gave the church to the world, not to possess the Spirit, but to serve as ministers of the Spirit, sending us out in the WORLD, wherever the Spirit calls and leads us. /////

Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful with the fire of your love, and lead us out to heal our suffering world. Amen 

 Joanna Seibert

      Barbara Brown Taylor, “God’s Breath,” Journal for Preachers, Pentecost 2003, pp 37-40.

12-Step Eucharist, May 6, 2026, John 14:1-14. The Way

12-step Eucharist, May 6, 2026, John 14:1-14. The Way

The first part of this reading from John is the most commonly read gospel at funerals. These words of comfort briefly remind families of Jesus’ resurrection and their loved one’s presence in the resurrected life. I have reached the age when I mourn the loss of family members and friends far more often than before.

Recent deaths of beloved friends have cemented my belief in the resurrection of the dead. But as I remember their lives, I’ve come to feel in my bones that resurrection is not simply a destination but a path they were already on. The path toward seeing the presence of God in each other, in themselves, and the path of turning their lives over to the God of their understanding.

Whatever your belief is in a higher power, you may see resurrection as merely a belief in life after death. While that’s true, it’s incomplete.

Instead of thinking of resurrection after we die, try this on for size. Resurrection refers to what the risen Jesus is already doing in our lives. He is gradually drawing us into deeper union with God/ and with one another, one day at a time. As we spend time with the God of our understanding, we begin to experience God’s presence within ourselves and one another. Eternal life begins here on planet Earth. It’s a life that emerges from our relationship with the risen Christ on this side of the grave and continues into the next.1

People in 12-step recovery should know this more than anyone else. We have experienced a truckload of resurrections as we have begun this journey of recovery. Listen to the people in 12-step rooms who say, “I thank God that I am an alcoholic; my life is so changed.”/ Not only listen to them. Watch them. See how they treat others/ and themselves. They are,/ we are, living this new eternal life.

Jake Owensby reminds us that the Gospels do not offer logic or proof of the resurrection. Instead, they invite us to imagine and live within the mystery of the resurrection, something we cannot fully grasp in this life.1 This sounds so much like 12-step work. As C.S. Lewis put it, “Act as if.” Or, in 12-step terms, “Fake it till you make it.”

“We’re always seeking clarity while God asks us to trust. The path will always only be clear one step at a time.”2

When we learn to trust and finally give up trying to squint through the thick fog ahead, we look down at where we stand and realize we see our next stepping stone, clear as day. No matter our worldly destination, we always know the way: one step at a time, taken in trust, hope, and love. Tonight, in John’s Gospel,3 Jesus again tells his followers, “I am the way, the path.” This expression contrasts sharply with “I am the answer,” a phrase many Christians assume Jesus said but didn’t. The difference between the two self-descriptions is significant. “I am the way” invites grand adventure and openness to the ambiguities and doubts that accompany a journey along uncertain paths. “I am the answer” suggests perfection, a page at the back of the textbook, solving an equation, answering test questions—no hint of a relationship. Instead, Jesus invites us to be on a journey rich in wild mystery, full of the unknowable and the incomprehensible. A journey.

Tonight./ As Christ guides and lives beside and within us./ In those around us. We see the path on the Way, gradually, one day,/ one step at a time.

1. Jake Owensby, “Easter Message” in Woodlands, April 5, 2026.

2. Erica Lloyd, “The Way,” InwardOutward, Church of the Saviour, May 2, 2026

3. Peter W. Marty, “First Words,” Christian Century, April 27, 2016.

Joanna Seibert

Good Friday

Good Friday. At the Foot of the Cross, April 3, 2026, noon, St. Mark’s.

This year, this place has experienced too much suffering and death. On Good Friday, here we bring our grief, mourning our loved ones, as well as contemplating the why of Jesus’ suffering and death. We linger at the cross for a few uncomfortable moments. It is a reality. Jesus died. It is a profoundly unjust, overwhelmingly painful death. Like millions of Christians around the world today/and at least since the 4th century, we make this pilgrimage at this hour/to the top of Golgotha to decide what Jesus’ death means to each of us. How shall we make sense of other deaths and the death of Jesus?1 / In grief, our words are a continual flight of ideas.

The stark rawness of today brings some answers.

Of all the world’s religions, our faith is the only one with a God who suffers at his death, one who has experienced our own pain firsthand. He is a suffering servant, which no one had ever heard of before. Jesus means to transform the world by loving it,/ not controlling it, which makes his life hell much of the time. But Jesus’s suffering makes him our best company/when we run into bad times. He has been there. There is nothing that hurts us that he does not know about. At our most broken, most frightened, most vulnerable, we have this companion who has been there and promises to be there with us. There he lives, beside and inside us in the lowest places in our lives. Nothing we say can shock him or make him turn away. If we say, “Where are you, God? I’m all alone here.” On Palm Sunday Matthew reported HE also says the same from the cross. Good Friday reminds us that the Christian faith does not  remove our suffering. Instead, we are given a God who intimately knows our pain and suffers with us/ and for us.2 This is love that crosses all boundaries. This is the love that never dies.

 As we stay on this hill and look up at the wounded crucified Jesus, we recognize he has become what we most fear: nakedness, exposure, vulnerability, and a failure.3,4 ///

We come closer to hear Jesus’ first words from the cross recorded in John./  We see his lips move, but cannot understand what he says. Jesus never observes our own suffering from a distance, so we, in turn, move nearer to him as we see his mother and the beloved disciple do. With a faint croaking sound that comes with overwhelming thirst, Jesus whispers to his mother: “Woman, here is your son.” And to the disciple, “Here is your mother.”/

Mary is only mentioned twice in John’s gospel and never by name, which may make her presence symbolic. Fleming Rutledge5 believes we are witnessing the creation, the birth and modeling of a new community which will carry Jesus’ Spirit of love into the world.

After the beloved disciple takes Mary home/ and the other disciples crawl out from under their rocks, they find themselves in the presence of two people whose connection with God’s love has now become far more intimate than theirs. While those in power in Jerusalem believe they are tearing Jesus’ family apart, Jesus lovingly quietly puts it back together with a new Spirit of caring for each other where3 “we glimpse divine love.” My experience also is that Jesus constantly does this. When our loved one is physically separated from us by death, Jesus gives us a new and different loving relationship with them/ and others if only we have eyes and ears to see/ and hear/ and accept it.////

As we stand below Jesus, we again see other courageous women from John’s story, Mary’s sister, and the woman from Magdala. They as well are symbolic of the women standing on today’s Golgotha, in the face of horrible suffering, somehow finding strength to hold each other up also in a new community.” 4//

 Rutledge again reminds us how the degree of thirst suffered at a crucifixion is indescribable. As Jesus is so close to death, John’s Gospel next records that he says, “I thirst.” We remember a recent story in John when Jesus asks a Samaritan woman at the well, “Give me a drink.” Jesus then explains, “whoever drinks of the water that I shall give…will never thirst; the water I give will become a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

All through the Hebrew Bible, God is in command of waters. He causes waters to flow and sets their boundaries. He causes it to rain for 40 days and then calls the flood back into its beds. He piles up the waters of the Red Sea so the Israelites can escape from the Egyptians. In the wilderness, he makes water gush from a rock when people are thirsty. /Remembering all this is too staggering to absorb./ The One who created the majesty of the Arkansas River and the Gulf/ and the calm waters of Lake Chicot, the One from whom flows the gift of the water of eternal life,/ is the One dying of terrible thirst.5,6

 Soon, we hear the exhausted Jesus take his last gasp and cry out, “IT IS FINISHED.”// We remember hearing those same words wailed/ from exhausted women who have endured long, painful childbirth as they make that final push before delivery of a new life. It is finished!/ Briefly, for a moment, we recall Jesus’ words from last night before his arrest: “When a woman is in labor, she has pain because her hour has come. But when her child is born, she no longer remembers the anguish, only the joy of having brought new life into the world. You have pain now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.” (John 16:21-22)///

But the scene before us offers no joy. It is unusually dark when we help lower Jesus’ torn, naked body from the cross and lay him in the dark cave that holds the truth and love we tremble to name.7 It will be the Sabbath. His time to rest. His part is over. His work is finished.8

We go home and get ready for the Sabbath. It will be hard to say our prayers.

 “God, where are you? We desperately need you./ We search for hope in the darkness./ God, you have continually redeemed evil and turned it into good since the beginning of time. But this horrific event is too dark. We desperately need to be reminded what is good about this Friday?”9/

We hold onto the truth that even from the cross, you draw us closer to you, caring for and loving us, just as you did for Mary and John. We cling to your promise “to be an abiding presence with us in suffering,/ as we wait with you through the long night until the morning light. /Our Apostles’ Creed, recited at funerals and in our Baptismal Covenant, reminds us that you first descend into hell after your death. You leave us this reminder that you will always be present, even in the darkest parts of our lives, which feel like hell./ We wait in hope/ through darkness until dawn for that possible wailing /of new birth, new life/ that women have heard and seen for centuries before.”10 ///

We will finally fall asleep, but in our longing for you, God, we will return to this place near sundown tomorrow.

Joanna Seibert

 

 

1Julian DeShazier in Christian Century, March 23, 2016.

2 Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Suffering of God,” God in Pain (Abingdon, 1998) pp. 120-124.

3 Barbara Brown Taylor, “Mother of the New,” Home By Another Way, pp. 97-99.

4 Eileen D. Crowley, “Sunday’s Coming,” Christian Century April 11, 2017.

5 Fleming Rutledge, “Woman, behold thy son!... Behold thy mother,” The Seven Last Words from the Cross (William  B. Eerdmans Publishing, 2005), pp. 30-34.

6 Fleming Rutledge, “Thirst,” The Seven Last Words from the Cross (William  B. Eerdmans Publishing, 2005), pp. 54-57.

 7 Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Silence of God,” God in Pain (Abingdon, 1998) pp. 110-114.

8 Barbara Brown Taylor, “It is Finished,” Home By Another Way (Cowley,1999) pp. 103-105.

9 Frederick Buechner in Wishful Thinking.

10 Br. David Vryhof JJSE.org.

 

Wednesday in Holy Week, 12-Step Eucharist, April 1, 2026, Saint Mark's

Romero, MLK, Bonhoeffer, April 1, 2026, Wednesday in Holy Week, 12-step Eucharist. Romero (March 24), MLK (April 4), Bonhoeffer (April 9), Hebrews 12:1-3

“Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, …let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us.”

Tonight, as we journey through Holy Week with Jesus at this 12-step Eucharist, we also honor three contemporary Lenten martyrs who also walked the Holy Week journey with Jesus: Oscar Romero, Martin Luther King, Jr, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

Interesting, isn’t it, that Oscar Romero, Martin Luther King, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, three of the most well-known 20th- century Christian martyrs, die during Lent.  Archbishop Romero is shot on March 24 at age 62 at the altar in El Salvador while celebrating the Eucharist/ after speaking out against the brutality of the ruling government,/ Martin Luther King is shot on April 4 at age 39  in Memphis where he goes to support striking sanitation workers,/ and Bonhoeffer is hung on April 9 also at age 39 for participating in plans to assassinate Hitler, dying 23 days before the Nazi surrender. Romero is shot while elevating the chalice at the end of the Eucharistic prayer. When a death squad kills him, his blood spills onto the altar mixed with the blood of Christ in the chalice. All three men are icons for our Lenten and Holy Week journey, people who speak their truth even when they offend the ruling authorities./ This is also what happens to Jesus. Jesus’ message offends the religious rulers of the Temple, who then conspire with the Roman authorities to kill him. Jesus is not killed at age 33 by the Jews/ but by the elite Jewish religious authority that convinces the elite Roman authority to believe that Jesus’ presence impedes keeping the peace in occupied Palestine. ////

Our Lenten journey has centered on “moments of clarity,” dying to an old life, and being reborn like Nicodemus—embracing a new Easter life, learning to be blind and then seeing, understanding what it feels like to have Christ crucified within us, and then living a new resurrected life rooted in the truth about ourselves and those around us.//

Romero, MLK, and Bonhoeffer don’t begin the Lenten journeys of their lives speaking out the truth in love. They were all three quiet, unassuming men: Romero, appointed bishop by the Vatican with the El Salvadoran government’s approval because he seemed “quiet and safe”;/ King, chosen for his youth and because he was the newest and youngest black pastor at age 25 in Montgomery;/ and Bonhoeffer, a thoughtful Lutheran theologian. But during their journeys,  all three see the injustices inflicted by those in authority on their friends and neighbors. They die to an old life of silence and living in the darkness of conformity and are reborn into a new life of speaking Christ’s truth in love. Eventually, like Jesus, all three realize they will be killed for speaking out. All their writings suggest that they, like Jesus, ask that the cup pass from them, but it doesn’t./We honor them tonight and pray for just a little of their courage and strength to do “the next right thing,” to speak out against the injustices in our world and support those who are harmed daily within and beyond these walls where we live and work and play and worship.//

“Consider those who endured such hostility… so that we/ may not grow weary/ or lose heart.”          Joanna Seibert