The incense of myrrh is made from “tears” formed when the sap of the myrrh tree hardens after cuts in the trunk expose the sap to air. Myrrh comes from tears.

When we see John’s accounts of Mary Magdalene as a throughline from her bearing witness to Jesus raising her brother Lazarus from the dead, to anointing Jesus’ feet with pure nard, and then staying steadfast at the foot of the cross, and then — come Easter morning — refusing to leave the Garden when the tomb is found empty, demanding, even, of a man she mistakes as the Gardner “Where did you put my Lord?” so that she might go rescue his mutilated corpse — when you see this throughline of this disciple, this leader, Mary Magdalene, we see why she is called Mary the Tower.

It calls back something in Jacob, about the blessing that he stole, the one that caused the rift between him and his brother, that sent him into exile for twenty years. That’s not this one. This blessing is for him. It’s really his. He is finally worthy of his own blessing.

The truth is, Christians have been subverting and challenging the heteronormative standard for centuries. In fact, it was the early church’s queerness that caused it to grow and spread so rapidly. The earliest Christians were known for their radical acceptance of people from every status, gender, and culture. They were chastised for the ways they redefined family, defied status markers, and cared for the poor and needy.

When I feel the most joyless is when it is most essential for me to practice joy, to seek out this Godly abundance. Not to disassociate. Not to demean my own suffering or the realities that have brought me low. But because God calls — compels — us to remember: the things that speak death over us don’t get the last word.