“Turning the Temple Around”

Third Sunday in Lent

March 3, 2024

Exodus 20:1-17

John 2:13-22

Children’s Message:

I’ve decided I don’t like the ten commandments, so I made up my own. Let me know what you think:

1.      I am the boss of me. Nobody else can tell me what to do.

2.      Everyone should have a picture of their favorite person or thing on their wall and love it and worship it more than anything else. I know this is a good one, because lots of people have big red N’s everywhere.

3.      If people don’t do what I tell them to, I’ll just tell them that God said that’s how it’s supposed to be.

4.      I don’t care what day it is. People take way too much time just resting. They need to work more and get more done.

5.      You parents don’t know anything. Don’t bother listening.

6.      Kill anyone that gets in your way.

7.      Don’t worry about your family. If you want a different one, just get it. Your family doesn’t appreciate you, anyway.

8.      Take whatever you want.

9.      Lie if you want. It’s all about you, anyway.

10.  If it’s yours, it’s mine. If it’s mine, it’s mine. If I want it, it’s mine.

What do you think? Are there ones that are kind of nice in that list? Are there ones that are pretty horrible? I think that maybe God cares about us too much to let us use that kind of list to live by. Instead, God gave us good rules—rules that help us all, even if they’re not very convenient.

1.      God is the boss. Always and everywhere.

2.      Nothing in the world should be more important to us than God.

3.      We can’t use God’s name to simply get what we want or hurt other people.

4.      We need rest and a set time to focus on God.

5.      Respect your parents. They’re doing the best they can with the resources they have.

6.      Don’t kill.

7.      Don’t leave your family just because you disagree.

8.      Don’t take what doesn’t belong to you.

9.      Don’t lie—even if the truth gets you in trouble.

10.  Don’t be jealous of what other people have. Be grateful for your life, instead.

Let’s pray. Dear God, your rules are meant to keep everyone safe. Help us live the way you taught us. Amen.

Message:

Our friend and fellow member, Jim Germer, has been working with me to find a way to screen a movie called, “The Woman of Stars and Mountains.” It tells the story of Rita, a woman who, after various struggles and abuse at her home in Chihuahua, Mexico, found her way—on foot—to a small town in Kansas. She was an indigenous woman who knew little Spanish because she spoke her native language. So, when authorities discovered her hungry, dirty, and scared inside a Methodist Church and were unable to communicate with her, they deemed her mentally ill.

One psychologist diagnosed her with schizophrenia, and they placed her in Larned State Hospital, where she was kept on medication for her ‘illness’ for 12 years. In her more lucid moments, she would try to escape. She knew she didn’t belong there. She would become aggressive—as one would. So, they put her on more medication.

At some point, someone discovered her there and took the time to read her case notes. The lawyers noted that she had told doctors where she was from—that she was indigenous. They noted that there were people who could have better translated for her. They even discovered that she spoke Spanish better than the documents portrayed. And they fought for her release.

She was returned to Chihuahua and reunited with family. But the struggles were just beginning—for her and for her niece. Now, I’m not going to give away the whole story. We want you to come to the screening once we work out the details. But I thought about her as I considered today’s gospel passage.

One of the things that all the commentaries point out—and perhaps you might have noticed—is that it seems like John has this story in the wrong place. Matthew, Mark, and Luke place the cleansing of the Temple near the end of Jesus’ ministry. He rides into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey to the cries of the people: “Hosanna in the highest heaven!” Lord, save us. From there, he goes to the Temple and becomes distraught at the injustice he sees there.

In all the gospel accounts, the cleansing of the Temple is placed during the time of Passover, when many Jewish people would make the pilgrimage to the Temple in Jerusalem to make sacrifices on behalf of themselves and their families. In order to ensure the health and purity of the sacrificial animals, most would not bring their own for fear that something would happen to it on the way. Instead, they would buy the animal outside the Temple.

But, in order to make a purchase at the Temple, they would have to exchange their Roman coins for Temple coins. The Roman coins bore the image of the emperor and were, therefore, a sin according to God’s Law. But the moneychangers often charged an unreasonable fee in order to pocket the excess. And the sellers of animals marked up the price of the animals, again in order to pocket the excess. Which is why, in the synoptic gospels—the first three—Jesus quotes Isaiah, saying, “You have made my house a den of robbers.” His anger comes from the way in which these business practices took advantage of the people’s needs. The injustice got in the way of worship. And this event is the final straw for those against Jesus. It naturally leads to his arrest and crucifixion.

But in John, the focus is much different. The event comes right at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry—3 years before his arrest. And he doesn’t say anything about injustice. Instead, he is upset about the very practice of selling and exchanging coinage in the Temple, at all. He’s angry at the things God’s Law as necessitated. These things have to happen in order for people to obey God. So, what’s he getting at?

As you are probably aware, John’s gospel is the odd one out in many ways—much different than the others. He does his best to bring attention to Jesus’ divinity—to his identity as the sacrificial lamb given up for the forgiveness of the sins of the world. He begins the gospel connecting Jesus with the Word spoken at the beginning of creation. John the Baptist then calls Jesus ‘the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.’

In John, Jesus continues to work signs—not miracles—that point to Jesus as the true Temple. He is the embodiment of God’s love. God’s word. God’s forgiveness. Everything we have been looking for and working for is found in Jesus. His first sign, just before today’s event, happens at a wedding in Cana. He takes the jars that hold water for purification and turns the water into wine. He turns the tools of law into tools of celebration.

When asked today what sign he can give for running out the business of the Temple, he says that if they destroy the Temple, he will rebuild it in 3 days. Because the Temple—that fortress of giant stones that requires the money of taxes and business—will always be in danger of falling. By the time John’s audience hears his telling of the story, the Temple has been destroyed…again. Never to be rebuilt.

But Jesus wants the people to know that God is not contained in a building. God is not boxed in by our practices and sacrifices. And the forgiveness of sins cannot be bought and sold as if it were merely a business transaction.

Instead, Jesus is the Temple. Christ is the place in which God has chosen to be revealed. And he makes his point early in his ministry, according to John, because he wants the people to see him for who he IS. He wants them to listen more closely to his words, to parse out his language, to pay attention to his nuances. Not just write him off as a nutjob. Because everything from this point on will continue to build on his message: He is the one sent to reveal God’s love and life and grace and forgiveness to the WHOLE world!

Some will begin to understand his words—and hate him for it. They will be afraid of what it means for them. They will do their best to control him, manage him, and in the end, silence him. This is what made me think of Rita, the woman of stars and mountains. How, in her effort to be seen and heard for who she was, found herself in a mental hospital.

It reminds me of the many people it took to help her find her home again. It reminds me of the holy and righteous anger her advocates experienced on her behalf—when she could no longer express her anger because of all the drugs that addled her brain. It reminds me of the holy and righteous anger I feel when God’s name is tacked on to legislation and politicians and even ministers and churches that, instead of offering life and hope to the vulnerable, take advantage of people, keep people under their thumb, attempt to control those who don’t fit a certain mold, and try to manage the ones who speak out.

It reminds me that God is not contained in a building or a denomination or even a faith. God is bigger than what we call Christianity. God is bigger than our prayers and sacrifices. God is bigger than our altars and our rituals. God is even bigger than our sacraments. And this is such very good news! Because it releases us from our attempts at controlling God by controlling these institutions and practices. It releases us from trying to protect God. And it releases us to go into this world with an all-consuming zeal for God’s love. God’s heart. God’s grace. A zeal that empowers us to be part of God’s world-turning acts of new creation.

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE