 by David Sund, Lay Preacher
Almighty and Loving God, by the power of Your Spirit, may the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts be pleasing in Your sight, in Jesus’ name, Amen! I need your help doing a little Word Association exercise: First, I’ll turn up my hearing aids, now I’ll ask you to shout out your favorite word to describe Jesus: No sentences or phrases, just single words, please. O.K. Begin! What about Angry? Today’s Gospel reading is all about an Angry Jesus! (Time for a big Gulp!) And that brings me to a question. How do you and I ‘come’ to church? I’m not asking whether you drove, walked or peddled here. I’m not asking you show me your literal route with a Smart Phone app. When I ask, “How do you and I come to church?” I want us to examine our states of mind, the condition of our hearts… In everyone’s favorite books of the Hebrew Scriptures: Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy; every detail of the sacred space (The Tent of Meeting, or Tabernacle) was mandated and there were also lists outlining required minimum attendance. Jacob’s descendants were expected to make pilgrimage to the worship center at least three times a year: Passover, Pentecost (which in the Hebrew Scriptures is a harvest festival), and the Feast of Tabernacles. There were also confusing and exhaustive lists of observances and rites. Over 3,000 years later, modern, western folks like us perceive those practices as uncomfortably strange: (Especially if, like me, you can be a bit squeamish!) But careful study of all these details reveals an elaborate, exquisitely crafted symbolic system that provided object lessons about the nature and character of YHWH, and how God chose to relate to beloved children. Boil down the system to its essence, and you will discover a Deity who sought and instigated relationship with humanity. Here was a truly perfect, supernatural person, offering imperfect humanity a clear, accessible path of discovery and even intimacy. Here was a God who, even with all the dishes, flatware, furniture and drapery; modelled and inspired reconciliation, restoration, justice, integrity and community. Here was a Creator who promised to love, bless, sustain, heal, teach and listen. Each role and rite was an object lesson pointing to a present God who sought out fellowship. This fellowship expressed itself as a lifestyle of love, forgiveness, hope, peace, generosity, honesty, mercy and compassion. Not that the symbolism was always understood or taken to heart. More often than not the job of the prophets was to call for reformation, for renewed commitment, for course correction in the midst of crisis. While so much of Tabernacle and Temple life was prescribed, what wasn’t prescribed was HOW one CAME to worship. Then, in all those familiar Psalms, we finally discover that the state of one’s heart and mind doesn’t seem to matter at all! Fearful? Come to worship. Joyful and Celebratory? Come to worship. Confused and Doubting? Hurt and Offended? Bitter and Vindictive? Angry? Come to worship. Just Come, honestly, as we are, and an encounter with God will (sooner or later) sort it all out. God is enough and more than enough. Showing up at the Temple with honest, if raw emotion brings us back to the Angry Jesus in today’s Gospel narrative. Jesus and his friends arrive at the Temple. Elsewhere in the Gospels we’re told that Jesus’ friends loved this immense, campus: the beautiful, monumental architecture was a source of civic pride. But Jesus, being Jesus, sees beyond the façades and the civic pride and is eager to confront a textbook example of institutional religion run amok. Let me use our sacred space to illustrate what I mean by that. Imagine how you would feel, if you entered this beautiful space next week to find some serious changes that were both concrete and symbolic. How many of you, like me appreciate the reredos and the stained glass? Nope! They are obscured by a heavy tapestry and only the presiding bishop sees them once a year. A wall has been constructed, partitioning off the apse, so that the altar is accessible through a door that can only be entered by the priest in charge. All the pews have been taken out and another wall, with a gate in it, has appeared at about the spot where we are used to the Gospel being read. You can’t get through the gate unless you’re an Episcopalian, born and bred, baptized and confirmed, and male by DNA testing. Women and non-Episcopalians can enter the church but they can’t come through that gate. That’s strange enough, but on top of that some greedy forces are at work which make a God-Encounter all but impossible for women, gentiles and other designated ‘outsiders.’ Furthermore, the space in which they are confined has been co-opted. It’s best described as a commercial and financial circus. The powers that be, intent on institutional maintenance, and eager to line their pockets, insist that you pay for everything: your wafer, your sip from the cup; candles, leaflets, etc. Everything has a price tag. Pledges are due upon entering the narthex. Weirdly there is also a sort of wet-market with special livestock and poultry for sale if you want to celebrate any special occasion on-site. The kicker is that you can’t use regular currency or credit cards for all your purchases: you have to use special “Episco-dollars.” The exchange rate is exorbitant and exploitive. So only people of means can participate. Furthermore, the system isn’t up for debate. The amazing edifice was in danger of becoming a farce. Ritual and regulation have eclipsed relationship. Exclusivity has trumped invitation and community. Justice has been pre-empted by spectacle. Exploitation has commoditized souls. If this worship scenario is distasteful to us, then how could it be anything but infuriating to Jesus? It’s no wonder that Jesus goes all prophetic: turning over tables, liberating livestock, and going full-on Mosaic with the loan sharks. The narrative seems compelled to explain Jesus’ uncharacteristic lashing out with a quote from Psalm 69, “Zeal for Your House has eaten me up.” In which, the psalmist so identifies with God, that when God’s character is besmirched and God’s reputation is tarnished, especially in Temple Worship, the psalmist takes it personally and reacts from the deepest emotional level. What comes to mind when you hear that phrase, “zeal for your house has eaten me up?” Put another way, do you have an “all-consuming passion?” Is there something for which you would tap all cherished resources, exhaust your talents, and invest you time? Is there a dream or goal, with which, you are so identified that IF it’s questioned or challenged you take it personally? For Jesus, that personal investment was all about unimpeded access to, and relationship with, GOD. I suggest that in our text, the “House” of God is about more than just property and geography. The letters of Paul remind us that for Jesus-Followers, God’s precious house, about which Jesus is so passionate, has nothing to do with monumental architecture or institutional maintenance, and everything to do with being vibrant faith communities. Isn’t it awe-inspiring to realize that you, that I, that we are that Spiritual Temple that stirs up the protective passions of Jesus? But also, the text is a warning to honor Jesus’ passion by never trampling the sacred spaces that are the hearts of our spiritual siblings! We must never exploit the vulnerable, exclude marginalized seekers, extinguish the joy of the expectant, manipulate the religious system, commoditize souls, design hurdles to worship, or allow a lust for power or control to motivate “doing church,” or “being church.” Jesus, thank you for all your passions and grant us your passion for all your people! Amen. |