Hold on Lightly (John 20:1-18)

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdelene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb.  So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.”  Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb.  The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first.  He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in.  Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb.  He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself.  Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead.  Then the disciples returned to their homes.

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb.  As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet.  They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?”  She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.”  When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus.  Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?  Whom are you looking for?”  Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”  Jesus said to her, “Mary!”  She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher).  Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father.  But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”  Mary Magdelene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

St. John’s Gospel begins the Easter story with the words, “Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark . . .”  Our discovery of the risen Christ always begins there – in the darkness.  The story begins with a solitary figure walking through the darkness, filled with fear, uncertainty, and a sorrow too deep for words.  While it was still dark, Mary Magdelene went to a tomb because earlier in the week, Jesus had been killed.  With him, her hope had died.  Her journey in the cool and quiet of that early morning is representative of the road many of us walk, feeling that we are alone, and stumbling around in the darkness.  We have all, at some point, been where she is – alone and in the dark.

Earlier this week, an old couple received a phone call from their son who lives far away.  The son said he was sorry, but he wouldn’t be able to come for a visit over the holidays after all.  “The grandkids say hello.”  They assured him that they understood, and then hung up the phone in the silence.  Earlier this week, a woman went into her supervisor’s office to hear that times are hard for the company and they’d have to let her go.  “So sorry.”  Earlier this week, someone received terrible news from a physician.  Someone else heard the words, “I never loved you.”  Earlier this week, someone’s hope was crucified, and the darkness is crushing.

No one is ever ready to encounter Easter until he or she has spent time in the dark place where hope cannot be seen.  None of us is ready to approach the empty tomb before we have knelt at the cross, none of us is ready for the joy of resurrection before we have known the abandonment of the crucifixion.

Those few but faithful of you who joined us for worship on Thursday and Friday of this week know what I’m talking about – I only wish all of you had been able to experience what took place in this sanctuary on Thursday and Friday nights.  Now, in the life of us clergy and musicians, we often refer to Holy Week among ourselves as “Hell Week,” simply because of all the extra services to plan and sermons to write and volunteers to recruit to help with those services, which is no small task when half the congregation has left for the beach already.  Many times for us professional ministry types, Holy Week is this marathon of worship services that all seem to blend together, leaving us wondering which day it actually is and which service we are about to lead.  Rightly or wrongly, that is how we often feel during Holy Week, and if we manage to make it to the couch this afternoon having pronounced the right liturgy at the right services on the right days, we count it a success.

This year has been different, at least for me.  Those who were here Thursday and/or Friday know what I’m talking about – our Holy Week services were some of the most profound and deeply emotional I have ever experienced.  On Friday night, as we sat here in this space, the light slowly dimming from the setting sun and the candles that were extinguished with each reading until the service reached its inevitable climax as Jesus died on the cross, feelings of despair and despondency and abandonment washed through the place.  I have been attending and leading Holy Week services for the better part of my almost 32 years, but what I felt this year seemed, I’m not sure what to call it, it just felt so – dark.  And so real.

It was that darkness – that place of abandonment and despair – through which Mary Magdelene walked on her way to the tomb.  No one is ever ready to encounter Easter until he or she has spent time in the dark place where hope cannot be seen.  Easter is the last thing we are expecting, and that’s why it’s so terrifying.  Today is not about bunnies and candy and springtime flowers and girls in new dresses and boys in new suits; well, perhaps without Jesus, that is all it’s about.  But with Jesus, it’s about more.  Much more.  With Jesus, it’s about more hope than we can handle.

And yet, Mary couldn’t have known – how could she – that the best days with Jesus still lay ahead of her; she thought the best days only lay behind her.  How often we make that mistake, too – believing that the best is always and only behind us, often believing it so firmly that we are blind to what God is doing in the here and now and what God desires to do in the future.  Then again, maybe that’s not entirely our fault – after all, it’s awfully hard to see in the dark.

Mary arrived at the tomb, and she was startled to discover that it was empty.  Where’s Jesus?  There’s a scene from Forrest Gump in which Lieutenant Dan asks Forrest, “Gump, have you found Jesus yet?” to which Forrest replies, “I didn’t know I was supposed to be looking for him, sir.”  It’s hard to hear that without thinking of this cartoon that’s made its way around on facebook: (show “have you found Jesus” cartoon).

Mary wants to know – where’s Jesus?  Was it body snatchers?  Grave robbers?  Had the authorities moved him to a secret location in the middle of the night?  She told Peter and the other disciple, “they have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.”  John then tells us that there was a lot of running back and forth to the tomb, which interestingly enough, is still what we disciples of Jesus do when he’s missing – we just make ourselves busy and run around a lot!

All that running got to be too much for her, and she breaks down in tears near the entrance to the now-empty tomb.  Spotting the angels, she’s unimpressed and not even that afraid at the sight of these heavenly messengers, and when they ask her what’s wrong, she just blurts out, “They have taken away my Lord,” and the text doesn’t say so, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually added, “You big dummy!”  Then another man, one she supposes to be the gardener, asks her why she is weeping and you can hear exasperation and combativeness in her voice – “Please, if you have taken the body away, please, just tell me where it is, so help me . . .”

The gardener doesn’t answer.  He just says one word.  He calls her by name, “Mary . . .”  And when, out of the darkness, we hear our name called, we recognize the One who stands before us – the crucified One is the risen One, he who had died now lives again, the treasure that was lost is now found.

Indescribable joy wells up from the depth of her being and lunges to embrace this resurrected Jesus, but Jesus, to our dismay and certainly Mary’s says, “Do not hold onto me.”  I have to admit that I don’t like this part of the story very much.  I’d have written this part differently.  Cue the waterworks, start the sappy reunion music, pan in for a long tearful hug, get that dual camera angle where you can switch back and forth between the close-up on both of their tear-stained faces, and that split second before the hug is so long as to be awkward, have them pull apart, have Jesus say, “Go, get the others, and tell them I’m back.  We’re getting out here and going home.”  Wide shot on the sun peeking over the horizon, the music builds, and the credits start to roll.  End scene, print, and start writing your acceptance speeches for this year’s Oscars.

That’s how I would have written the scene, which is perhaps a good reason I didn’t, because we’d have ended up with a very different Gospel.  This reunion with Jesus isn’t the end, it’s actually just the very beginning of God’s new redemption story.

Mary just didn’t know that yet.  Following Jesus is a never-ending process of losing him in the moment we have found him, only to continually discover him anew in an even more unimaginable form.  Jesus just won’t stay put for any length of time, you couldn’t even keep him dead for very long.  Every expectation we place upon Jesus is simply another futile effort to stuff him into the tomb.  The problem with Jesus is that he just won’t stay where we expect him to.  Every time we try to grab him and pin him down, he says, “Don’t hold onto me.”

Jesus knew that for Mary to grasp him now, she would have missed the transformation of his resurrection.  She would have missed the power and victory Jesus now had over the forces of sin and death.  She would have been glad to see him as a flicker of light in her own darkness, which would have easily blinded her to the realization that he is the Light of the World, the One who is capable of overcoming all darkness.  “Do not hold onto me” – instructions from Jesus that were really for Mary’s own good, lest she embrace only a partial Savior and thereby cultivate a stunted faith.  Holding onto Jesus in that moment would have allowed her to hold onto all that Jesus had been, yet would rob her of experiencing all that Jesus was yet to be.

Friends, the resurrection is like the starting gun of the new creation.  To paraphrase 2 Corinthians 5:17 – “If anyone is in Christ, BAM! New Creation!  The old life has passed away, the new has begun.”  The resurrection reminds us that God is making all things new, and so the task of faithful people everywhere is not to hold onto and preserve what was, but to embrace the new movements of God in our midst.  Embracing what we cannot yet see and most certainly can’t understand is no easy task, yet Jesus calls us to step out in faith and experience the new life he offers, rather than reminiscing about the life we once had.

“Do not hold onto me” – we cannot cling to the hope that Jesus will take us back to the way it was.  The way out of the darkness is only by moving ahead.  And the only person who can lead the way is the Risen One.  Not the old preacher and friend we left behind.  Until we embrace a new Savior, one who has risen out of both our disappointments and our expectations, we’ll never understand Easter.

For John’s Gospel, the Easter story begins alone and in the dark.  But thanks be to God, it doesn’t end there.   An encounter with the Risen Christ changes us.  It always does.  What matters most is not our own confidence in our hold upon Jesus, but the reality of knowing that he holds us.  And on this day, when God makes all things new, that’s more than enough.

We get the feeling that Mary was never the same after the resurrection.  Nor should she have been.  The crucified One is the risen One, who meets us in the darkness, calls our name, and embraces us with a hope that is bigger than we can handle.  What seemed like the end is just the beginning.

Donkey Rides (Mark 11:1-11)

When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it.  If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’”  They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street.  As they were untying it, some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?”  They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it.  Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it.  Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields.  Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting, “Hosanna!  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!  Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!  Hosanna in the highest heaven!”  Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

We hear this story every year.  Jesus rides into Jerusalem on a donkey, the road lined with cloaks and branches and palm fronds, right on time on Palm Sunday every year.  Palm Sunday is that day in the church’s year that lets us know the six weeks of Lent, begun when we saw our shadow on Ash Wednesday, are almost over, thanks be to God.  When Jesus rides into Jerusalem, we know that we only have to hold out for another week to keep our Lenten fast from chocolate or peanut butter or soda or alcohol or whatever else we gave up.  On this day every year, the anthem for worship may as well be, “Hippity hoppity, Easter’s on its way.”  Crowds show up on Palm Sunday and wave their palm branches and shout “Hosanna” and then show up next week and sing “Alleluia” with little thought to the events that took place between these two Sundays.  As happened with Jesus, only a few of the most dedicated, faithful, and devout disciples will show up this week on Thursday, and by the time we get to Friday, the number will be even less.

We hear this Palm Sunday story every year, right on time, pre-Easter, one week left to go; but I wonder if we’ve heard it so much, we no longer really listen to it.  And yet, this week is too important for our familiarity with the story to numb us to hearing God speaking in it, and so I invite your participation today through a listening ear and an open heart.  May we pray.

Sometimes a car is just a car; other times it is a statement.  In high school, I drove a 1982 Ford LTD - it was robin egg blue with a dark blue vinyl top and we called it “The Blue Bomber” - and that was an appropriate name in every sense of the word.  I think the statement that car made about me was “This used to be A.J.’s Dad’s car, but it go so unreliable he got tired of driving it, got another one, and A.J. drives this one now.”

There was the 1987 Chevy Celebrity - the factory color was Rosewood, but let’s call it what it was, pink - and so we called it “Pink Maxie” in honor of the grandma who had owned it previously.  And then there was the car I acquired during my first year of seminary after I wrecked Maxie - a goldish-brown 1992 Saturn SC.  It was covered in Meredith College stickers which I quickly removed, but not before my friends could name the car “Meredith,” and that name stuck.  Do you have any idea how humbling it is to drive around in a car named “Meredith?”

Sometimes, transportation is just transportation; other times, it’s a statement.  It is true in our day, and  it was true in Jesus’ day, as well.  Just take a look at the 11 verses we’ve read today, the familiar story of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday at the start of the week celebrating the Passover.  11 verses detail the events of that day in Mark’s account, and fully 7 of those have to do with the procurement of the famous donkey, suggesting that one’s ride in Jesus’ day was just as important as it is in ours.  What did Jesus’ ride say about him?

First, let us understand that Jesus’ procession into Jerusalem was not the only one taking place that day.  The text tells us that Jesus entered the city from the East, from the Mount of Olives.  But over on the other side of town, the Roman army would be processing into the city from the West.  Though there was a garrison of Roman soldiers permanently stationed in Jerusalem and Pilate, the governor, maintained a palace in the city, his headquarters was in Caesarea Maritima, a city on the coast with pleasant breezes off the Mediterranean and a state-of-the-art harbor.

However, during the major festivals, the occupying Roman government would relocate to Jerusalem and enter town in a grand military procession.  The purpose of this procession was twofold - one, to maintain order during the festival, and two, to make it clear who was in charge.  It would have been an impressive sight: chariots, war horses, legionnaires, archers, flags flying, soldiers marching, trumpets blaring, drums beating, armor clanking.  This imposing display of Roman imperial power came with the understanding that resistance to the empire was futile.

There were also hundreds of thousands of pilgrims - Jews who had scattered across the known-world - who would be coming into the city of Jerusalem for the celebration of Passover.  With all these people, it would have been easy for Jesus and his disciples to arrive inconspicuously and anonymously as just part of the crowd.

But Jesus doesn’t do it that way.  He enters Jerusalem with style.  Rome had made its demonstration of power from the West.  Jesus would stage a counter-demonstration from the East.  Jesus comes to the city not in a powerful way, like the Roman army, but in a ludicrously humble way, riding not upon a magnificent war horse, but on a donkey.  His “triumphal entry” echoes the prophecy of Zechariah 9:9: “Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”  Jesus is the fulfillment of this prophecy, he is the long-expected Messiah, the one who will liberate the people and set them free.

I know that people have gotten hung up on the language used to describe the actual animal Jesus rode in on.  The gospels of Mark and Luke call it a colt, Matthew says he rode in on a donkey and a colt (Matthew 21:5) - it says that Jesus rode “them,” which I always thought would be an interesting feat to watch Jesus ride two animals at the same time, straddling them like some sort of circus act.  So which was it?  Did Jesus ride a donkey, or did Jesus ride a colt, the foal of a donkey?

John Dominic Crossan offers that the mention of both the donkey and the colt in Zecheriah, echoed by Matthew, is actually speaking poetically and using Semitic parallelism.  He wants us to see “two animals, a donkey with her little colt beside her, and that Jesus rides “them” in the sense of having them both as part of his demonstration’s highly visible symbolism.”

In other words, Jesus does not ride a stallion or a mare, a gelding warhorse, a mule, a male donkey or even just any old female donkey.  He rides the most unmilitary mount imaginable: an untrained, un-ridden, un-neutered female nursing donkey with her little colt trotting along beside her.

Like a soccer mom with her minivan or a middle-aged man with his red convertible, the ride Jesus chooses tells us what his life is all about.  The warhorses and chariots of the army are instruments of oppression and death.  They are trained, neutered, precise, and predictable.  They are magnificent, impressive, and imposing.  And when Jesus chooses the nursing donkey with her little colt trotting along beside her, he is making a fundamentally different claim.  She may be untrained, wild, and unpredictable.  She may be humble and unimpressive.  But she is the ride Jesus chooses, perhaps because she is fertile, perhaps because she is capable of bringing new life, perhaps because she can nurture new life.  But when Jesus put his two disciples on valet duty that morning and told them to go and find him a suitable ride, the ride Jesus chooses is a statement.

We used to sing it in children’s church: “We have a king who rides a donkey, and his name is Jesus.”  He doesn’t ride in a chariot, he doesn’t come mounted on a warhorse; the donkey symbolizes the humble splendor of his kingdom.  His procession into Jerusalem perfectly mimics the Roman procession in every way, and yet the meaning of each couldn’t be more different.  Rome displayed its oppressive power.  Jesus displayed his subversive humility.  Rome brings control.  Jesus brings peace.  Rome brings occupation.  Jesus brings liberation.  Rome will reign from a royal palace.  Jesus will reign from a cross.  Rome comes armed and ready to kill.  Jesus is willing to die so that we might live.

On that first Palm Sunday, the crowds didn’t know all that, and yet they still greeted him as a king.  No wonder they yelled “Hosanna - save us!  Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”  Years of expectation exploded from those words as people cut leafy branches from the field and laid them ahead of Jesus in the road along with their cloaks.  As they waved their palm branches, they knew that everything was going to be different because of Jesus.  Friends, it is!  And the clue to all of that is the donkey.  Humble, unassuming, fertile, slightly unpredictable - all of these are the blessed hallmarks of the kingdom Jesus reveals.

For one day, we sorta get it right when we recognize that this is what a king looks like.  But by the end of the week, we’ll prefer a different kind of king.  We’ll want God to act more like the mighty Roman army than this itinerant, humble, carpenter preacher from Nazareth.  We’ll want to trade in the king Jesus is for one that looks more like one the rest of the world will recognize.  God will send us a king, but before the week is over, we’ll send him back.

But today, on Palm Sunday, we get it right.  We get it right when we hail him as king, and worship him as Lord.  We get it right when we obey him as master, and call upon him as Savior.  When we get it right when the joy explodes from our souls, no matter how much some oppressor or another wants to squash it down, it will not be contained.  We get it right when our lives center upon Christ and the joy is magnified simply because we are in the presence of his humble splendor.  We get it right when we call upon Jesus for our salvation and recognize that he comes to us with the promise of new life.  Palm Sunday invites us to experience the humble hope that is the hallmark of Jesus and his kingdom.

Today, we’re given a choice about which side of town we want to be on, and which parade we’re cheering for.  May we be found faithful.  Palm Sunday is the day we get it right, shouting Hosanna, hailing Jesus as king, running to meet him along the road he travels.  Before the week is over, that road will lead him to the cross, but even there, in what the world will see as defeat, that is the place Jesus will name his work as finished.  He is a different kind of king.  The ride he chooses should tell us that.  Hosanna!  Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.  Hosanna in the highest!  Thanks be to God.

Clean Jesus (John 2:13-22)

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 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!” His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me.” The Jews then said to 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 Jews 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. 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 hate clutter. Can’t stand it! People assume it’s because I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, or OCD, although I would prefer to re-arrange the letters to CDO so they’re in alphabetical order.

Have you ever watched that television show Hoarders? Oh my gosh - that is like the most stressful thing on TV for me to watch! My blood pressure goes up just in seeing how some of these folks live - their homes piled high with clutter and stuff, room after room packed floor to ceiling so that you can’t see what color the carpet might be, what color the walls are, or what furniture is under all the stuff. There are often narrow canyons through the piles that look like they could collapse with the slightest disturbance and literally bury the person alive.

On the show, they operate from the premise that the only way for a person to get their life back is to slowly, painfully, and deliberately strip away the layers of clutter, the years of accumulation, all the stuff that has piled up. It involves some sorting, some cleaning, some decisions about what is important enough to keep, and the harder decision of what to throw away.

You know, the same can be true of our faith, sometimes, too. We can accumulate all sorts of clutter - beliefs and practices and activities and stuff that really have nothing to do with the faith we profess, and can actually sometimes be barriers to faithfully living as God’s covenant people in the world. Periodically, we need to strip away those layers of clutter and those years of accumulation in order to get back to the essence of the faith God calls us to practice, and in today’s Scripture lesson of Jesus cleansing the temple, that’s sort of what happened. May we pray.

The story of Jesus cleansing the temple - driving out the animals and overturning the tables of the money-changers - is found in all four Gospels. Matthew, Mark, and Luke place it close to the end of the story - Jesus’ last Passover in Jerusalem, the final week before his crucifixion, and each of them paint this incident in the temple as one of the straws that broke the camel’s back, so to speak, and led the religious authorities to press for a solution to the Jesus problem, as they understood it.

However, whereas the other Gospels have this incident depicted at the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry, John puts it in chapter 2 - page 3 of John’s Gospel in my Bible - right up toward the beginning. John puts it in such a radically-different place because, as he tells the story, he is less interested in chronological accuracy than in making a theological point about who Jesus is, and what he is on earth to accomplish. He is painting a picture of Jesus, a portrait of God with a human face, the Word-made-flesh. John wants his readers to have an accurate image of Jesus in their minds.

The image we have of Jesus makes a huge difference. In fact, I’ll bet I can read your minds this morning. I’ll bet I know what Jesus looks like when you picture him in your mind. Let’s try it out. Everyone, close your eyes. Now, I want you to picture Jesus in your mind. Everyone see him? OK, open your eyes. Now, raise your hand if the Jesus in your mind looked something like this (show Warner Sallman’s The Head of Christ; 1940).

Chances are, if you are American, Protestant, and white, you might very well visualize this guy when you think of Jesus. This painting was done in 1940 by Warner Sallman, and it’s estimated that it’s been reproduced over 500 million times. This is the Jesus who looked over my grandmother’s living room in Virginia, this is the Jesus most likely to be in a Sunday School classroom. We all know this Jesus, and we all love this Jesus.

Now, how do we know this is Jesus? We just do. This is how we picture Jesus because this is how we’ve always pictured Jesus. Often, our image of Jesus is informed more by art in paintings and stained glass than it is by Scripture. Just look at this image of Jesus - clean, passive, safe, silent - it’s hard to fathom why such a harmless and respectable looking citizen would ever cause a scene in the temple; this guy wouldn’t even hurt a flea!

This painting illustrates a larger point - how we so often and too easily domesticate the deity, creating Jesus in our own image so that we can then co-opt him for our purposes. Thankfully, the reading today from John’s Gospel challenges our self-serving projections of Jesus. The story of Jesus “cleansing the temple,” a delicate little euphemism that covers up the fact that Jesus plain lost it, it’s the only story recorded in the Gospels where Jesus is both angry and violent, so it might behoove us to see what made him react the way he did.

First, a little context. You have to understand that for Jews in Jesus’ day, the temple in Jerusalem was the house of God. It was the place where the presence of God dwelt most fully. Think about how different that is from our understanding. We not only believe that we encounter the presence of God here at church, but everywhere we go. Further, while this church is a special place to us, we also recognize that there is nothing inherently holy about the bricks, or the carpet, or the arrangement of the furniture, or the dirt around us that makes this place particularly and uniquely sacred. It’s a special place among many special places, a church among many churches, a place where we gather and focus on Christ and magnify joy, but by no means is this the only place where that happens.

But for 1st Century Jews, the situation was different. The temple in Jerusalem was special and unique. It was the house of God. Several times a year, Jews from all over the known world would come to Jerusalem for the high and holy festivals, and Passover was the biggest celebration of them all. By some estimates, between 2 and 2.5 million people would come through Jerusalem during Passover.

The primary thing they were there to do was to worship by offering sacrifices at the temple, and this is where the merchants and money-changers come in. I really believe their practice of buying and selling and money-changing started innocently enough and with the best of intentions, but it quickly devolved into something less than godly. Here’s how.

I need a volunteer who can help me demonstrate this. Let’s assume that this person is a pilgrim who has travelled a long way, is very poor, and needs to buy 2 doves to make their sacrifice at the temple. They also need to pay their temple tax while they’re here. So, who would like to play the part of that traveler?

OK, I need some other actors - I need someone who can play the part of the money-changer, someone who can play the part of the dove seller, and someone who can play the part of the temple priest.

Traveler (to Dove Seller): I need to buy two doves.

Dove Seller: We’re so glad you’re here to worship! That’ll be a dollar each, so two dollars.

Traveler: Isn’t that a little steep? They’re two for a dollar back home.

Dove Seller: Yes, I’m sure a lot of things are cheaper back home, but here in the big city, that’s the price.

Traveler: Well, OK, I guess. (Traveler reaches for wallet, hands Dove Seller two dollars)

Dove Seller: Hold on a second, there. We don’t take that stuff here. We only take temple money. You need to go and exchange that with the Money Changer.

Traveler (to Money Changer): I need to exchange some money so I can buy my sacrifice.

Money Changer: We’re so glad you’re here to worship! What do you need to exchange?

Traveler: Two dollars. Here you go. (Hands Money Changer two dollars)

Money Changer: And here you go - one dollar and eighty cents in temple money. (hands money)

Traveler: One-eighty? How do you figure?

Money Changer: Ninety cents on the dollar is the exchange rate for your money into temple money.

Traveler: Well, OK. I’m not happy about it, but whatever. Here, exchange another dollar for me.

Money Changer: And here is another ninety cents in temple money. Have a blessed day!

Traveler: Um, thanks. (Goes to Dove Seller) OK, two dollars in temple money for the doves.

Dove Seller: Oh, I just sold the last of my dollar doves. But you can have these two for a dollar and ten cents each. So, that’ll be two dollars and twenty cents.

Traveler: Are you kidding me? I was just here and you said two for a dollar!

Dove Seller: But I told you, I just sold out of my dollar doves. Not my fault - supply and demand, kid!

Traveler: You know what? Fine. Whatever. Just give me two. Here, take your two-twenty.

Dove Seller: And here are your doves. You’ll need to take those to the priest to sacrifice for you. Thanks for your business, and have a blessed day!

Traveler (to Priest): Um, yeah, I need you to sacrifice these doves for me.

Priest: Of course! We’re so glad you’ve come to worship today! I’ll need the standard one dollar processing fee before I can precede with your sacrifice.

Traveler: One dollar? What’s that for?

Priest: Oh, you know - overhead, administrative costs, um, other “priestly things.”

Traveler: Fine, whatever. Here you go - one dollar (hands priest a dollar).

Priest: Ummmm, what do you want me to do with that? I can only take temple money.

Traveler: Are you kidding me? All right, hang on. Let me go get some temple money.

(to Money Changer): Yo, I need to exchange another dollar. (Hands Money Changer a dollar)

Money Changer: Of course! Here’s eighty-three cents of temple money. (Hands money back)

Traveler: Eighty-three cents? But earlier today it was ninety cents!

Money Changer: You are correct. Earlier today it was ninety cents. But that was then; this is now. And now, it’s eighty-three cents on the dollar.

Traveler: You’re just making it up as you go along, and I think you’re just making money off me.

Money Changer: Look, you do want to make your sacrifice, right? I mean, you do want to please God and keep God happy, right? You travelled all this way, it’d be a shame to have gone through all that trouble just to end up ticking God off because you got this far and didn’t make a sacrifice. I mean, it’s none of my business or anything, but if you want to get on God’s bad list, hey, that’s up to you.

Traveler: Fine. I’ll take my eighty-three cents and be on my way.

Money Changer: Thank you, come again, and have a blessed day!

Traveler (muttering): Yeah, I’ll show you a blessed day. (Counts out coins, hands them to the Priest). OK - here is one dollar in temple money - the administrative fee for making my sacrifice, unless it suddenly went up for whatever reason you’re going to make up and I won’t believe you.

Priest: Gone up? Why no - those prices are set by our central office. It’s still a dollar.

Traveler: Well that’s the first piece of good news I’ve had all day. So I guess we’re done here.

Priest: Not quite.

Traveler: Not quite?

Priest: Well, you still need to pay your temple tax. (Laughing:) This place didn’t just build itself, you know!

Traveler: Temple tax. Right. And just how much is that.

Priest: Five dollars, and that will cover you for the whole year.

Traveler: And let me guess - I have to pay that in temple money, right?

Priest: Well, I certainly don’t take American Express!

Traveler: All right, hang on, let me go get some more temple money.

Priest: (looking at watch) Ooh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the money changers’ shift just wrapped up and they’re done for the day.

Traveler: Are you kidding me? Now what am I supposed to do?

Priest: Oh, don’t worry about it. They’ll be back in tomorrow.

Traveler: (in disbelief) Tomorrow.

Priest: Yes, tomorrow. Come back tomorrow, and you can pick right up where you left off today. Does that sound good?

Traveler: (sarcastically) Oh, you have no idea.

Priest: (oblivious) Very good then. Come back tomorrow, and have a blessed day!

I don’t know about you, but it sorta felt like we were at the DMV for a minute. So, who profited in that situation? At whose expense? The whole thing - did it facilitate worshipping by making the sacrifice, or impede it? Now, take the transaction you just witnessed, and multiply it by the two million or so pilgrims who would have been in Jerusalem for the Passover.

People were coming from all over the known world to make animal sacrifices. They had one of two options - they could bring the animals with them from their home, or they could buy the animals for sacrifice when the arrived. Which do you think would have been easier and more convenient? For that convenience, you’d pay extra.

When you go to exchange money, is the exchange rate tilted in your favor or in favor of the money changer? It’s always tilted in favor of the money changer - it’s true today, and it was true in Jesus’ day. Everybody makes a fast buck - the money changer, the priest, the dove seller. They all make it the expense of the person who has travelled a long distance to make their sacrifice as an act of worship as they were commanded to do. The whole system was ripe for abuse. The money changer makes a profit. The merchant makes a profit. The priest and temple officials make a profit. All of them make a profit at the expense of the person who has come to worship.

Further, the holy name of God was dragged through all the corruption. Those who came to worship at the temple were sort of over a barrel - they were commanded to make their sacrifices, but in order to do so, they were at the mercy of the corrupt and exploitative system of buying and selling and money changing. The most damaging thing of all was that it was all done in the name of God, perhaps the greatest and most horrific example of taking the Lord’s name in vain we might ever think of. It was this abuse that most angered Jesus and caused him to react with such violence - abuse and exploitation of God’s name, abuse and exploitation of God’s house, and abuse and exploitation of God’s people.

Jesus is clearing away layers of clutter, years of accumulated practices that have served to frustrate and impede worship rather than facilitate it, things that were done in the name of God that did not serve God but only served selfish ambition. The temple - a place of worship, a house of prayer, a connection point between our humanity and God’s divinity - it had become impossible to see or participate in any of those things because of all the clutter. And so along comes Jesus, consumed with a zeal for his Father’s house, and he begins to clear all that away. Only when the clutter is gone do we even have a chance of seeing things as God intended them to be seen.

And what does that have to do with us today? Friends, this text serves as a strong warning against using, abusing, or exploiting the name of God, the house of God, or the people of God for our own purposes. I have seen, and I know you have seen, people use the name of God and the name of the Church for all sorts of things that have nothing to do with God. We have seen people exploit the name of God and the name of the Church for their own profit, their own power, and their own prestige, despite the fact that we already know how Jesus feels about that! Do so at your own risk and peril, with the full knowledge that that’s the kind of thing that makes Jesus very angry, and don’t be surprised if he shows up and starts turning over some tables.

In this text, Jesus also redefines the temple, and we would be wise not to miss this point. From this point on, any reference to the temple is actually a reference to Jesus’ body. He is the place where God’s divinity meets our humanity. No longer do we think of the temple as a building, but as a person - the temple is now the body of Jesus.

Further, the followers of Jesus came to understand themselves as members of the body of Christ. And so if the temple is no longer a building but the body of Jesus, and if we are members of the body of Christ, then we are the temple. And the same zeal and passion that consumed Jesus for the temple building, he is consumed with the same zeal and passion for us.

In the temple that day, there were all sorts of things taking place that impeded people’s ability to commune with God. As he looked over the merchants and money-changers in the temple and saw God’s name taken in vain to advance their own greed and selfishness, he drove all of that out. So too, when Jesus looks at our hearts and sees that they are filled with all manner of things that serve our own purposes, even when they are falsely done in the name of God, his desire is to drive those things out. So polluted was that temple of self-interest, Jesus had no choice but to tear it down and build anew.

Jesus came to not just destroy the temples we build for ourselves but to raise up a new temple for us, a temple in which we can truly be reconciled to God. Every temple made with human hands, every system we attempt to construct, will end up only serving ourselves. In Jesus, God offers us a temple where we can receive the forgiveness of sin without cost, where we can be reconciled to God without trying to make a buck, where we can worship the one true God and be free from our bondage to greed and self-service. In our baptism, we enter this temple, becoming one with the body of Christ, living in the temple of God’s forgiveness forever.

When all the clutter is cleared away, some things become abundantly clear. God wants us to serve God alone, and not serve ourselves. God wants us to dwell in the temple of his love and forgiveness, not lost in the clutter and junk of our own making. Jesus invites us out from under the piles of our sin and guilt and confusion, to abide with him in the temple of his body which he offers for us on the cross, a body to which we are joined in our baptism, a body in which we, by the grace of God, will dwell forever.^[1]

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^[1] The Rev. Dr. Peter Samuelson. “Reflections from the Woodshed,” Day One: March 15, 2009