If there’s one phrase that would sum up the Gospel of John for me, it’s the phrase “Grace upon Grace” from chapter one the 16th verse: From his fullness, we have all received grace upon grace. Karoline Lewis of Luther Seminary says this is the essence of John – a spirituality of abundance outpouring from Jesus into the world.

And Grace upon Grace isn’t just ethereal or spiritual. No, the word became flesh and dwelt among us in John. Grace upon grace is enfleshed, embodied – it’s tasted, it’s felt, it’s heard, it’s smelled. It tastes like 30 gallons of water turned into the best wine. It looks like a miraculous haul of fish. It feels like the heat of a well in the noonday sun. It’s baskets of leftovers collected from a few small fish and barley loaves. It smells like a pound of perfume whose fragrance fills a house. Grace upon grace is lived in the experience of the disciples.

Today, Mary the student shows that she has internalized this lesson of grace upon grace. Her anointing of Jesus is an extravagant gesture, both intimate and uncomfortable for others in the room. Maybe even uncomfortable for us, looking in on a moment of deep connection between Jesus and his disciple. For the first time we see a student looking like the teacher – This lesson of abundance not from Jesus, but from Mary of Bethany.

I imagine myself in Mary’s place. A few verses before Jesus has called her dead brother from the tomb. Impossibly, Lazarus walks out alive, returned from the dead. Mary was there with him at his deathbed. She and her sister sent for Jesus and lost hope when he did not come. And their grief was turned to awe when God’s power showed up abundantly in the wasteland of death. Mary gets it in a way that the other guys just don’t yet. She has heard Jesus teach about his impending death. And she has seen what God can do in the face of death. There at the table in her home, the smell of death hangs in the air while resurrection is seated at the table. Mary believes in grace upon grace.

She believes that this grace is for her. She believes that this grace is from God. And she believes, no matter how scandalous, that in fact Jesus is not just her Lord, but he’s her friend. Talk about Grace upon grace.  In this moment of grace she and Jesus exist in the Kingdom – where they can both face the truth of death held together with the promise of God’s presence even in the tomb.

In this moment of grace she can see herself now not only as Jesus’ disciple, but as his companion on this last part of his earthly journey. She can see what any dear friend can see – a moment when companionship is needed.  No one else in Jesus’ inner circle has acknowledged his death. No one wants to hear it. No one wants to believe that their dream could die. And they can’t quite understand that even in death, God’s power is at work for good. But Mary is listening. She is willing to go where the others won’t. Hers isn’t a transactional relationship of teacher and student. This is the transformational relationship of friendship with God. In abundance, she can offer back to Jesus what she first received.

Grace upon grace and God’s world of abundance is not something Judas has ever been able to understand. He’s still stuck in that transactional world where the perfume should be sold and the money given to charity, where there’s never enough bread to feed the crowds, where they’ve run out of wine, where they’ve fished all day but haven’t caught a thing. It’s the world of scarcity, not abundance. Though he has seen the goodness of the Lord, he hasn’t let himself be open to grace upon grace. It’s striking to me that he’s walked all this way with Jesus, and yet refuses to let his heart be transformed.

It’s a cautionary tale for us disciples. Our world is so similar to the world of the Gospel. How many of us continue to be caught by fear and scarcity, worrying that we aren’t good enough, that our lives aren’t full enough, that no one will hear our message,

Reverend Carlos Plazas

Rev. Madeline

Rev. Madeline

Growing up we watched a lot of Flip Wilson re-runs on TV Land. My favorite characters of Flip’s were always the church goers: The Church of What’s Happening Now, and Geraldine Jones the lady who did no wrong because the Devil made her do all those things. Maybe you remember his high pitched falsetto voice Saying “The devil made do it.” When asked why she bought a third dress that week, Geraldine replied, The Devil made do it. When asked why she got in a car accident, The devil made me do it. Whenever Geraldine was confronted about something she had done, The devil made her do it.

We have a complex relationship to the Devil in Christianity. Like most concepts in our Anglican tradition, as Episcopalians we relate the devil, the temptor, the accuser, HaSatan in the Hebrew – we relate to this figure in a “both/and” way. Both/And as opposed to either/or. Evil is something that is both outside us as a force in the world, and inside us existing as a potential consequence of our decisions held in tension with the equal force of good. We can’t be like Geraldine and scapegoat the Devil for all of our wrongdoing. We have to look inside ourselves and recognize that much evil in the world in fact comes from the human heart. And yet, I have seen evil at work in the world, encountered it only a few times. There are clearly powers and principalities beyond our reckoning.

But as Christians, we tremble not in the face of evil. Because we know that Christ has conquered all. As the old hymn goes,

“And though this world, with devils filled, Should threaten to undo us, We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us: The Prince of Darkness grim, We tremble not for him; His rage we can endure, For lo! his doom is sure, One little word shall fell him.”

Lets take a closer look at this spar of words between the Devil and Jesus. Because Jesus’ temptations show us where our strength resides as his disciples. It is in Christ, the Son of God, who strengthens us for every test.

The temptations of Jesus are about his identity as the Son of God. They are temptations to be a different kind of Messiah. The first challenge is one of Jesus’ appetites. He’s famished. And the Devil knows that Jesus has the power to feed. So he tempts Jesus to feed only himself. Jesus replies with scripture, the word dwelling on his heart. We who know the story know that instead of feeding himself, Jesus will make bread for thousands in the wilderness. God will set a table in the wilderness, but on God’s own terms – not the devil’s.

The next temptation is the temptation of Jesus’ ego – the temptation to power. The devil tells Jesus that he will give him earthly power over all kingdoms if Jesus will but worship him. What a laugh. Jesus’ kingdom is not of this earth. The Kingdom of God is the seat of Jesus’ authority as Messiah. No one has to give him anything, not even this lier the devil. Jesus replies again with scripture “Worship the Lord your God and serve only him”.

Well the devil is wise now to Jesus’ source of strength, scripture and his relationship to the Father, so the devil uses it in the third temptation to see if he can trick Jesus into a show of strength. The third temptation is the temptation to be ruled by fear, or to make self-preservation and safety an idol. Throw yourself down and God will save you and will not let you be hurt, he says. But Jesus understands that he comes as a suffering servant Messiah. He is not to save himself, but to sacrifice himself for the world. He will have the courage to face the cross and walk through the gate of death, showing us what faith in God’s saving grace looks like. Do not put the Lord your God to the test.

Jesus’ victory over temptation is rooted in his identity as the anointed Son of God, giving a strong sense of who he is and what his vocation on earth is all about. No power of darkness grim can shake that conviction, a conviction empowered by the Holy Spirit.

You and I are the

When I was a ceramics student in college, I began my practice thinking about all the fabulous things I was going to make. I mean, I wasn’t just going to make pots – I was going to make beautiful pots. And each creation I brought home was the best thing I had ever made, until the next one I brought home was the best thing I had ever made. I was smitten with each piece the moment it came out of the kiln.But I soon learned that ceramics wasn’t really about stuff. It’s not about the pieces at all.  Ceramics is about a practice, it’s about the craft, it’s about the process of creation. The more stuff I made, the less allure they held, and the more I simply desired to be in the studio. Part of that process of birthing something new and beautiful was recycling the old pieces that didn’t quite make it to the kiln. We made our own clay in the studio – recycling scraps of trimmings that came off of pots, shards of greenware that were too thin or too thick, and capturing all the dried out bits of dust that we could. Because at the heart of what a pot is, is dust. As I learned how to throw on the wheel, all my trimmings, all my scraps, all my dust came to be precious. It would be watered down, pounded out, and scraped together to make the clay that would make the next pot. These cast offs were important to the process for the future work. Now the sludge bucket was far from sexy: smelly, goopy, and far from being the silky clay that would be transformed in my hands. But without that sludge, we couldn’t craft something new. As I think about the dust of our own mortality, I think about the sludge bucket and the process of moving from dust to clay. Because what we do today, on Ash Wednesday, is just as necessary. Repenting of our sins and wearing the dust of the cross lets God shape something new from the ashes. We are made from the dust, and to the dust we shall return. It is only by God’s gracious gift that we hope for eternal life with God in Jesus. It’s not something we can take for granted. And we do well today to remember that our sins separate us from this hope of renewal that God has for us. But our life of faith is a process. And Ash Wednesday with the 40 days of Lent are the necessary time of reworking our souls to receive God’s touch. They are the necessary parts of the process that break down the walls we’ve built by our resistance and sin to allow God to shape and mold our hearts to follow Jesus. We cycle through the process of Lent again, and again, reworking the substance of our lives, letting God’s dream for us dwell deeply in the dust, until a new form emerges that we didn’t know was there. What is God doing with the dust of your life today? This season, and every season of your life God is calling you to a deeper engagement with your faith. We work the dust by fasting – by giving up habits or things in our life that keep us from experiencing the fullness of life God has for us. Think about this good and hard. Make your fasting count. What is impacting the dream God has for you? Can you do without it? I have a feeling it’s more than just giving up chocolate or beer. Rend your hearts and not your garments Joel says. What would it look like to give up self-judgment for lent? Or to purge your heart of negativity or lust or self deception? We enter this process by re-engaging with disciplines that draw us closer to God, where we can hear God’s dream for us whispered deeply to our souls. Would a practice of journaling allow you to hear your unvoiced prayers? Would a practice of scripture or devotional reading broaden your understanding of God? What if you approached this practice not like a chore but like a date with a dear friend? What if this became the rhythm like pounding and throwing clay that give rise to a beautiful new form? Imagine this lent that you are stepping into the studio of your soul. Even if you don’t consider yourself an artist, God is the true artist here. The rhythms we develop of prayer, fasting, and repentan

Our lesson from Genesis today reveals the climactic end of Joseph’s long and treacherous story. Joseph had been betrayed by his own brothers in earlier chapters of Genesis because of their jealousy. At first, they plotted to kill Joseph for he had dreamed that one day they would all bow down and worship him. Soon afterward, they had an opportunity to rid themselves of their brother Joseph. Instead of killing him, one of the brothers suggested they make money off of him by selling him to a passing group heading for Egypt. Over time, Joseph endured enslavement, false accusations, imprisonment, and later rose up to be one of Pharaoh’s chief officials. He managed to do this by interpreting two visions Pharaoh had received. The visions were of a great famine that would last seven years after seven bountiful years. Joseph suggests to Pharaoh that he have someone in charge of collecting a portion of the people’s grain during each of the seven abundant years. By doing this, Pharaoh would keep and create a stockpile from which to feed the people when the famine hit. Wow, this is a problematic story. In the days of Joseph, kinship and family were extremely important. You owed loyalty to your family. I don’t know all the emotions Joseph’s story might bring to all of you. I imagine there might be feelings of disgust, sadness, anger, and many other challenging feelings when hearing his story. Some of us may even know what’s it like to be betrayed by family or someone close to us. In the story of Joseph, slavery and false imprisonment are not things to be taken lightly. They are not easy to read in the Bible, and yet we encounter them throughout its entirety. We are not free from evil in our own day. As we celebrate Black history month, we remember the atrocities committed in our own time, and the heroes that prevailed in the face of injustice such as Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King, Jr., and many more. Our country today lacks so much of what we find in the readings today: forgiveness. Forgiveness is an essential part of our relationship with God which enables us to make things new. God is constantly creating and making things new. By learning to forgive one another, we become formed in the relationships God desires of us. To quote Martin Luther King, Jr., “We must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive. He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love. There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies.” King spoke some hard truths to our country and still to us today. King had a prophetic voice because he knew a relationship with one another required forgiveness. And forgiveness is an act of love. It renews our relationship with one another, and it renews our relationship with God. Let’s return to Joseph’s story. After Pharaoh made Joseph one of his officials, Joseph began collecting food for the impending famine. During the famine, some of Joseph’s brothers appeared before him. They didn’t know who he was because he spoke through an interpreter. They were running low on food like everyone else. Joseph treated them as strangers. He tested them by having one of his brothers remain behind. He wanted to see his youngest brother with whom he had a good relationship. In order for them to get their brother that remained behind they had to get the youngest. On the journey home, they discussed how difficult that might be. The youngest was also their father’s cherished son. They had already made him suffer what they thought was the death of Joseph. The famine was terrible, and they had to go back. When his brothers came back a second time, Joseph placed one of his silver cups in the youngest brother’s bag. When they had left Joseph sent a guard after them. He accused them of theft. He did this to test them. He told them that the one who has his cup will remain here a servant. When the brothers realized it

Sister Mary

Reverend Robert

Having recently survived a birthday that leaves no room for quibbling, I am now officially, certifiably, elderly. Not that I’m ungrateful to have lasted these four score years, and I now give myself permission to surrender myself to a few of the eccentricities I found so embarrassing in my own mother. She who was a lifelong, card-carrying introvert, began in her latter days to strike up the most, to me, embarrassing conversations with any and all strangers, while I, her 40-something equally-introverted daughter, would suffer the inner cringes of a mortified adolescent. What goes around, as is written in the stars, comes around. So it is that as my dog Freddie and I circumnavigate the block on our daily walks, we always exchange greetings with our fellow perambulators, whose names I don’t know—nor do they know mine—but whose dogs’ names I often do, having been introduced to them by Freddie. Fred is quite popular in the neighborhood. Everybody knows Freddie, and not just the other dogs. We were out doing our thing one day when a car pulled up beside us and the driver leaned out her window and asked, “Is this Freddie?” Turns out my granddaughter Lizzy had written us a letter addressed to Grandma and Freddie, but the address was a digit off, the driver’s address, and she wanted to make sure I was the Grandma who went with Freddie. So yes, Freddie is a big fish in his little pond, and I give him due deference. We’ve chalked up a lot of miles together, for better or worse. The other morning we’d stopped for him to attend to business, and as I turned aside out of respect for his dignity, my foot betrayed me and the next thing I knew I was headed into space without a parachute. In the half a lifetime it took me to land, I kept thinking, “This is not good.” And as I felt my head hit the pavement, I thought, “This is really not good.” As I lay there wondering, “Now what?” a passing stranger jumped out of his car, ran across the street and hauled me up onto the curb. Head wounds being notorious show-offs when it comes to the spilling of blood, he didn’t exactly wring his hands at the sight of me, but he did run back to his car and come back with a towel. Meanwhile, another neighbor walked up with her own dog to assess the situation, took her dog home and came back in her car and drove me to the ER. I’m happy to report they checked me out, said I was good to go, and sent me on my way rejoicing. The point of all this—and I do have one—comes from the conversation I had on the way to the hospital with my other good Samaritan, whose name turned out to be Catherine, when surprisingly from the mouth that could have been my mother’s came forth the information that I was a priest of the Episcopal Church. “I grew up Episcopalian,” said Catherine. “That sounds pretty past tense,” I said. “Where are you now?” “Well, she said, with some hesitation, “I’m exploring Buddhism.” She may have thought I would fling myself out of a car driven by one who had abandoned the “true faith” to stray into the arms of the Buddha. On the contrary! I’m for whatever path leads any of us toward the holiness of life, the power of love, the humility of repentance, the grace of forgiveness. That helps us experience the joy of belonging, of being part of something greater than ourselves, to whom we matter, who gives a hoot whether we live or die, who celebrates with us the fun of being alive and commends us to God’s care when the fun runs out. Something greater than ourselves. What a concept! We live today in a climate of I’m the greatest. The biggest. The strongest. My way or the highway. But acknowledging that we are not in fact the greatest turns out to be not a sign of weakness but of strength, the strength to accept who we are and who God might help us become. Take Jeremiah. “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you. I appointed you a prophet to the nations.” Being a prophet is often thankless work. It doesn’t win