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Tag: Jesus

Cleanse Your Temple: Sermon for Lent III, Year B 2015

Date: March 8, 2015
Place: St. Joseph of Arimathea Episcopal Church
Scripture: John 2:13-22

When I was in college I was president of a student organization that brought in various speakers to address topics of interest in the humanities. My senior year we had read an essay by the theologian that you may have heard me mention from time to time, Stanley Hauerwas. I still enjoy Hauerwas’ work, and appreciate the fact that he is an honorary canon theologian at Christchurch Cathedral. At the time I didn’t know that much about the theological landscape and so had no idea when I contacted him at his office at Duke University that his schedule was booked up for appearances and speaking engagements a year or two out.

But he agreed to come and speak at our university, a fact for which I’m grateful. His topic was Just War and Christian nonviolence the two dominant ethical traditions within the church related to how we respond to violence and evil. At the end of his lecture, I asked him the question that had occurred to me which related to this gospel passage. I asked him what a person who holds to Christian nonviolence has to say about Jesus’s cleansing of the temple. Hauerwas, who is known for one-liners responded: “if you find a temple that needs to be cleansed, cleanse it!”

As I’ve been reflecting upon this Gospel passage during the week, those words have continued to present themselves in my mind. “If you find a temple that needs to be cleansed, cleanse it!” Jesus having performed a miracle at the wedding and Cana of Galilee, and having gone through Capernaum, goes up to Jerusalem. While there, being a pious Jew, he goes to the temple to worship. And upon entering he sees something going on that so angers him – a cold calculating sort of anger – that he goes and makes a whip of cords, a scourge, and returns to the Temple and drives out those people selling livestock for sacrifices, those selling doves, and the money changers. He uses the web to drive the cattle, he overturns the table of the money lenders, and pours their coins out on the ground in the temple courtyard. Then, turning to those standing there, he says don’t make my father’s house a marketplace.

This event in the earthly ministry of Jesus, has been one that has evoked a great deal of comment. It’s one of the few places recorded in the Gospels were Jesus gets angry. There are a couple more he gets frustrated, or at least were his actions could be interpreted as frustration. But this event stands out starkly as the clearest example we have of Jesus’s anger. And it is an ambiguous event in some ways because people have wondered what was Jesus so angry about?

As has been pointed out by commentators both ancient and modern, the money changers and those who are selling livestock and those for sacrifices were not doing anything that in themselves was evil or sinful. I mean, it’s pretty natural. You have a need to offer a particular sort of sacrifice, and rather than hope that there is a lamb or calf without blemish or that fits the other requirements in your flock or heard that year, and rather than bring this animal with you all the way to Jerusalem, why not simply by an animal that fits the criteria at the point where you need it. These folks were providing a service. Likewise with the money changers, if you’re going to the Temple and you are going to offer a monetary gift, the last thing you’d want is to offer a Roman coin with a big graven image of the Emperor with the words “The God, Caesar Augustus” or some such. It would have been blasphemous. So the money changers offered the opportunity to exchange this blasphemous currency for something known as the Tyrian shekel, a coin that’s rather than an image of any person, had an image of wheat.

Some commentators have been wondering what it is that causes Jesus to become so angry at these people. Weren’t they simply providing a necessary service? Well, I think the phrasing used by Jesus in the synoptic Gospels is instructive. In John’s Gospel Jesus says “do not make my father’s house a marketplace.” In the synoptic Gospels he’s even more clear and to the point: “do not make my father’s house a den of thieves” (Cf. Luke 19:46, Matthew 21:13). Jesus’ concern does not seem to be that these things are occurring in the Temple in and of themselves. Rather Jesus’s concern seems to be what people’s focus was. The temple was to be the place for people came to worship God. The sellers of sacrificial animals and the money changers, however in turning the Temple from a place of worship into a marketplace had transitioned from enabling worshipers, to actually impeding worship. In other words, their focus was not to ensure that people were able to worship God, but rather, they were concerned with their profit. And there is an intimation that perhaps they weren’t only concerned with their welfare, but that they were perhaps taking advantage of others. Much as the tax collectors of the day made their living by collecting as much as they could over and above the amount they were required to send on to Rome. It seems that rather than making a fair wage, those engaged in selling in the Temple, were taking advantage of others.

This seems to be why Jesus says in the Synoptics, “stop making my father’s house a den of thieves!” These folks were inserting themselves between worshipers and God. They were thinking of themselves and not others, and people believed that they had to go through them to get to God. And so, when we look at it from this perspective Jesus’s actions make perfect sense and are in keeping with the frustration he expresses at the Pharisees among others who presume to put themselves between people and God. Jesus is concerned, is that people be able to have a relationship with God.

When Jesus is asked by those who witnessed his actions, “give us a signed as to why you do this” Jesus responds by telling them destroy this temple and in three days I will rebuild it. Well of course, his questioners think this answer is absurd. The temple has been under construction for 46 years they point out. But as the disciples understood when looking back from the post-resurrection context, Jesus was talking about himself and not the building of the temple. In this statement Jesus is making a claim about where the presence of God is to be found. The presence of God is no longer to be found in the temple, but rather in Jesus himself. This is the radical claim that separates Jesus from other critics of the Temple at the time. None of them would have claimed that God was uniquely present in them. But this is precisely what Jesus is saying.

We must be careful here, because of the fraught history of Gentile Christian interpretation of this passage, filled as it is with examples of the denigration of Judaism, discussion of how the sacrificial system was backward and has been supplanted etc. So to be clear, what is being discussed here is the movement of the holiness of God, the presence of God, the Shekinah, from the Temple to another place. This is not something that is foreign to Judaism. It is instead discussed as something that has happened multiple times. When the Israelites wandered in the wilderness the presence of God was with them in the pillar of cloud and later in the tabernacle (the tent) which served as a precursor of the great temple in Jerusalem. Within Judaism itself there has been an ongoing concept of the idea that God’s glory, God’s holiness, the Shekinah can move. After the destruction of the first Temple, this was the understanding that explained the distraction. Jews came to see the destruction of their temple as evidence of the fact that God’s holiness had left the building so to speak. And it was the absence of God’s holiness that explained the destruction. There were rabbinic stories–the inheritors of the Pharisees–which explained the destruction of the second Temple in similar ways. One of the most moving stories told to me by the Rabbi that taught the history of Judaism course I took in college, was of the chief priest during the destruction of the Temple by the Romans who climbed to the pinnacle with the keys to the holy of holies and threw them up into the air and as a hand–a divine hand–appeared and grabbed the keys, pulling them up into the sky. All this is to say the notion that God’s holiness can move is not something unique to Christianity. Indeed to the degree that is present in Christianity it is part of the shared inheritance that Christians have with modern-day Jewish believers.

What is unique about the Christian claim is about where God’s holiness now resides. For Christians the claim is that God is uniquely present in Jesus Christ. And through Jesus Christ, that God is uniquely present in each believer and present in the world through the body of Christ, the people of God. Us in Christ, Christ in us.

So Jesus, in cleansing the temple, is not doing so out of a sense that this is the only place that people could possibly worship God. Indeed in John’s Gospel you’ll recall, Jesus encounters a Samaritan woman and has an exchange with her in which he says the time is coming and now is when true worshipers will not worship on this mountain (Gerizim) nor in Jerusalem but will worship in spirit and in truth; for such the father seeks to worship him (paraphrase of John 4:21-23). So the problem was not that folks were defiling the Temple in some way, except insofar as they were inserting themselves between God and the people who came to the temple to connect with God. And so Jesus cleanses the Temple. We likewise are called to cleanse temples. We are called to rid ourselves and our communities of anything that prevents us or others from having relationship with God.

If we find a temple that needs cleansing, we ought to cleanse it!

But since we are now worshiping God in spirit and in truth, and there is not a particular place where we say we are in closer proximity to God than others per se, then we are called to look not only to our communities but within ourselves to determine what sort of cleansing needs to take place.

As the early biblical commentator Origen put it, “When are there not some money changers sitting who need the strokes of the scourge Jesus made of small cords, and dealers in small coin who require to have their money poured out and their tables overturned? When are there not those who are inclined to merchandise, but need to be held to the plow and the oxen, that having put their hand to it and not turning round to the things behind them, they may be fit for the kingdom of God?” (Origen, “Commentary on John,” Ante-Nicene Fathers, 393 to 394).

And looking to ourselves we can consider St. Augustine’s sermon on this passage. Augustine has this wonderful imagery he uses, of Christ having made the whip of cords out of the very sins of the merchants and moneychangers. In other words he envisions them being run out of the temple metaphorically, by their own sins. Taking up that imagery, and combining it with some imagery from Psalms and some of the Gospels, Augustine warns us that we can sin, and then sin in order to cover our sin, with the result being that we take a single sin, one cord, and bind together with others until we have a rope. A rope with which to bind ourselves. Much better he says that we be scourged now with the small sins and be preserved from being bound by long ropes of sin and cast into the outer darkness (Augustine, “Homilies of the Gospel of John,” Post-Nicene Fathers, 70-72 )

If you find a temple that needs cleansing, cleanse it!

Lent is the perfect time to discuss the cleansing of our temples. We’re all temples of the Holy Spirit; what in our lives is getting in the way of our faithfulness? Of our relationship with the father? Picking up on Augustine’s metaphor, could we not lay out for ourselves the cords of our sins, and making a weapon of them, cleanse our hearts, casting them out and reorienting ourselves toward God? If we want to talk about what this means, I think this could be seen as a metaphorical representation of the process of confession and absolution. When we confess – and even during this general confession that we have in our services, I hope that we’re all thinking about particular sins which are separating us from God and one another – we are laying out before us the cords that could be turned into rope. But the very act of remembering, of calling the sins to mind, helps to deprive them of their power and in turn gives us the opportunity to once again be faithful. Lent is a time of introspection and reflection. Perhaps we should put this active, if violent, imagery to work and understand that when we confess, when we pray, when we ask for forgiveness – these are the tools with which we can run off the things that separate us from God.

And if we want to temper the aggressiveness or violence of this imagery a bit, we can do so by considering the fact that this action is not taken in order to make us worthy of God, or of forgiveness. It is rather taken, out of gratitude for the forgiveness already received, for the reconciliation already achieved.

In seminary I had a T-shirt that had a slogan on it that amused some of my class mates, and I know that one Episcopalian theologian, Paul Zahl, also had this T-shirt. It said “I bring nothing to the table.” The reality of that slogan is that there is nothing that you or I can do to win God’s favor, or to earn our salvation. But out of gratitude for what God has done in my life, I can reflect upon the ways and I have fallen short of the great gift I have been given, and I can seek to live a holier and more faithful life, a life where I am more closely identified with Jesus. And so as we come to this table–this altar–today let us recognize that we bring nothing with us with which to purchase the grace of God. Instead we come to this table and receive the grace of God, and having been bought by it, enabled to cleanse ourselves and be more like Christ, not out of necessity but out of gratitude. Amen.

On The Perception of Christ at the time

Sermon prep for Proper 24 (Gospel: Matthew 22:15-22).  Re-reading bits of Christopher Bryan’s Render to Caesar: Jesus, the Early Church, and the Roman Superpower:

Still, for good or ill, as true or false, Jesus would have appeared primarily as a prophet, and as a prophet he proclaimed the imminent coming of God’s kingdom, which evidently meant, for him as for others, that God would fulfill God’s promises and vindicate God’s people (Mark 1:15, 9:1; Luke 11:20).  Naturally, such a proclamation had implications for those who held power in the present age–for masters and slave owners, for administrators and governors, for kings and emperors–since it relativized their power, declaring them accountable for their use of it.  If God reigns, then God reigns over everything, “for you know that you also have a Master in heaven” (Col. 4:1). [emphasis mine] (Bryan, 41)

Hope to the Hopeless

"Jesus and the Samaritan Woman" Detail of Samaritan woman at the well

Many of you are probably familiar with the hymn, written in the 1930’s, “I Want to Walk as a Child of the Light.” I’ve been considering the lyrics as I reflected on the Gospel lesson for this third Sunday in Lent (John 4:5-42).

I want to walk as a child of the light. / I want to follow Jesus. / God set the stars to give light to the world. / The star of my life is Jesus.

In him there is no darkness at all. / The night and the day are both alike. / The Lamb is the light of the city of God. / Shine in my heart, Lord Jesus.

If you’re like me, you’ve probably taken these words to be talking about Jesus’s sinlessness, his changeless and perfect divine character.  But there’s something else there–or at least more there–because these are the words that came to mind as I read the selection from John’s Gospel, which we just heard, about Jesus’s encounter with the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well.

Jesus is near the Samaritan city of Sychar, remarkable for a holy man in itself.  The Samaritans were despised by the Jews because they were viewed as a living witness to apostasy from the Law.  Jews were not to marry outside their faith/people, yet the Samaritans existed as a people because Israelite males from the Northern Kingdom had done precisely that, and intermarried with foreigners who had been resettled in the area by the Assyrians.  The hatred and distrust went farther back than that, because the Northern Kingdom had rejected the worship of the Jerusalem Temple and instead had built their own temple on Mt. Gerazim, near their early capital of Shechem, called Sychar in John (they later moved their capital, but the temple remained on Mt. Gerazim). Not only did the Samaritans have their own temple, they had their own version of the Torah.

Needless to say, the Samaritans weren’t well liked by the Jewish people and the feeling was mutual: they were so close to each other in belief, yet they hated each other for their differences, seeing them as blasphemous–a classic example of odium theologicum.

It is interesting that Jesus chose to travel through Samaritan territory because–despite the fact that it was the most expedient route–many religious Jews would avoid the area completely, taking the extra time to travel around Sychar/Shechem so as to avoid contact with any “unclean” Samaritans.  Not so with Jesus.

Jesus comes to the area of Jacob’s well, and it’s around noon, the hottest part of the day, and he’s tired from traveling, hungry and thirsty.  The disciples have gone to buy food when a Samaritan woman shows up to draw water from the well.  There are several things going on simultaneously in this passage.  The first is related to the place.  It was a common theme in the Old Testament for a man to meet his wife at a well.  It makes sense considering the social function of “watering holes.”  So the fact that Jesus would talk with a woman is scandalous enough, then there’s the fact that he’s talking to her at a well–not the sort of association a well-respected religious leader would want people making (hence the astonishment of the disciples when they do return).

But beyond this, there’s an issue with the time of day.  There’s a reason that Jesus, who is traveling, and this particular Samaritan woman are at the well alone.  It’s noon.  The hottest part of the day.  Most people would do their work, such as gathering water, in the cool of the morning or the evening, and gathering water or doing washing would be a time for socializing.  Not so with the woman Jesus encounters.  She’s an outcast; someone with whom the other Samaritans don’t want to socialize.

Jesus encounter’s her in the midst of her ostracism and her alienation.  He knows what she’s done and how she’s lived, drawing the details out:

Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come back.”  The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!” (John 4:16-18).

Jesus is able, in his conversation with her, to meet her where she is, recognize the difficulties she’s facing and the poor and sinful choices she’s made and yet present Good News to her rather than heaping more judgment and more condemnation upon her. She goes away from her conversation with Jesus, not chastised, not feeling worse about herself and her situation.  She goes way from that conversation with Christ energized, more confident.  The woman that had to go alone to draw water goes back to her city saying “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” and when the people hear what she has to say and the way she says it ‘They left the city and were on their way to him.”

Somehow Jesus is able to discuss religion (salvation is from the Jews, he says), politics and sex, and leave the woman in a better place, and in a state of belief.  How many of us are able to say the same?

This is why the song was stuck in my head.  I do want to walk as a child of the light, and I do want to follow Jesus.  But in Jesus there is no darkness at all.  I can’t say the same about myself.  This is John 3:17 in action:

“For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

The problem that we face is that we fall into two extremes and both are fraught with judgmentalism, just of different varieties.  As Archbishop Rowan Williams puts is:

We use God to bless crusades for this or that, for sexual liberation or sexual repression, for the free market or social ownership.  If God is value and power, in short, we need him badly.  To allay the anxiety that we might not have the kind of value and power that matters, we invent all sorts of ways in which we can be sure of having him with us, echoing what we say.  And the God we thus capture and display as our ally is most emphatically a God who is there to condemn: thank goodness I, or my particular group, have avoided condemnation by getting on the right side of him, and now he can turn his wrath elsewhere, on my behalf (Rowan Williams, “Not to Condemn the World” in A Ray of Darkness: Sermons and Reflections, p. 27).

In other words, we can fall into the extreme of being judgmental conservatives or judgmental liberals.  We can judge and condemn people because of their sins (as we percieve them) or because of they are benighted.   Either way we are condemning and aren’t doing the work of Christ, who came not to condemn but save.

This Lenten season I pray we learn the lesson that we are to follow God, not claim that God somehow follows us.  We all need to be reminded from time to time, of the lesson that the ancient Israelites learned: “Israel could not possess God because God possesses Israel” (Hauerwas, Naming God)

The Church today must relearn that we cannot possess God, because God possesses us, and somehow find a way to imitate Christ in speaking to one another, to our families friends and neighbors about God, about sin, about the Good News, in such a way that we can go forth from that conversation proclaiming the goodness of God.

After the encounter with the Samaritan woman, when the disciples urged Jesus to eat, he responded by telling them “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work” (John 4:34).  In other words, Jesus gets satisfaction from doing the will of the Father, and the will of the Father is that everyone, even the ostracized of the ostracized, the alienated of the alienated, the blasphemers of the blasphemers and the most sinful of humanity–even you and me–come to know the salvation he offers, the love he has for us, and the peace we have in Christ.  Jesus gives hope to the hopeless.

I want to see the brightness of God. / I want to look at Jesus. / Clear sun of righteousness, shine on my path, / and show me the way to the Father.

I’m looking for the coming of Christ. / I want to be with Jesus. / When we have run with patience the race, / we shall know the joy of Jesus.

Lord, help me to do so, and grant that I may.

 

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