This Sunday we encounter perhaps the most famous of all Bible verses, John 3:16, known to American sports fans everywhere. At least, they know the words “John 3:16.” Who John is and what those numbers mean may be a mystery to many. Those with some Biblical literacy know it as that verse about “God so loved the world.” To many, this verse says it all, the Good News of salvation in Jesus Christ.
Yet it is much more complex than one might think at first reading. The part about God loving the world is great… but what about the rest of that sentence? “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”
Let’s not even get into the “perishing if you don’t believe” part. What do we in the 21st century think about a deity who expresses his overwhelming love for his creation by offering his Son to save it? Wouldn’t we prefer it to say, “God so loved the world that he gave himself up?” Of course, our wacky Trinitarian view of God reminds us that the Father and the Son are one, with the Spirit – so of course, God was giving himself up in giving up his Son. But why was a sacrifice necessary in the first place?
That’s the million dollar question. Did someone need to die in order for us to be freed from sin and death? The writer in me wants to answer that nobody really takes a story seriously until someone dies. God dying? That’s pretty much as high as you can jack the narrative stakes.
But did there have to be a sacrifice? Was the Father consigning the Son to certain death? OR did God simply “give him up” to take on human flesh, a mission to free us from the power of evil, come what may? Maybe it was humanity who decided Jesus must die, not his heavenly Father.
Our Good News is truly good – and so much more complicated than the “God loves you” message to which it is so often reduced. It is a story of an all-powerful Creator who puts into motion a plan of salvation which limits his power In order to allow for free will on the part of those to be saved. We can say "No thank you." Ever since Jesus Christ made an appearance in human history, people have had to make choices concerning him. Would they believe his claims to be the Son of God? Would they follow his ways, as counter-cultural as they were? Would they remain allied with him when it became dangerous?
These choices remain before us daily, with the addition of this: Do we believe he rose from the dead and has assured eternal life, now and later, for those who believe? How do you choose? Do we want this gift he gave at such a cost?
I don’t know if someone had to die. There are theories of the atonement that would say yes, and other interpretations of the Cross that find the whole idea of the need for atonement a sick distortion of God’s love. I’m not weighing in. I am standing with the story we have, the story we have received. In that story a man, a man who was also God, gave up his divine prerogatives to accept the limitation of human life, to live out the values of the world from which he’d come – values so counter to human values, he became a threat that had to be eliminated.
Gee, sounds like a science fiction story. Someone ought to write that!
3-9-15 - Snakes on a Pole
In this Sunday’s Gospel reading, we walk into a conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus, a highly placed member of the Jewish council. He has come at night to learn more about this Jesus fellow who is stirring up so much trouble. Jesus tells him that the Life of God is not comprehensible by physical senses; it is a spiritual reality, and one must be born of Spirit to discern the spiritual. He chides Nicodemus, “If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man.”
That’s a big “outing” of his Messianic identity. Jesus implies that he is this “Son of Man” who has descended from heaven. I can only imagine Nicodemus’ shock – and perhaps horror, at what sounds like megalomania, or delusion, or pure blasphemy. But Jesus has more in store for him.
“And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”
What on earth did he mean by “So must the Son of Man be lifted up?” From our vantage point, this meant the cross on which he was to die a brutal death, suffering not only the full brunt of human cruelty, but – we claim – also the full consequence of sin, separation from God. This was the penalty he took to the grave for us, and left buried there when he rose on Easter morning. But how could such a “lifting up” bring salvation and its reward, eternal life?
To get that, we need to understand the reference to Moses lifting up the snake in the wilderness, a story from Numbers that Nicodemus would have known well. It’s about the Israelites’ journey after their deliverance from slavery in Egypt. Their joy at rescue had quickly turned to bitterness. They complained mightily against God and Moses, "Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food." God, angry at their ingratitude, sends poisonous snakes and many die – which swiftly inspires repentance in the survivors . They ask Moses to intercede with God to take away the snakes. And here is God's remedy:
“And the LORD said to Moses, ‘Make a poisonous serpent, and set it on a pole; and everyone who is bitten shall look at it and live.’ So Moses made a serpent of bronze, and put it upon a pole; and whenever a serpent bit someone, that person would look at the serpent of bronze and live.”
This story is where we get our symbol for the medical profession. We can see this principle at work in vaccines and homeopathic remedies – a small amount of toxin introduced into the body can build resistance. But how would it work on sin? How did Jesus’ crucifixion set us free? (Like I can answer that question... but here's a stab.)
If we are indeed slaves to sin – wired to act for ourselves at the expense of others, which is one way to define “sin,” then to stare at an image of the crucified Lord is to look at the full effect of sin, the worst case – all the sin of all the self-seeking, creation-exploiting, God-ignoring human beings that ever lived. But I believe the healing power of the cross goes beyond a “scared straight” mentality. We are invited to gaze upon, draw near to the healing love of Christ, demonstrated supremely in his taking on this sin-sickness for us. He did not have to. He did it for love, to set us free.
If we think we have no sin, this makes no sense. But if we’ve ever hurt another living creature, or ourselves, and felt that dull ache of shame at our actions… we know. We were suffering a terminal illness. And now we are healed.
That’s a big “outing” of his Messianic identity. Jesus implies that he is this “Son of Man” who has descended from heaven. I can only imagine Nicodemus’ shock – and perhaps horror, at what sounds like megalomania, or delusion, or pure blasphemy. But Jesus has more in store for him.
“And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”
What on earth did he mean by “So must the Son of Man be lifted up?” From our vantage point, this meant the cross on which he was to die a brutal death, suffering not only the full brunt of human cruelty, but – we claim – also the full consequence of sin, separation from God. This was the penalty he took to the grave for us, and left buried there when he rose on Easter morning. But how could such a “lifting up” bring salvation and its reward, eternal life?
To get that, we need to understand the reference to Moses lifting up the snake in the wilderness, a story from Numbers that Nicodemus would have known well. It’s about the Israelites’ journey after their deliverance from slavery in Egypt. Their joy at rescue had quickly turned to bitterness. They complained mightily against God and Moses, "Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food." God, angry at their ingratitude, sends poisonous snakes and many die – which swiftly inspires repentance in the survivors . They ask Moses to intercede with God to take away the snakes. And here is God's remedy:
“And the LORD said to Moses, ‘Make a poisonous serpent, and set it on a pole; and everyone who is bitten shall look at it and live.’ So Moses made a serpent of bronze, and put it upon a pole; and whenever a serpent bit someone, that person would look at the serpent of bronze and live.”
This story is where we get our symbol for the medical profession. We can see this principle at work in vaccines and homeopathic remedies – a small amount of toxin introduced into the body can build resistance. But how would it work on sin? How did Jesus’ crucifixion set us free? (Like I can answer that question... but here's a stab.)
If we are indeed slaves to sin – wired to act for ourselves at the expense of others, which is one way to define “sin,” then to stare at an image of the crucified Lord is to look at the full effect of sin, the worst case – all the sin of all the self-seeking, creation-exploiting, God-ignoring human beings that ever lived. But I believe the healing power of the cross goes beyond a “scared straight” mentality. We are invited to gaze upon, draw near to the healing love of Christ, demonstrated supremely in his taking on this sin-sickness for us. He did not have to. He did it for love, to set us free.
If we think we have no sin, this makes no sense. But if we’ve ever hurt another living creature, or ourselves, and felt that dull ache of shame at our actions… we know. We were suffering a terminal illness. And now we are healed.
3-6-15 - Seeing is Believing
Hey, disciples, can you take a hint? How many times did Jesus have to tell you what was going to happen? He mentioned that “rising again after three days” thing when he was coming down the mountain after the transfiguration; he mentioned it when he talked about what was to happen to the Son of Man – arrest, trial, execution… and after three days rising again. And he says it here, talking about “raising the temple after three days.”
“But he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken.”
I can’t blame them for not being able to comprehend these words of Jesus’. I would have assumed they were some strange figure of speech – and Jesus said a lot of strange things. How should they have known he meant this one literally? This one really impossible thing?
After Jesus is risen, on his second visit to his followers in that upper room, he says to Thomas, who had missed the first visit and would not believe Jesus was resurrected from the dead until he saw him in person, “Blessed are those who do have not seen, yet have come to believe.” To which I always wish Thomas had replied, “Easy for you to say!” (His response was much humbler and more holy than that…)
In truth, none of Jesus’ followers really believed until they saw the unbelievable right in front of them. So we should cut ourselves some slack when we have trouble believing, without the benefit of seeing Jesus in human form with our physical sight. We have to work a little harder – or trust a little harder – and remember all the ways we do see resurrection at work.
What are some examples of resurrection life that you can name, in your life, in your community, in the world? Name them, claim those stories, remember them, tell them when you’re with someone who says, “There can’t be a God – look at all the evil and death and destruction.” That’s when we can say, “And look at all the life where it didn’t seem like life was possible. Here's a story...”
We don’t have to wait for heaven to see that our faith is valid. God shows us “risen from the dead” all the time. Let’s open our eyes and see Life.
“But he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken.”
I can’t blame them for not being able to comprehend these words of Jesus’. I would have assumed they were some strange figure of speech – and Jesus said a lot of strange things. How should they have known he meant this one literally? This one really impossible thing?
After Jesus is risen, on his second visit to his followers in that upper room, he says to Thomas, who had missed the first visit and would not believe Jesus was resurrected from the dead until he saw him in person, “Blessed are those who do have not seen, yet have come to believe.” To which I always wish Thomas had replied, “Easy for you to say!” (His response was much humbler and more holy than that…)
In truth, none of Jesus’ followers really believed until they saw the unbelievable right in front of them. So we should cut ourselves some slack when we have trouble believing, without the benefit of seeing Jesus in human form with our physical sight. We have to work a little harder – or trust a little harder – and remember all the ways we do see resurrection at work.
- Cancer patients who have experienced healing and are now cancer-free are resurrection at work.
- Addicts who have come solidly into recovery after years of self-destruction and self-loathing are resurrection at work.
- Communities that have moved from blight to habitable housing and secure neighborhoods are resurrection at work.
- Countries that have managed to choose peace and end years of bloodshed are resurrection at work.
What are some examples of resurrection life that you can name, in your life, in your community, in the world? Name them, claim those stories, remember them, tell them when you’re with someone who says, “There can’t be a God – look at all the evil and death and destruction.” That’s when we can say, “And look at all the life where it didn’t seem like life was possible. Here's a story...”
We don’t have to wait for heaven to see that our faith is valid. God shows us “risen from the dead” all the time. Let’s open our eyes and see Life.
3-5-15 - Other Temples
The temple complex where Jesus cast out purveyors of sacrificial animals and turned the tables on the money changers was the second one since the first splendid edifice erected by King Solomon. Having foreign powers overrun your small nation and send your people into exile can be hard on the architecture. The plans for this one must have been ambitious too, for at this point it is decades into its construction, and it’s not finished.
The temple leaders did not throw Jesus out after his scene. But they sure had a few questions for him.
“‘What sign can you show us for doing this?’ Jesus answered them, ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.’ The leaders then said, ‘This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?’ But he was speaking of the temple of his body.”
It’s an audacious challenge Jesus lays down – and a safe bet, as there’s no way they would have risked harming the temple. (Within forty or so years, the Romans would demolish it.) The leaders take his words literally – “You’re going to raise it up in three days?” But our narrator tells us what Jesus apparently does not tell the authorities – that he’s not talking about the bricks and mortar in which God was said to dwell on earth. He is talking about the fullest revelation of God on earth – himself, the Son of God, made human flesh and yet containing the fullness of the Godhead.
During his time on this earth, Jesus was this living temple, Emmanu-el, God with us, who mediated the presence of God to those who drew near. That’s where his power to heal, and teach, and forgive came from, God within him. That’s why he was so threatening to those who held power. They couldn’t put their finger on why he was so unsettling – it was God in him. That’s a pretty scary thing.
But God’s plan is scarier still. After Jesus’ ascension, he said, God would send his Holy Spirit upon all flesh. Now everyone who believes that Jesus is Lord can become a temple in which God’s presence is made known to the world. Not little “gods,” but vessels of the one true God. That’s why Paul exhorts us to honor our bodies and treat them with holy reverence – because our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit. Wow.
Okay, you might ask, why doesn’t it feel like God’s presence is so powerfully present in me? Why don’t I feel like a temple? Well, I don’t know about you, but I forget, all the time, that that’s what I am. And we are also vessels of accumulated detritus that has nothing holy about it, that in fact can obscure the holy in us. The work of the spiritual life is to become aware of, name, and transform everything in us that is not holy, and to become aware of, name and lift up all that is. Gradually the God-Life in us becomes more and more apparent and the natural, passing-away life dims.
How might we become more conscious of our “temple-dom?” Like any spiritual practice, we can develop this with, yes, practice. Sow reminders into your day – when you eat something healthy, when you take a rest, when you stop and pray, when you offer a kind word. “Oh yeah – I am being God’s temple.” And we can also remind each other, when we make choices that are destructive or not life-giving – “Hey, remember, the Spirit of God wants to hang out in you.”
There are those who await a third temple to be built, as a sign of God’s reign breaking out.
For Christ-followers, we see that third temple every time we look at one another, for God’s reign has broken out and we’re helping it spread.
The temple leaders did not throw Jesus out after his scene. But they sure had a few questions for him.
“‘What sign can you show us for doing this?’ Jesus answered them, ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.’ The leaders then said, ‘This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?’ But he was speaking of the temple of his body.”
It’s an audacious challenge Jesus lays down – and a safe bet, as there’s no way they would have risked harming the temple. (Within forty or so years, the Romans would demolish it.) The leaders take his words literally – “You’re going to raise it up in three days?” But our narrator tells us what Jesus apparently does not tell the authorities – that he’s not talking about the bricks and mortar in which God was said to dwell on earth. He is talking about the fullest revelation of God on earth – himself, the Son of God, made human flesh and yet containing the fullness of the Godhead.
During his time on this earth, Jesus was this living temple, Emmanu-el, God with us, who mediated the presence of God to those who drew near. That’s where his power to heal, and teach, and forgive came from, God within him. That’s why he was so threatening to those who held power. They couldn’t put their finger on why he was so unsettling – it was God in him. That’s a pretty scary thing.
But God’s plan is scarier still. After Jesus’ ascension, he said, God would send his Holy Spirit upon all flesh. Now everyone who believes that Jesus is Lord can become a temple in which God’s presence is made known to the world. Not little “gods,” but vessels of the one true God. That’s why Paul exhorts us to honor our bodies and treat them with holy reverence – because our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit. Wow.
Okay, you might ask, why doesn’t it feel like God’s presence is so powerfully present in me? Why don’t I feel like a temple? Well, I don’t know about you, but I forget, all the time, that that’s what I am. And we are also vessels of accumulated detritus that has nothing holy about it, that in fact can obscure the holy in us. The work of the spiritual life is to become aware of, name, and transform everything in us that is not holy, and to become aware of, name and lift up all that is. Gradually the God-Life in us becomes more and more apparent and the natural, passing-away life dims.
How might we become more conscious of our “temple-dom?” Like any spiritual practice, we can develop this with, yes, practice. Sow reminders into your day – when you eat something healthy, when you take a rest, when you stop and pray, when you offer a kind word. “Oh yeah – I am being God’s temple.” And we can also remind each other, when we make choices that are destructive or not life-giving – “Hey, remember, the Spirit of God wants to hang out in you.”
There are those who await a third temple to be built, as a sign of God’s reign breaking out.
For Christ-followers, we see that third temple every time we look at one another, for God’s reign has broken out and we’re helping it spread.
3-4-15 - My Father's House
Where should they begin, these leaders of Israel’s spiritual life? Jesus, in his tirade at the temple, offended in so many ways. There was his attack on the system of sacrifice and the economic engine that drove it along. There was his lack of respect and decorum. Yet these transgressions likely paled in comparison to his words: “Stop making my father’s house a marketplace!”
His father’s house? This was the holy temple where God resided on earth. It was for everybody. In fact, it had become the only place where holy rituals were allowed to be enacted, where ordinary people could come into contact with the Holy God. And this itinerant teacher presumed to refer to it as his father’s house? This was blasphemy.
When Jesus called the temple in Jerusalem "his father's house," he may have been referencing Israel’s history, in particular the tradition of King David who wanted to “build a house for God.” God’s response was that it was not David who would build a house for God, but God who would establish a house, a lineage for him, from whose line would come the Redeemer. Was Jesus was referring to his Davidic heritage when he called it “my father’s house?” It wouldn’t have sounded any less blasphemous to his listeners than calling God his father, but it’s an interesting notion.
Are places of worship meant to be houses for God? Is that what they are? And is that how we treat them? Or are they spaces for us, places we set apart for us, hoping to find in them a moment of holy presence? Buildings in which we enact rituals that have sometimes mediated the divine for us, in which we offer prayers and praises and portions of our wealth in hopes of encountering God. Is that what a sanctuary is for?
Or is a sanctuary a place to make welcome people who don’t yet know the living God, and yet know they are missing a connection they crave? Should we decorate and arrange our churches for God – who likely doesn’t care where we meet, as long as we come in love and openness, or for outsiders who are hungry for God? How would it change the way we arrange and decorate them, and how we conduct ourselves in them, if we saw them as houses for God’s hungry people rather than as houses for God?
In the next exchange in our passage, Jesus refers to his body as the temple that cannot be destroyed. Peter refers to the people of God as a holy temple built of living stones. I suggest that God’s house is anywhere God’s name and power and love are invoked – every heart, every relationship, every place of prayer and desperate hope can be “my father’s house.”
What if we began to treat our street corners as holy spaces? Our living rooms? Doctor’s offices? Shelters? Police stations? Even our marketplaces, to flip Jesus' words?
Where do you pray? Where do you invite Jesus to make himself known?
That is his father’s house now.
His father’s house? This was the holy temple where God resided on earth. It was for everybody. In fact, it had become the only place where holy rituals were allowed to be enacted, where ordinary people could come into contact with the Holy God. And this itinerant teacher presumed to refer to it as his father’s house? This was blasphemy.
When Jesus called the temple in Jerusalem "his father's house," he may have been referencing Israel’s history, in particular the tradition of King David who wanted to “build a house for God.” God’s response was that it was not David who would build a house for God, but God who would establish a house, a lineage for him, from whose line would come the Redeemer. Was Jesus was referring to his Davidic heritage when he called it “my father’s house?” It wouldn’t have sounded any less blasphemous to his listeners than calling God his father, but it’s an interesting notion.
Are places of worship meant to be houses for God? Is that what they are? And is that how we treat them? Or are they spaces for us, places we set apart for us, hoping to find in them a moment of holy presence? Buildings in which we enact rituals that have sometimes mediated the divine for us, in which we offer prayers and praises and portions of our wealth in hopes of encountering God. Is that what a sanctuary is for?
Or is a sanctuary a place to make welcome people who don’t yet know the living God, and yet know they are missing a connection they crave? Should we decorate and arrange our churches for God – who likely doesn’t care where we meet, as long as we come in love and openness, or for outsiders who are hungry for God? How would it change the way we arrange and decorate them, and how we conduct ourselves in them, if we saw them as houses for God’s hungry people rather than as houses for God?
In the next exchange in our passage, Jesus refers to his body as the temple that cannot be destroyed. Peter refers to the people of God as a holy temple built of living stones. I suggest that God’s house is anywhere God’s name and power and love are invoked – every heart, every relationship, every place of prayer and desperate hope can be “my father’s house.”
What if we began to treat our street corners as holy spaces? Our living rooms? Doctor’s offices? Shelters? Police stations? Even our marketplaces, to flip Jesus' words?
Where do you pray? Where do you invite Jesus to make himself known?
That is his father’s house now.
3-3-15 - Zeal
Funny thing about the derivatives of the word “zeal.” “Zealous” has pretty positive connotations as “on the case,” or “committed,” while “zealot” conjures images of bug-eyed maniacs raging about. The word originally referred to members of a Jewish political group in Jesus’ day who were eager to overthrow the occupying Romans. But Jesus’ “zeal” is directed not at the Romans but at his own religious leaders. In that way, he was fairly apolitical; presumably he had an opinion about the oppression and cruelty which the Romans exhibited toward his countrymen and women – but his primary concern was with the corruption of message and heart which he saw in the temple leadership.
After his rampage, John tells us, "His disciples remembered that it was written, ‘Zeal for your house will consume me.’”
What is the place for zeal in the Christian life? The early monastic hermits whom we call the “Desert Fathers and Mothers,” men and women who went into the desert to seek union with God away from the press of daily life, preached the spiritual virtue of apatheia, a detachment from worldly concerns and agendas that they saw as the goal of the spiritual life. The point is not to be passion-less, but to direct our passion into our relationship with the God who loves us passionately. I wonder what the abbas and ammas taught about Jesus’ scene in the temple.
Where do we find our balance between wholehearted passion – for justice, for evangelism, for liberation, to name a few, and apatheia, the spiritual value of letting go?
One way to explore this would be to discern when we are answering God’s call to a particular area of justice, and when our interest might be driven by personal concerns. I have a friend who is taking real leadership on the issue of sex trafficking. I asked her why that issue, and she said she felt God clearly tell her to work on that. She avoided it for some years because it is such an ugly area of human life – but ultimately she said yes. She is galvanizing communities to shine a light on perpetrators and bring freedom to victims.
What issues get you “hot under the collar?” What about that matter hooks you, do you think? Do you feel God has invited you to participate in that aspect of God’s mission to reclaim, restore and renew all of creation? Do you feel the power of the Holy Spirit with you as you work, and speak, weep or rejoice – or are you drained by the effort? Those are some of the ways to know where our passion is to be expressed.
However we discern our motivation, we can also be more intentional about inviting the Spirit constantly into our passion. When we are gripped with outrage over some injustice or corruption, let’s start to note our reaction and pray right then and there – “God, is this a holy anger? Or is this anxiety or guilt or something else?” And if we sense it is a holy anger, let’s take the next step and ask, “What would you like me to do, with you? Show me where to hold back and trust you, and where to move forward with all the fullness of your Spirit working in me.”
We call the great sacrifice our Lord Jesus endured for us – the whole thing, from his arrest through his crucifixion – his “passion,” from the word passio, or suffering. And yet this is also the word we use for ardent love – which is what drove Christ to endure his passion for us. If we let Christ live in us, I believe we will know when to bring it on and when to dial it back. It has to be his work in us, or it’s for nothing.
After his rampage, John tells us, "His disciples remembered that it was written, ‘Zeal for your house will consume me.’”
What is the place for zeal in the Christian life? The early monastic hermits whom we call the “Desert Fathers and Mothers,” men and women who went into the desert to seek union with God away from the press of daily life, preached the spiritual virtue of apatheia, a detachment from worldly concerns and agendas that they saw as the goal of the spiritual life. The point is not to be passion-less, but to direct our passion into our relationship with the God who loves us passionately. I wonder what the abbas and ammas taught about Jesus’ scene in the temple.
Where do we find our balance between wholehearted passion – for justice, for evangelism, for liberation, to name a few, and apatheia, the spiritual value of letting go?
One way to explore this would be to discern when we are answering God’s call to a particular area of justice, and when our interest might be driven by personal concerns. I have a friend who is taking real leadership on the issue of sex trafficking. I asked her why that issue, and she said she felt God clearly tell her to work on that. She avoided it for some years because it is such an ugly area of human life – but ultimately she said yes. She is galvanizing communities to shine a light on perpetrators and bring freedom to victims.
What issues get you “hot under the collar?” What about that matter hooks you, do you think? Do you feel God has invited you to participate in that aspect of God’s mission to reclaim, restore and renew all of creation? Do you feel the power of the Holy Spirit with you as you work, and speak, weep or rejoice – or are you drained by the effort? Those are some of the ways to know where our passion is to be expressed.
However we discern our motivation, we can also be more intentional about inviting the Spirit constantly into our passion. When we are gripped with outrage over some injustice or corruption, let’s start to note our reaction and pray right then and there – “God, is this a holy anger? Or is this anxiety or guilt or something else?” And if we sense it is a holy anger, let’s take the next step and ask, “What would you like me to do, with you? Show me where to hold back and trust you, and where to move forward with all the fullness of your Spirit working in me.”
We call the great sacrifice our Lord Jesus endured for us – the whole thing, from his arrest through his crucifixion – his “passion,” from the word passio, or suffering. And yet this is also the word we use for ardent love – which is what drove Christ to endure his passion for us. If we let Christ live in us, I believe we will know when to bring it on and when to dial it back. It has to be his work in us, or it’s for nothing.
3-2-15 - Losing It
Jesus must have walked past those tables and vendors and stalls of doomed animals a hundred times. He must have checked out the tellers exchanging Roman coins for temple currency. Maybe he shook his head, even seethed inwardly. But to our knowledge he never said a thing. Until this time:
“The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. He told those who were selling the doves, ‘Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!’” (The gospel reading for Sunday is here.)
What was it that caused him to go ballistic now, out of control, driving people and livestock out of the temple courts, knocking over tables, generally having the kind of fit that got so many zealots before him into trouble with the temple leadership, and in turn arrested and crucified by the Roman authorities? Or was that the point? Was this part of the plan to move toward his own passion and death, to live out the mission to which he was called by God?
And why all this commerce in the temple courts? The place had become a killing floor, awash in the blood of animals being sacrificed to meet arcane demands in the Law of Moses. For along with the requirements and regulations of the Law, it provided some loopholes. Instead of committing your firstborn son to God’s service, as the law required, you could offer a sacrifice. Over time, these loopholes accumulated and widened enough to drive a wagon through. Every demand of the Law could be satisfied with the blood of some animal or other, if you had the cash.
An economy grew up to satisfy this burgeoning business of bloodshed. You didn’t have to bring your own sacrificial animal – you could purchase one right there, one stop shopping. No temple currency on you? No worries – we’ll exchange your Roman coins for our own, and take a little fee for our pains. The whole place had become a well-oiled enterprise – what Jesus called a “marketplace.”
Still, it puzzles me why he seemed to lose his temper so thoroughly, when in other stories we see him exercise such grace under pressure. This scene is the start of months of increasingly heated exchanges between Jesus and the religious leaders of his day (in Matthew, it comes at the end). Over and over he accuses them of having lost the heart of the Torah, the Law of God, and having distorted it. And they, from their vantage point of power – limited as it may have been under Roman rule – can’t help but resist his challenges to their authority.
Later, after his arrest, during the events of his passion, we see Jesus seem to accept his treatment meekly and silently. Where is this outrage then? He was certainly capable of expressing his anger. Perhaps he reserved his ire for those who would pervert his Father’s love and oppress the weak.
Maybe that’s the lesson for us, when we wrestle with when and how to express our anger. There is one way to handle personal anger, however reasonable it may be – we can invite Jesus to hold it with us, or ask God to transform it into something life-giving. But righteous anger at injustice or misrepresenting God? Maybe there are times for letting that anger show, even when it means knocking tables around.
“The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. He told those who were selling the doves, ‘Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!’” (The gospel reading for Sunday is here.)
What was it that caused him to go ballistic now, out of control, driving people and livestock out of the temple courts, knocking over tables, generally having the kind of fit that got so many zealots before him into trouble with the temple leadership, and in turn arrested and crucified by the Roman authorities? Or was that the point? Was this part of the plan to move toward his own passion and death, to live out the mission to which he was called by God?
And why all this commerce in the temple courts? The place had become a killing floor, awash in the blood of animals being sacrificed to meet arcane demands in the Law of Moses. For along with the requirements and regulations of the Law, it provided some loopholes. Instead of committing your firstborn son to God’s service, as the law required, you could offer a sacrifice. Over time, these loopholes accumulated and widened enough to drive a wagon through. Every demand of the Law could be satisfied with the blood of some animal or other, if you had the cash.
An economy grew up to satisfy this burgeoning business of bloodshed. You didn’t have to bring your own sacrificial animal – you could purchase one right there, one stop shopping. No temple currency on you? No worries – we’ll exchange your Roman coins for our own, and take a little fee for our pains. The whole place had become a well-oiled enterprise – what Jesus called a “marketplace.”
Still, it puzzles me why he seemed to lose his temper so thoroughly, when in other stories we see him exercise such grace under pressure. This scene is the start of months of increasingly heated exchanges between Jesus and the religious leaders of his day (in Matthew, it comes at the end). Over and over he accuses them of having lost the heart of the Torah, the Law of God, and having distorted it. And they, from their vantage point of power – limited as it may have been under Roman rule – can’t help but resist his challenges to their authority.
Later, after his arrest, during the events of his passion, we see Jesus seem to accept his treatment meekly and silently. Where is this outrage then? He was certainly capable of expressing his anger. Perhaps he reserved his ire for those who would pervert his Father’s love and oppress the weak.
Maybe that’s the lesson for us, when we wrestle with when and how to express our anger. There is one way to handle personal anger, however reasonable it may be – we can invite Jesus to hold it with us, or ask God to transform it into something life-giving. But righteous anger at injustice or misrepresenting God? Maybe there are times for letting that anger show, even when it means knocking tables around.
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