| Rector’s
Sermon
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| Have you ever been so mad that you were really out of control? I don’t get mad very often, but when I do I’m always surprised by how much it gets the better of me and perhaps how much I might enjoy it. A few weeks ago at 7:45 in the morning I got a phone call at the Rectory: “Hi, Ed, this is Tony calling. How are you doing today?” I knew instantly it was a telemarketer who would try to get me to buy a stock or a fund I couldn’t afford or even possibly think I’d ever want. These guys are especially annoying because when Bev gets the call they want the “man” of the house, as though she’s incapable of saying “no” herself or because of the presumption that she couldn’t possibly understand what this wonderful business opportunity was all about. In any event, I hadn’t even yet brushed my teeth and was in no mood for Tony, so I said, “I don’t know who you are,” to which he responded, “And I don’t know who you are either.” It went downhill from there and at 7:45 a.m. I found myself screaming at this guy who is screaming back at me. Out of control. I’m sure you all handle these kinds of calls a lot better than I do. Now there weren’t any telemarketers in Jesus’ day, but there were plenty of people trying to sell him something he didn’t want or need. This famous episode of Jesus in the temple driving out the moneychangers portrays an angry Jesus, and if he wasn’t completely “out of control,” his anger was very unambiguous, even violent. Take this gospel reading home with you and try to imagine what it looked like—this very gentle, loving guy portrayed in our stained glass as welcoming the children—that same guy overturning the tables of moneychangers in the temple and driving them out, including the livestock, with a whip of cords. As I understand it, it wasn’t so much the practice of temple sacrifice that Jesus objected to, but rather the whole commercial aspect of it. It’s been suggested that one objection could have been the exorbitant exchange rate required of pilgrims needing to change Roman coins into shekels for purchasing animals and birds for the appropriate and religiously-required sacrifices. In fact, Jesus loved the temple. He went there to teach. He called it his “Father’s house.” He respected the tithes and sacrifices that were a part of temple worship. Remember the story that took place at the temple of Jesus commending the widow who offered one small coin but which represented all she had. But something snapped in Jesus’ mind on that particular day when he drew himself up to a fiery righteous indignation because of the injustice and greed that had taken advantage of Israel’s piety. Quite apart from annoying telemarketers, it’s ever so tempting in the current economic disaster for us to want to direct our anger at what or who we perceive has ripped us off. It’s hard, for instance, for anyone to have much sympathy for Bernie Madoff. It’s de rigueur to be outraged by executives or companies that use bailout or stimulus money for bonuses while the rank and file get laid off. I know that’s a simplistic analysis but it’s also an obvious target for the anger all of us must feel to some extent when jobs and pensions and safety nets have been yanked out from underneath us. Back to Jesus for just a second. About forty years after the death and resurrection of Jesus, the temple in Jerusalem where he had driven out the moneychangers was destroyed. The Jewish uprising against Roman occupation was crushed, and it would have been for Christians as if St. Peter’s in Rome or Canterbury Cathedral had been leveled to the ground. In some ways there are parallels to the 9/11 destruction of the World Trade Centers. Jesus had predicted the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem when he said to his disciples one day as they were leaving the temple, “You see all these, do you not? Truly, I say to you, there will not be left one stone upon another, that will not be thrown down.” But then returning to our gospel reading this morning, Jesus likened his own death to the destruction of the temple. “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” He was talking about the temple of his own body. He was talking about what God can provide when those things we most depend upon are taken away. So perhaps his anger had something to do with the grieving process we have come to know is associated with death and dying. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross illustrated that process in her book of the same title, describing the states as denial, anger, depression, bargaining, and acceptance. Jesus was reacting to the destruction of the temple and he was reacting to the knowledge of his own death. That’s exactly what we do: Whenever confronted by someone or something (like today’s economy) there’s a process that includes anger before we can accept its reality, and before we can see that light which is God’s grace. It’s hard when things are going so badly for so long to have hope. That’s a climate ready-made for frustration, for anger, for bitterness, for cynicism, for revenge. But I would remind us this morning that the purpose of Lent is revealed only through Easter. The purpose of penance and self-denial and reflection is to reveal the full glory and incomparable gladness of Christ’s resurrection. Whatever fails us always has the capacity for redemption. Last week Jeanne said, I wish I could tell you that your loved ones will be safe and that nothing is going to happen to them. I wish I could tell you these things, but I can’t. What I can tell you is this…that integral to our faith is hope, hope in eternal life, hope in all that is good. What I can tell you is that you are surrounded by and held by a community of faith that lives in hope. And so whether it’s Lent or whether it’s a recession bordering on a depression, or whether it’s disease or even death in which we find ourselves, you and I can live for the hope that is the resurrection of Jesus, a hope that is embodied right here every Sunday. So let’s keep the faith. Amen.
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