Recognizing Angels and Jesus

Recognizing Angels and Jesus

noli me tangere fresco. fra angelico

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent down to look into it, and she saw two angels dressed in white, sitting where Jesus' body had been, one at the head and the other at the feet. They asked her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She replied to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have put him.” 

When she said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not recognize it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher).”—John 20:11-17.

My mind and heart are overwhelmed with thoughts about this Easter as I read others’ works and envision new images from this familiar story about Jesus' appearance 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 calling as people of the resurrection is to “find the risen Christ in everybody, no matter their physical appearance.” Christ is no longer confined to one body but present in each of us. No exceptions.

Frederick Buechner also explores this theme in The Faces of Jesus. Buechner states 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.”

Here's another insight into Mary Magdalene’s visit to the tomb. Angels speak to her, but there’s no indication that she recognizes the awe of the moment. Maybe she sees and talks to angels regularly, but if we try to imagine ourselves in her place, we might feel more like the other Mary at the annunciation—full of fear, surprise, or wonder. If we stay in the scene with Mary Magdalene, my best guess is that she might not realize they are angels. We are reminded once again of how hard it can be to see Christ in our neighbor and to recognize the angels guiding us through these difficult times.

rebecca stephens fracasantos

Mary Magdalene must have realized all of this later, as is often the case with us. Otherwise, we wouldn't be familiar with her story. 

Angels and Christ, in others, were very present during the past pandemic and this war in Ukraine and the Middle East. They were wearing masks, driving trucks, stocking shelves in our pharmacies and grocery stores, at the checkout counters, 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.

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

Learning to Be Myrrh Bearers

Learning to Be Myrrh Bearers

But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they arrived at the tomb, carrying the spices they had prepared.—Luke 24:1.

I remember preparing to present a workshop at the International Community of Hope conference one summer in Texas. The Community of Hope began training individuals who aren't ordained to serve as hospital chaplains at St. Luke’s Hospital in Houston. The training program is now used worldwide by those interested in visiting the sick and homebound. I have been involved with the Community of Hope in our diocese for over twenty-five years. I continue to see it as excellent preparation and study for anyone called to a ministry involving pastoral care in any form. (Some might believe this applies to all ministries!) One hallmark of the training is its foundation 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. In my experience, this has been the story of many called to be pastoral in any ministry they are involved in.

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 to share, sustain, and keep that love is to pass what they learned on to someone else.

What happens during the myrrh bearers’ visit is completely 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’ve never experienced a visit without receiving 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 encounter the resurrected Christ in many forms.

During the pandemic, we connected via 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 integrating pastoral care into their ministries. Thirty-three graduates from across our diocese are now applying what they learned in 28 different ministries. We still meet once a month on Zoom to continue our studies and support one another. We held a regional retreat for Community of Hope chaplains in the Midwest, with the Reverend Barkley Thompson, the rector of St. Mark’s, as the keynote speaker. Recently, we again trained fifty-five Community of Hope chaplains from twenty churches in the Diocese of Arkansas.

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

A Liturgy of the Veil

A Liturgy of the Veil

Guest Writer: Karen DuBert

"At that moment, the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split."— Matthew 27:51

A Liturgy of the Veil

It was not a translucent, shimmering, lacy veil—

a hint of covering, inviting speculation.

It was not to hide the wearer or obscure the view.

It was weighty, ponderous, impressive

(“thick as a man’s hand” they said)

sixty feet high by thirty feet wide,

seventy-two squares woven together to last:

A massive undertaking to fabricate

to say nothing of hanging it

(it took three hundred priests, they claim)

Lord, the Veil You ordered to keep us safe

was not soft and cozy to bury our faces in—

no, it hung heavy, solid, and forbidding.

That veil was a shield

to protect us from the searing brightness of Your glory,

from the Beauty we couldn’t bear to see

from the Perfection that would have scalded us

from the Holiness that threatened to blind us:

It barred the way to the Mercy Seat

and once a year it was trespassed

(with fear and trembling, I’m sure)

by one with bells attached

and a rope to pull a body back—should things go badly.

In that veil You posted “No trespassing:

Violators will be prosecuted”

Thus we fathomed that holy was hazardous

as well as sacred.

But then “at the moment”

when the tormented Man on the cross cried out—

that Impenetrable Veil was obsolete,

Torn from top to bottom:

You tore it

and the Mercy Seat glimmered—

centuries of sprinkled bloodstains vanished.

So began the invitation into Your Presence

to bask in a welcome

we could never have borne

had death’s undoing not begun

and nothing has ever been the same. 

Amen

Karen DuBert

 Joanna JoannaSeibert. com