March 7, 2021: Beloved in the Good Fight
John 2:13-22
Rev. Rhonda Blevins
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 the 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.
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Every Tuesday I gather online with a small group of pastors to study the lectionary texts for the upcoming Sunday. It is a rich time together, not only examining the scriptures together and identifying connection points to the world today, but in supporting one another in the work. Male and female, three different states including a pastor from Kansas City—perhaps my favorite part of the lectionary group was the smack talk after the Bucs whipped the Chiefs in the Superbowl!
In each meeting of my lectionary group, we engage in some sacred reading practice together. There are several contemplative reading practices, including the Holy Imagination practice first developed by St. Ignatius of Loyola that I invited you to practice with me earlier. In our modified practice, during the first reading of the scripture text we looked for broad strokes: who is in the story, what are they doing, what is the setting. In the second reading, we imagined ourselves as being right there in the story, perhaps a named or unnamed character or even an inanimate object—we used our five senses to imagine what we might see, hear, feel, and experience.
This is the same sacred reading practice my lectionary group employed last Tuesday with this text from John 2—the story of Jesus turning over the tables at the Temple. As my lectionary group practiced Holy Imagination, I imagined myself as one of the disciples, flanking Jesus to his right. I imagined myself doing whatever Jesus did—if Jesus turned over a table, I turned over a table. If Jesus poured out the money changers’ coins, I poured out the money changers’ coins. How exciting! I was right there in the action, causing a scene, shaking things up! Yeah, baby!
My colleagues in the lectionary group had a different experience. One imagined herself a temple employee (not a far stretch as a pastor, right?). Her experience was one of being angered and upset by the scene created by this rabblerouser named Jesus. Another colleague imagined himself as one of the money changers. He, too, was angry and upset. Another colleague also imagined herself as one of the money changers. And another. And another. Each one of them agreed that, as clergy—as keepers of the institutional church—we are more like the money changers than the Jesus who overturned the tables.
Ouch.
One of them shared a meme going around social media this week that reads: “God, forgive me for the times I have desired a seat at a table you would have flipped.”
Ouch.
Over the course of the hour I spent with my colleagues, I began to realize my hubris at imagining I would have been right there beside Jesus as he:
turned over the tables at the Temple,
challenged the oppressive system,
pointed out injustice,
sided with the poor over the rich,
took a stand for the weak over the powerful,
risked his life for this higher purpose.
I want to see myself as flanking Jesus to his right; but when my colleagues held a mirror up to me, I realized I’m probably on the other side of the table, scrambling to pick up the coins Jesus has just thrown all over the floor.
Isn’t that what Lent is for? For seeing ourselves and the world a little differently? We trade the shallow revelry of Fat Tuesday for the solemn penitence of Ash Wednesday. We take a journey of self-reflection. We give up, let go of something we’ve been holding on to a little too tightly (like my puffed-up sense of righteousness). We open ourselves to greater awareness of our need to conform more fully to the Way of Christ. We step back and away from the systems and habits that have come to define us toward a more authentic, wholesome, sustainable way of life, not only for ourselves but for our community and our world. The idea of a Lenten practice is to yield our fullness, creating space for a little more Christ consciousness to spring up in its place.
There is a story about an American scholar who studied the Japanese tea ceremony. He knew everything about the ceremony. In fact, he was the preeminent expert in the West on the Japanese tea ceremony. The scholar heard about an old man in Japan who was regarded as the preeminent master in Japan of the tea ceremony. So the American scholar traveled to Japan to meet the Japanese master. The scholar met the master in his modest home just outside Tokyo, and the two men sat down together for tea. The American scholar quickly began talking about the tea ceremony, his research, everything he knew about the ceremony and how excited he was to share his vast knowledge with the old man. Silently, the old man began to pour tea into the scholar’s cup. As the scholar gabbed, the old man kept pouring tea, so much that the cup began to spill over. The old man just kept pouring. The tea ran down the sides of the cup and streamed onto the floor, but the old man did not stop pouring. “Stop!” exclaimed the scholar. “Are you insane? Can’t you see that you can’t fit any more tea in the cup? It is full!” “I am practicing,” replied the old man, “for the challenge of passing learning to a mind that is already full.”
In the same way that the Japanese master did something outrageous to teach a lesson, Jesus did something outrageous in the Temple to teach a lesson. This table-flipping was no fit of rage Jesus exhibited. This was a staged protest, born, perhaps, from holy anger . . . righteous rage directed at a Temple system that was a little (or a lot) too cozy with the government, a little (or a lot) too embedded with empire, a little (or a lot) too ready to exploit the poor for the sake of the wealthy and powerful.
Perhaps in his subconscious, Jesus held the memory of his parents bringing him to the Temple when he was a newborn baby, his father approaching the moneychangers, humiliated to buy doves for the requisite sacrifice instead of a lamb because they were poor. The doves placed on the burning altar . . .
So back in the temple now 33 years later, Jesus doesn’t make a sacrifice. Instead, Jesus makes a whip of cords.
When you think of Jesus, Jesus holding a whip may not be the first image that comes to mind. There’s Jesus holding the little lamb, there’s Jesus surrounded by children, there’s Jesus on the cross, the resurrected Jesus with uplifted arms and a holy light emanating from him. Ricky Bobby in Talladega Nights likes to envision Jesus as a baby. But this Jesus with a whip? Didn’t make the cut for our stained-glass windows.
This whip-wielding Jesus is, perhaps, an alternate view we don’t immediately consider. And when we consider Jesus with the whip, we very much want to be on his side of the table. The invitation, however, is to recognize ways in which we are on the other side of the table. The invitation is to consider the ways in which our cups are so full of ourselves—so full of our culturally informed and supported beliefs and opinions and preferences—that we couldn’t possibly have room for Jesus’ radical, countercultural way.
Today we celebrate our 72nd birthday as a church. 72 years of witness here on Clearwater Beach. For 72 years we have (imperfectly for sure) been a testament to the radical, countercultural way of Jesus in one of the most beautiful spots in all of creation. How many hotels are on Clearwater Beach? (A lot.) How many restaurants? (A lot.) How many bars? (A lot.) We have amazing hotels, restaurants and bars. But how many churches? One. One church, bringing together myriad denominations, different ideas about church and theology, somehow finding unity in the midst of our diversity. One church, a reminder to the community that there’s something more than revelry, something more than commerce—one church to be used by God as both salt and light in this community.
And isn’t that a high calling? To be both useful and used by God for greater purpose?
After my lectionary group on Tuesday, I practiced the Holy Imagination sacred reading practice once again, this time by myself. I began to imagine being an inanimate object in the story, namely, the whip. I imagined being held in Jesus’ firm grip, stretching and recoiling with every flick of his wrist. Little will of my own, but responsive to his wishes. I became a useful tool for making a statement, driving out the money changers with their animals. And then I imagined being left there in the Temple when my usefulness was done. Picked up later by the Temple guard cleaning up after the mess Jesus and I had made. And then I imagined being handed over to the Romans as evidence—“Exhibit A”—in the case the Temple leaders made to the Romans for Jesus’ execution. I imagined becoming the whip used by the Roman soldiers to flog Jesus before he was sent to the cross.
Like a whip, our lives can be used both for the cause of Christ and against the cause of Christ. The scripture text today invites us to check ourselves—to inquire whether there are any ways we are like those on the other side of the table—participating and perpetuating systems that oppress.
Like Jesus, we may need to turn over some tables, and like Jesus, we may need to set some tables.
As we reflect on our lives this third Sunday of Lent, Christ’s table is set for you. As we observe the sacrament of Holy Communion today, may we join in the prayer: “God, forgive me for the times I have desired a seat at a table you would have flipped.”