A fresh way of being in this world: a sermon

Lent 3, Year B

John 2:13-22

March 3, 2024

A fresh way of being in this world

Life is a room with golden walls

and many doors,

some ornate with brass fittings,

others wooden with simple handles,

some with hinges rusted tight

from disuse or avoidance,

others with latches so loose

one must only look at them

and they fly open, luring.

There are signs above many,

flashing lights, scraps of paper,

chalk scratches on the frame,

encouragements and even warnings

from other travelers whose feet

have worn the thresholds smooth.

Some have been widened so much

to accommodate the throngs of people

who mindlessly rush through

like cattle being herded,

they barely resemble doors at all.

In those moments when my soul

is searching, late at night

with a candle in hand,

I find myself with my ear

pressed to the wall, eyes closed,

tapping my knuckles on the stones,

listening for a hollow space,

a door long sealed and forgotten,

or perhaps not yet dreamed,

a new possibility for

a fresh way of being in this world. 

Today’s Gospel text offers us an image of Jesus we may not be entirely comfortable with: Jesus goes to the temple and encounters the money changers who had set up their table to facilitate the purchase of animals for sacrifice. 

Apparently angry at what he finds, Jesus makes a whip and drives the sheep and the cattle out of the plaza, leaving the people there to reflect on what he was telling them. Then he offers them what, to them, is a cryptic image of the temple being destroyed and raised up in three days. The temple leaders are unable to understand because they think literally and question how something 46 years in the making could be destroyed and raised up in three days. 

It is a very provoking image of Jesus, when we may prefer a meek and mild version of Jesus. This story of Jesus’ apparent anger, what the disciples saw as the “zeal” that was consuming him, makes us pause, and perhaps if we’re honest, this Jesus is a bit too human for our taste.

On the other hand, as I have talked with others about this text, I heard some say that they appreciated the story because if Jesus gets angry, then they feel like their anger is ok. They feel understood in their anger, and they feel that they don’t have to suppress it. 

The concern with this interpretation may be that we rationalize our anger that comes simply from us not getting what we want. This text is not saying that, if Jesus gets angry, then any moment of our anger is acceptable, that even the rage that comes from our selfishness is sanctioned. No, we need to test the spirits, as St. Paul tells us, and pay close attention to why Jesus was angry and what  provoked him in the first place. 

The root of the problem was that the religious institution was seeking to preserve itself and was taking advantage of the people who were coming to make their sacrifices and pray. The leaders were insisting that the people convert their coins in order to purchase the animals needed for sacrifices, and with the conversion rate, they were making a profit off the peoples’ prayers. When Jesus encounters this system of abuse, he addresses it and puts a stop to it. 

Jesus confronted the oppressive system that had been put in place, and notice that he drove out the animals, not the people, apparently. The people needed to stay and pay closer attention as Jesus described this new way of being breaking into the world. 

In the Sunday forum, we have been reflecting on the dynamic of prophetic imagination, that powerful experience of the prophets who challenged the institutions that were set up to preserve their own power. The prophets spoke out against such a status quo, and they used symbols and poetry and reflections to increase the capacity of the people to imagine an alternative way of living in the world. The powers that be–what we could call “empire” in some form or another–always want to preserve the status quo that allows them to continue their hold on power. God calls the prophets to help imagine a new way of being in the world that promotes justice, peace, compassion, and wholeness. The oppressive status quo must be broken down or broken through. 

To be sure, we are all called to share in that reality of prophetic imagination in our own lives. We see in today’s reading from St. Paul’s letter to the Church in Corinth that he is challenging them to see how the Spirit of Christ breaks through the rigid structures of thought in order to empower a spacious, renewed way of living. There is this great line for us to explore:

I will destroy the wisdom of the wise,

and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart.

This one image is a perfect example of how prophetic imagination can work with texts and images that connect through the centuries. Here, while writing to the Church at Corinth, St. Paul himself is drawing on the prophet Isaiah, from 29:13 and 14, written some five centuries earlier. At that point in time, Isaiah describes how the people are just going through the motions in their practice of prayer. Here is the original version of the image:

13 The Lord said:

Because these people draw near with their mouths

   and honour me with their lips,

   while their hearts are far from me,

and their worship of me is a human commandment learned by rote;

14 so I will again do

   amazing things with this people,

   shocking and amazing.

The wisdom of their wise shall perish,

   and the discernment of the discerning shall be hidden.

Isaiah himself is referring to an even earlier point in the lives of the Hebrew people (described in 2 Kings 18 and 19) when they sought a political alliance with Egypt to defend against the assault of the Assyrians. Isaiah references this earlier unfaithfulness while writing in his own context of exile.

So, here we are reading St. Paul, who is looking at the life of Jesus and quoting the prophet Isaiah, who was referring to the earlier moment of struggle the Hebrew people faced. The central questions raised by this prophetic imagination are these: How do we find meaning? On what central element or point is our life grounded? In what, ultimately, do we find hope and where do we place our trust? How can we imagine a new way of living in the world?

We need only look at our life today to see how this works, so to speak, because we must ask ourselves whether we are truly interested in having our practice of faith transform the way we live in the world, or if we are seeking only to preserve the status quo which benefits us. How will we respond when we encounter such systems supporting a toxic or oppressive status quo? 

When we hear political leaders saying “trust in me, only I can solve this” how do we respond faithfully? When we dare to pause long enough to ask ourselves who is currently benefiting from the way things are now, how do we respond faithfully? When we allow ourselves to be whipped up into a frenzy by political leaders who only want to manipulate our fear for their own gain, how do we respond faithfully? When we realize that we have denied the humanity of others who are searching for a better way of life and now see them as some sort of animals to be controlled, how do we respond faithfully? When we look at our families and our weekly schedules and pause long enough to say that we are absolutely exhausted, how do we respond faithfully? When we look at our family systems and wonder if the current patterns are the only possible ones, how do we respond faithfully?

Jesus is always inviting us to pivot to a new way of living in this world. That is the deep meaning of our practice of faith, and it should provoke us and make us uncomfortable a bit, because we are meant to grow. 

Someone once told me the riskiest thing we can do when we become aware of such a status quo or of a resistance in our lives, is to pray that the Spirit gives us courage to change it. If we change it, then those around us will see us change, and that brings a whole host of dynamics with it–because peer pressure isn’t just something we wrestle with as children or teenagers.

We are called to conversion of life. We are meant for a wholeness and freedom that can only come about with a transformation of how we live in this world. 

Life is a room with golden walls

and many doors,

some ornate with brass fittings,

others wooden with simple handles,

some with hinges rusted tight

from disuse or avoidance,

others with latches so loose

one must only look at them

and they fly open, luring.

There are signs above many,

flashing lights, scraps of paper,

chalk scratches on the frame,

encouragements and even warnings

from other travelers whose feet

have worn the thresholds smooth.

Some have been widened so much

to accommodate the throngs of people

who mindlessly rush through

like cattle being herded,

they barely resemble doors at all.

In those moments when my soul

is searching, late at night

with a candle in hand,

I find myself with my ear

pressed to the wall, eyes closed,

tapping my knuckles on the stones,

listening for a hollow space,

a door long sealed and forgotten,

or perhaps not yet dreamed,

a new possibility for

a fresh way of being in this world. 

Christ Driving the Moneychangers from the Temple by El Greco

Leave a comment

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑