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| "Cleansing of the Temple" (Rombouts, Flem. 17th cent) |
“Then God spoke all these words: I am the Lord your God, who brought
you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have
no other gods before me.” (Exodus 20:1-3)
If you never learned
anything else in Sunday school, I’ll bet you got the gist of the First Lesson
for Lent 3, Year B (Genesis 20:1-17): the Ten Commandments. The good folks who
put together the Revised Common Lectionary have given us a theme (or motif, if you will) in the lessons from
the Hebrew Scriptures. Each one of the five lessons we get during this season
of Lent deals with a covenant between God and God’s people (that would be us, of course!).
On Lent 1 we got the
covenant with Noah[i].
That was a pretty one-sided deal. God promised never again to use violence to
end violence and gave us the rainbow as God’s signature on the dotted line,
assuring us God wouldn’t go out of God’s way to destroy us anymore.[ii] On Lent 2 we got God’s
covenant with Abraham in which God promised Abe some really groovy stuff like a
whole nation, eternal fame, and more descendants than there are stars in the
sky.[iii] All Abraham had to do
was keep believing God was going to come across with the goods.
If you’re Donald Trump,
you might be thinking God is a lousy deal-maker, since all of these bargains seem
really one-sided. God, the Party of the First Part, signs an unconditional
non-aggression pact and asks nothing
in return from the Party of the Second Part. Then, said Party of the First Part
promises the Party of the Second Part an entire country, world-wide
recognition, and an endless line of progeny—and only asks the Party of the
Second Part for a little faith. I ask
you: what kind of deal is that? Trump
would definitely not approve[iv].
But on Lent 3 the terms
of the deal get a bit more complex. Once again, it’s a lousy deal for God. God
has already delivered: God’s kept the people safe, brought them out of the
hands of bondage, took them triumphantly through the Red Sea, and—as if that’s not enough—has very considerately
destroyed the army of their oppressor as an added bonus. It’s only then that
God asks the Party of the Second Part to remit a little gratitude by following
ten simple rules. But, since the people have already received the blessing, they could simply choose to renege
on the deal—which, it seems, they did and we continue to do.
In Jesus’ time, there
were these guys called Pharisees who must’ve felt bad about how God kept
getting the short end of these bargains. They decided the best way to be fair
was to be in constant dialogue with God’s Law, parsing every jot and tittle of
the Ten Commandments into a gazillion little laws and traditions, and making
sure that everything they or anyone else did fell into line with the rules. To
us who read the New Testament this seems pretty obnoxious, and the Pharisees
always come off as the bad guys in the story. They always seem to be overly
concerned about nit-picky little purity laws, and they miss the big picture
about the generous and forgiving grace of God.
But let’s be fair. The
Ten Commandments were really given for our benefit. If adherence to them is the
goal of our life and social interactions, we’re going to end up pretty okay.
That won’t be because we’ve earned God’s favor. I mean, let’s face it, we’re
going to screw up some way every day. It’s just the simple fact that the world
runs a whole lot better when we put God in charge and embrace care and respect
for our fellow human beings as the Law requires. Again, God doesn’t get
anything out of this deal. We do.
I think the Pharisees get
a pretty bum rap. At the end of the day, all our Jewish forbearers were trying
to do was live righteous lives, just as our Jewish neighbors do today.
In the Gospel lesson for
Lent 3 (John 2:13-22), Jesus is showing a rather uncharacteristic bit of umbrage
to the often shady practice of buying and selling animals for ritual sacrifice
in the Temple of Jerusalem, a place considered the holiest spot in Israel. The
Synoptic Gospel writers put this story at the end of Jesus’ ministry and can be attributing the Lord’s anger to the usurious practice of ripping off poor
peasants by charging extra for animals or giving an unfair rate of exchange
when changing blasphemous Roman coins for temple money. John, on the other
hand, has Jesus denouncing the lack of piety when the holy place becomes
commercialized. After all, when it’s all about the money, it’s no longer about
a relationship with God.
We don’t need a
magnificent temple in which to have a relationship with God—even one that took
forty-six years to build. By the time John wrote his Gospel, the magnificent
Temple of Jerusalem had been nothing but a pile of rocks for almost thirty
years. I’m sure there were still many in Jerusalem and the surrounding areas
who were locked in deep mourning because the symbol of their religion, the place
where God and humanity met, was no more. But for the Pharisees, they still had God’s
Law to get them through the heartache and the loss. And they still have it
today.
For others, there was
another temple—the body and blood of Jesus. That temple was also destroyed, but
it was raised in three days, and we have it still. We don’t need any fancy-shmancy
worship space, and we don’t have to keep pining away for the “good ‘ol days”
when our church buildings were full every Sunday. When two or more of us are
together and in dialogue with Jesus, the church is full. Indeed, the church is full every Sunday if the people of
God and the Holy Spirit are there.
That’s a pretty good
deal, don’t you think?
Thanks for reading this
week. Do come again.
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