12 step Eucharist, Epiphany, January 5, 2022, Christmas II, Matthew 2:1-12, St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Little Rock, Arkanas

Visit of the wise men 2022, 12 step Eucharist

January  5, 2022, Christmas II, Matthew 2:1-12, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Little Rock

We hear tonight, and we will again celebrate tomorrow night at 6:30, the visit of the wise men. Our tradition calls this Epiphany, the revelation, the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles, which is most of us, you and me. The Christ child, the God of my understanding, is indeed manifested to me almost sensuously at Epiphany. It first happened in the mid-fifties, when I attended my first Epiphany Feast of Lights service around the age of eleven in a small Virginia church with a boyfriend and his family. I still remember the unfamiliar liturgy, the candlelight, and the haunting mystic melodies. As we walked out of the small-town church on that bitter, cold January night, carrying our candles, we were surprised by the winter’s first snow. I knew that night that God spoke most clearly to me through this tradition.

 A decade later, I again encountered the beauty of the Feast of Lights at St. Mary’s Cathedral in Memphis, with their choral procession of the costumed wise men bearing their extraordinary gifts. Here in Little Rock at St. Mark’s, you can again experience that haunting call of Epiphany at their candlelight evening service at 6:30 tomorrow. To me, the choir and candlelight recessional out of the church into the dark night is always breathtaking. I watch the beautiful, often familiar faces of those walking out behind me. Their expressions seem to ask, “What will we encounter next in the night? Will this light be enough for me to see?”/

 This service empowers us to think about carrying our single small candle out into the world. As the candlelight service concludes, we realize that we can only see our path in the dark night because of the light from so many others. This is also our 12-step tradition. It is a we program. We stay sober because we stay connected to a community of others. Occasionally our light shines brightly in recovery. But, more often, we need the light of others for us to see the path ahead.//

Let’s listen to one more part of the journey of the wise men that speaks to our recovery. “They were warned in a dream… and left for their country by another road.” “They were warned in a dream… and left for their country by another road.”  This is also our story. We were warned in a dream, by another person, a judge, our family, consequences of our behavior, an intervention, whatever brought us to a moment of clarity to return home, to a new life by another road. Living the path of the 12 steps is the other road we have been called to travel. It is often called the road less traveled. What a privilege it is to trudge, to travel this road of happy destiny in community with each of you.

Joanna     joannaseibert.com

Advent 4C Luke 1:39-49, ((50-56), December 19, 2021, St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Little Rock

Advent 4C Luke 1:39-49, (50-56)

December 19, 2021, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Little Rock.

On this fourth Sunday in Advent, a few days before Christmas, the atmosphere in our church is more like a hospital maternity waiting room where all the relatives gather during these last hours before the birth of the family’s first baby. 

But in our excitement, we are ahead of our story. Back up. Teenage Mary from upstate Galilee, possibly thirteen years old, engaged to Joseph the carpenter, descended from King David, is visited by an angel, Gabriel. Mary’s eyes must have said “no,”/ for the angel’s first words are “Fear not.” Gabriel then delivers to Mary the first Christmas card, “Rejoice,/ the Lord is with you,/ you have found favor with God.” The angel then promptly tells Mary she will be the God-bearer, the Mother of God, Theotokos (THEE-oh-Toh-kus), our Greek friends will call her.

 The heavens and the stars all hold their breath for that one moment waiting for Mary’s answer. Mary’s response is not “well--ll, I suppose so” or “if you say so,” or “well I don’t like this, but you are the boss.” Instead, Mary says, “Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38). With that,/ Mary agrees to smuggle God into this world inside her own body, and the sun and the stars give a great SIGH of relief and begin to breathe again.  

But making a decision to say “yes” does not mean Mary is not frightened. She is so worried she asks her parents to let her leave town for a while and visit her relative Elizabeth, a priest’s wife, who lives south in the Judean hill country. Mary longs for a kindred spirit in this time of crisis, and Gabriel tells her that Elizabeth is also having a miraculous birth. If anyone can, Elizabeth will support her. Elizabeth is older than Mary, but never patted Mary on the head or used that tone of voice adults utilize when speaking down to children. Instead, Elizabeth has always treated Mary like a friend, a soul mate. Mary’s parents respond, “Yes, Mary, you have been looking a little peaked lately. Perhaps a visit to the country will do you good.”/ Mary leaves, and on the long, dangerous journey, probably in a caravan, she now has even more time to worry. Will Joseph stick around? Will her parents still love her? Will she be dragged into town and stoned? How will she, a pregnant teenager, take care of a baby, with no place to live, no way to get food, no one to help her?

When Mary arrives at Elizabeth’s, she is a mental wreck, but at the sight of her beloved cousin humming softly in her outdoor courtyard in the sunlight, she forgets all her fears. Elizabeth is six months pregnant and gorgeous. Not movie star gorgeous, but so full of life that it is hard to see anything but her joy, what Frederick Buechner calls “joy beyond the walls of the world.” Her grey hair is plaited and tied under a scarf. As Elizabeth takes Mary’s hands in hers, the girl cannot help but notice the dark spots on Elizabeth’s hands, the ones that come with age. The younger woman, hardly showing, then moves Elizabeth’s hand to her body and whispers, “ I am going to have a baby as well!” Luke then tells us that the baby in Elizabeth’s tummy leaps for joy. Actually, the Greek translation says the baby we know as John the Baptist “dances” for joy./ Elizabeth then takes in a deep breath as she is filled with the Holy Spirit and sings those beautiful words that Roman Catholic friends recite daily with their rosary, “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” Except Elizabeth didn’t just say the Hail Mary, the gospel tells us she “exclaims it in a loud cry.” She shouts it!

After Elizabeth lets loose,/ it is Mary’s turn again. The younger generation now enlightens her mentor, launching into a prophecy that we sing or recite today, especially in Evening Prayer. /This exchange between Mary and Elizabeth models for us what happens when we recognize and affirm God in each other. Our feet start tapping. We want to make music: harp, guitar, drums, violins, organ, an entire symphony to accompany the outpouring of our joy and gratitude. Mary’s voice and heart sings 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. Surely, from now on, all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me.”

What allows Elizabeth and Mary to sing in harmony is gratitude and praise for God being alive within each other. Each one carries that presence in her body, kicking and growing until no one looking at her can miss it. This always happens when we recognize God’s presence in each other.

 Mind you, the Magnificat is not a wimpy sentimental song. If you think Mary and Elizabeth are sweet and retiring, re-read Luke. “He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones.” /

For the next three months, Mary stays with Elizabeth and must have been present at John’s birth. Imagine the beautiful music at that home? /

In the first two chapters of Luke’s gospel, everyone sings.  Until John is born, there is only a women’s chorus. For that same angel who visited Mary silenced Zechariah, Elizabeth’s husband. But then, with John’s arrival, Zechariah pours out the powerful Benedictus our choir sang on Advent 2, “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his servant David.”/

And so, our story on this fourth Sunday in Advent from Luke has become the first act of a musical where everyone has a singing part: Gabriel sings, Elizabeth and Mary sing, Zachariah sings. And in a few hours in the second and third acts, we will hear more angels, heavenly hosts, shepherds, and later old Simeon will even sing./

Barbara Brown Taylor tells us that this musical also has a dance part, and it is a divine dance where God gives each of us the opportunity to play a role. God leads,/ but it is up to us whether we will follow. It is a two-step, just like that relationship between Mary and Elizabeth when they see God in each other. God acts. Then it is our turn. God responds to us. Then it is our turn again. The only thing that is absolutely certain in this scenario is that our partner is always, always with us and supports us and wants us to have that same new life and a new spirit within us that is gifted to Mary.////

 The birth of Christ not only happened 2000 years ago. We are here because the living Christ is inside each of us, ready to be born. Mary’s trust in that fact is all she has. What she does not have is a 3-D fetal ultrasound, a husband, or a written sworn statement from the Holy Spirit saying, “The child is mine. Leave this young girl alone.” All she has is her unreasonable willingness to believe God has chosen her,/ and that is enough to make her burst into song. She does not wait to see how things will turn out later on. She trusts the Holy Spirit, and sings ahead of time,/// and all the angels sing with her.///

 If there is some restlessness going on inside you right now, and your stomach is rolling with your own version of morning sickness,// then you might try following Mary’s lead. Who knows? Maybe the Holy Spirit has come upon you. Perhaps that shadow hanging over you is the power of the Most High.

While it certainly would be appealing to have more details about what all this uneasiness inside of us will lead to, Mary’s experience and wisdom mentors for us that we do not need to possess the knowledge of what is in this “cloud of the unknowing.” Mary’s story reminds us how God has acted in the past. She models for us what happens when we say, “Yes,/ thank you, /I’d love to sing and dance.”

 Joanna Seibert

Barbara Brown Taylor, “Mary,” in Mixed  Blessings (Sue Hunter 1986),  pp. 21-24.

Barbara Brown Taylor, “Mothers of God,” in Gospel Medicine (Cowley 1995),  pp.150-153.

Barbara Brown Taylor, “Singing Ahead of Time,” in Home By Another Way (Cowley 1997), 15-19.  

Blue Christmas, Holiday Healing Service, St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Wednesday, December 15, 2021 5:30 pm Joanna Seibert

  Blue Christmas, Holiday Healing Service, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Wednesday, December 15, 2021, 5:30 pm

The holidays are often the most challenging time after the death of a loved one. Also, after other losses, such as losing a job, dealing with addiction, divorce, depression, or severe illness. We hope the healing service tonight will help you know that this congregation has some awareness of how difficult this season is./ My only brother died seven years ago, the day after Christmas. I still miss him every day, especially in December, since he was such a Christmas person. My world has changed since he died. ///

Living through these difficult times is a painful journey. Tonight, we will consider road maps for the journey to bring comfort. The first journey is with the paralyzed man carried by his friends on a pallet/ through the roof to Jesus./

We cannot depend on ourselves alone to know and feel the healing love of God. We need spiritual friends. That is why God constantly calls us to community. We are like this man brought to Jesus on a pallet by his friends and lifted through a roof to Jesus below/ because the man cannot move. A crowd blocks access to Jesus. When we become paralyzed with fear, loneliness, pain, we feel trapped, blocked out of joy, the sunshine of the Spirit. We need spiritual friends to carry us on that pallet through the roof to God. Initially, we are the person on the pallet.\Later, we may become the friend helping to bring another companion on that pallet to healing./

At St. Mark’s, we glimpse the depth of the pain on this journey as we help carry friends to healing in a yearly grief group, Walking the Mourner’s Path. We walk with people near their lowest point after the death of a child, a spouse, a parent, a brother, a sister, a partner. We see despair, especially after tragic deaths and the death of the young, but as we meet in community, we always experience hope and healing. By simply coming to the group, participants make a positive commitment to look for new birth, new life. As facilitators, we hold the group together to encourage, listen, give people who sometimes seem paralyzed a time to speak as they are able. We figuratively walk beside,/ sit along,/ and sometimes carry each other, as we hold together the group with love.

However, the real healers, the real companions carrying their friend on a pallet to healing, are the participants themselves. They know most recently about despair. All are at a different stage of grief, but they honor and embrace the stage of each other. They radically hold and support each other. They experienced a death maybe a year ago, maybe after 20 years. They know the pain better than anyone else. Each year I say less and less, for the wisdom comes from the group carrying each other. / Once again, we see healing in community, as we are called to be present,/ aware,/  listen/ and be open/ to the Christ Child present beside and within each other./ Those in recovery also know that this same healing through community is available in 12 step groups.

Recently, I had a Christmas lunch with a Mourner’s Path group who has met annually for almost ten years to support and love each other, especially during the holidays./ We hear stories of incarnation, new birth, surprises, seeing God’s presence in each other when all seemed lost on that road to Bethlehem, and new birth. We talk about little experiences of love that carry us on our journey when we can no longer walk alone. A card, a call, a visit, even an email or text remind us that we are no longer alone and are surrounded by love.  Once again, this new birth of the Christ Child, we yearn to meet at the manger/ in a stable of a  crowded inn/ takes place best, in community. /////

Another struggle on our journey through despair to new life speaks of its length and difficulty. We will hear about this journey on Christmas Eve, the road less traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem to the manger, new birth, recovery, and new life. This is the journey Mary and Joseph travel from Nazareth to Bethlehem for Jesus’s birth. Our Christmas story concentrates on the manger scene, but that journey before the birth is unbelievably stressful, with rugged terrain, dangerous encounters at every turn. Like Mary and Joseph, those experiencing difficulty during the holidays travel that 100-mile perilous, often lonely desert journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem. The journey is not safe for Mary and Joseph to travel alone. Their only option is making the journey in community, in a caravan./ 

Both Archbishop Tutu and Richard Rohr1 also describe healing in these times of seemingly darkness when we have experienced the death of a loved one, depression,  a lost job, divorce, a family member who is not in recovery. “We need a promise, a hopeful direction, or it is very hard not to give up.” When we cannot see or feel or hear the path along the narrow road to new birth, “someone--- some loving person/ or simply God’s own embrace—will hold on to us because we sometimes cannot hold ourselves if we only allow it. When we experience this radical holding in love, this brings salvation,” the hope of new birth! This is why we are here tonight to acknowledge loss/ and hold each other in love on this journey./

Romans also reminds us that Christ is always here, reaching out to heal us. Nothing/ can separate us from God’s love. God never abandons us.

Henri Nouwen2 also writes that the Christ Child, is especially present in the dark times with those who are sick, disabled, hungry, grief-stricken, struggling with addiction. God is always with us on this journey. We are called to keep looking for tiny openings,/ small blessings,/ moments of clarity, surprising experiences of love we never expected, or from people we least expected, connecting us to God who so loves us. We are to keep allowing those God sends to walk part of this journey with us,/ when it is offered,/ most often at surprising moments.//

 Frederick Buechner3 knows about this difficult journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem before there is new birth./ Buechner is at the lowest point in his life. His daughter is possibly dying, he is helpless, and in some ways, he has become almost as sick as she is. One day Buechner receives a call from a friend living in Charlotte, North Carolina, nearly 800 miles away, saying he hears Buechner is having a difficult time and wants to come and visit. He is a minister acquaintance, not a longtime friend. Buechner replies he would love to see him, and they should arrange a time. His friend says, “Well,/ actually,/ I am presently at the local inn about 20 minutes from your hilltop home in Vermont.” Buechner’s friend comes and stays several days. They take long walks, drive around, eat together. Buechner does not remember any deep theological conversation, and they may not have even mentioned Christ,/ but they do experience/ the touch of the tiny hands of the Christ Child/ reaching out to both of them.  Buechner will always remember/ a friend who radically decides to come and walk that challenging  journey to Bethlehem for a few days with him,/ and they both are changed.//  This is the love of presence that brings on new birth that God calls us to share and offer to each other./

So tonight, I lighted a candle to honor my brother, Jim. My life has changed since his death. I have become closer to his three sons who live  in Virginia. I am sharing my love for my brother now with his children. I send texts and call and plan to visit them soon. I want them to know I am walking this journey to Bethlehem,/ to new birth with them.

I look out into your eyes and remember I learned how to take this journey from so many of you.

May God bless each of us as we walk to Bethlehem together.

 1Richard Rohr, Adapted from Richard Rohr, Great Themes of Paul: Life as Participation, disc 10 (Franciscan Media: 2002), CD.

2Henri Nouwen, You Are Beloved.

3Frederick Buechner in  The Clowns in the Belfry.

Joanna  joannaseibert.com

12 Step Eucharist, St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Little Rock, Arkansas, December 1, 5:30, Advent I

12 Step Eucharist

Advent 1 St. Mark’s December 1, 2021

Luke 21:25-31. Second Coming and Waiting   Joanna Seibert

Advent signifies the beginning of our church’s new year. We begin our new year celebration out of sync with the rest of the world by hearing about Jesus’ second coming. Indeed, there is almost always a small 50-word news item about predicting Jesus’ eminent return, sometimes using signs from holy scripture. Others predict Jesus’ return by what is happening in the world, “the roaring of the sea and waves, people fainting from fear, distress among nations,/ signs in the sun, the moon, and stars.”/ Indeed, we believe this second coming will happen sometime in the future, maybe sooner than later.

But those in recovery perhaps know better than any others about the Second Coming. We have already experienced it. It happens to us every day if we allow it. We undoubtedly had some experience of God as a child. It may have been the God of love or a God who was a hall monitor, watching for our every mistake. Something kept tugging at us like a dog nipping and barking at our heels. We would listen to this call at times, but ignored it when we became too busy or when things were not going our way. We found other forms of love and comfort and holiness, our work, alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, shopping, relationships, even family. The list goes on. Then all these experiences of self-love turned on us and became part of the problem, rather than the solution. We became hopeless.

By some miracle, in our desperate state, we heard the voice of God of love more clearly. Some might call it a moment of clarity. We learned we were loved despite all the harm we had caused. We discovered, no matter what we had done or thought that this God still loved us. God loved us as we are/ but loved us also enough to want us to change. We learned about staying connected to this God. We learned about forgiveness. We realized we were more than what we did or said. I keep remembering a very wealthy woman who had it all, who once sat beside me at a recovery meeting. She was called on, and she spoke. Then she immediately turned to me and asked, “Was that all right?” I still see the pain in her face. We all indeed share her story. We want to say the right thing. The God of love tells us to speak our truth, but then let it go. Honestly, this is the story of our whole life. Do the next right thing, and give the results to God. We strive to stay as connected to the God of love as possible, and turn our life, the results, all over to God.

In Advent, we are reminded to stay connected to the Christ Child who came into the world and the Christ Child already within us. This Christ Child keeps becoming more present in our lives if we only listen./

 Advent is a time of quiet, of listening, of waiting, of gratitude. There is no way adequately to give thanks for the presence of the Christ Child in our lives. Our veiled attempts to give thanks/ become genuine by remembering and sharing our story with others, especially members of our family who may be at risk. Advent is a time to remember that the Christ who comes and lives in our hearts is best heard in the silence of our lives. Like the Christ Child, who was first born so many years ago, the Christ Child in our hearts is the antithesis of our culture, which has become noisier and noisier this time of the year./ 

 So tonight, we come here one more time to this holy place, to experience silence, to give thanks for Christ’s presence in the world and within us. We remember the miraculous rebirth,/ the second coming that came, and continues to come into our lives.

26B How do we learn to Love?Mark 12:28-34, St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Little Rock, October 31, 2021

26B How do we learn to love?, Mark 12:28-34, October 31, 2021, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church  Joanna Seibert

A scribe overhears Jesus’ response to Sadducees arguing about the resurrection. He is impressed. So, he asks Jesus a more challenging, perhaps a trick question, “Which commandment is the first of all?” Jesus immediately  answers, “ ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself./ There is no other commandment greater than these.’”

Jesus calls us,/ no, commands us every Sunday to love God,/ our neighbor,/ and ourselves. So how do we learn to love? Most of you have read Gary Chapman’s book The Five Love Languages. It outlines five general ways to express and experience love, which Chapman calls “love languages.”/ They are acts of service,/ gift-giving, /physical touch,/ quality time,/ and words of affirmation. Chapman even has a quiz helping us decide the love language we best use. Our love language may differ from our family or friends and is notably different from those we do not understand. The book is a summary of how humans love.

But how does God love? The God of our understanding indeed incorporates all of these, but we know there is more. Much more.

Hear, O Israel .. listen…/ God is telling us we love by listening. God listens. Sometimes we think God doesn’t hear us. We forget that the still, small voice of God speaks loudest in the silence. The experience of God’s love and presence may come and go. We may have dry periods, the dark night of the soul. But God is still there. God’s presence is so immense that we cannot imagine or comprehend it. We experience God as absent, but the vast presence of love is still there. God promises always to be with us.

God also loves with generosity beyond belief. We are given the gift of this planet to care for. We are given gifts beyond comprehension, a mind, a heart, a soul, the presence of God within us.

All human forms of love usually have strings attached, the wants and needs of the one giving love. But God’s love is unconditional. No strings, no conditions. So how do we learn about unconditional love?/ We are taught by spiritual friends who have experienced God’s love and have learned how to pass it on. We discover about love when we receive it from others. Love is a gift. This is why God calls us to this community./

When our family first came to St. Mark’s in the 1970s, Truman Welch from Wetumpka, Alabama was one of the priests. Almost all of his sermons were filled with stories of relatives and neighbors from his hometown, mostly older women. We especially remember Aunt Mary Fannie with all her prejudices. Dean McMillin still remembers the story when Aunt Mary Fannie first met a Republican. The people in my stories are not as colorful as Truman’s, but I am again, like Truman,  sharing stories about a significant person from my growing up days. My grandfather is the central person who taught me about unconditional love./

My grandfather saved my life three times. The first occasion was when we were swimming in the muddy Mattaponi River next to his farm. He had taught me how to swim, and I know I was a good swimmer, because I often swam for hours along the shoreline. This near-miss tragedy occurred when I was in my primary school years. I have no definite recollection why I suddenly could not stay above water. I think maybe it was high tide, and I had unconsciously gone out beyond the dock where the water was now over my head and panicked when I could not touch the bottom. My grandfather quickly rushed to my side and swam me to shore. I remember later he told me that he as well would have drowned trying to rescue me if he had not been able to save me. /I remembered much later how that best described the depth of his love./ 

 Previously I told you that my grandfather wrote to me every week when I left my small Virginia tidewater town to go far away to college, medical school, residency, and practice. I recently told a story about being with my grandfather shortly before he died and reading Psalms to him from The Book of Common Prayer as he lay in a coma.

A week or so later, I returned for his funeral shortly after his ninety-first birthday. It was an open casket service, which bothered me as disrespectful of the dead and a spectacle for the curious living. I do not remember the service, but I  can remember crying without embarrassment during the funeral in the same Baptist church where I sat between my grandparents on Sunday nights, often with my grandfather’s arm over my shoulder. As family and friends gathering afterward at my parent’s home, I remember my uncle, my grandfather’s son, humorously asking me why I, a grown woman, loudly cried at the funeral. I have no idea what I said, but I do remember I couldn’t understand why someone would question that.

 The next few days after my grandfather’s death, I knew I had to do something to honor my grandfather’s life. He rarely was critical of my behavior, even during the time of my divorce in medical school, but he often did gently tell me he was praying that I would stop smoking cigarettes. His mother died a respiratory death from tuberculosis when he was five years old. He must have remembered something about that kind of death. I had twenty pack-years of smoking. Something in my grief told me to honor him by quitting smoking. I had tried several times but without long-standing success. Quitting smoking to honor my grandfather became a spiritual experience. I have not had a cigarette since his funeral, December 7, 1979. This is the second time my grandfather saved my life. My mother died twenty years ago from complications related to her smoking. My younger brother also died five years ago from a smoking-related illness, and I could have undoubtedly done the same. My grandfather saved my life while he was alive,/ and now even in his death.

It has been over forty years since that day of my grandfather’s funeral. At the time, I had become overwhelmed in my medical studies and practice while raising our three children. As a result, I had no time for any spiritual life. However, my Christian upbringing taught me about resurrection and the possibility of again being with those we loved in the resurrection. I had to believe that/ and live that. I had to believe I would, in some manner, be with my grandparents again. So, after at least fifteen years, I returned to the Episcopal Church, which I had joined in medical school during my divorce. At the time, I felt like a bad person. No one in my family had been divorced before, even though many should have. However, the Dean of St. Mary’s Cathedral in Memphis, William Dimmick, welcomed me and reconnected me to the God of unconditional love.

Now on my second journey back to the church, and St. Mark’s, in particular, I learned about a whole new way of living for myself and my family. If we are talking about being saved,  I believe we were saved on Good Friday over 2000 years ago when Jesus taught us about sacrificial, unconditional love and led us to a new life in the resurrection. However, I do believe my grandfather saved my life again in his death by leading me to a life built on the unconditional love of God toward us and each other. In turn, this leads us out of ourselves to love unconditionally in the world, as my grandfather once taught me. Through him, I learned that God never gives up on us and, like the “hound of heaven,” constantly calls us to be connected to God’s unconditional love. I am counting this as the third time my grandfather saved my life./

Once you have experienced unconditional love, you will never be the same./ Hold on to that. /Also, know you can only keep it by giving it away,/ giving it back to God, to your neighbor, and yourself. So, live in a community and stick with those who have learned the most about unconditional love. From them, you will become aware of receiving it. Then you have no choice but to share it./

I also learned from my grandfather that this love never dies. Love is the only thing we leave on this earth when we die. Love is also the only thing we take with us when we return to God. I still feel my grandfather’s love sometimes even more than when we were physically together. I feel his love when I am capable of doing things I never thought I was able to do, like quitting smoking. I feel his love drawing me closer to God through a community like St. Mark’s. I feel his love telling me to take care of myself so that I may be able to love others. I feel his love when I am in danger, as when I was drowning./

I want to live in this community of St. Mark’s because here we experience this same love. Here we are daily reminded in scripture, tradition, and stories of those who lived before us that the only way to keep this love/ is to love ourselves as a gift from God and give this love away, back to God, and our neighbors./ This, my friends, indeed is the great commandment.

Joanna. joannaseibert.com