The temple he confronts was not merely a sacred space. It was an economic machine, entangled with empire and protected by religious authority. What appeared reverent concealed a system that extracted from the vulnerable and insulated the powerful. When Jesus overturns the tables, he is not attacking a worshiping community; he is exposing a marketplace that charged admission to grace. His disruption is not rage for rage’s sake; it is love that refuses to cooperate with harm.
That matters because violence rarely appears as chaos at first. More often, it arrives wearing the clothes of necessity, procedure, and “defense.” Systems tell themselves stories: This is for safety. This is unavoidable. This is just how things are done. But John’s Jesus does not accept that logic. He walks directly into the heart of an authorized system and says, This does not reflect our God.
In our own time, we are confronted with stories that feel disturbingly familiar: lives ended or shattered during enforcement actions, official narratives offered quickly, questions asked slowly, if at all. From the border to interior cities, names like Renee Good, Marimar Martínez, José Antonio Elena Rodríguez, and others weigh heavily on our conscience. These are not abstract debates about policy. They are human lives trapped inside structures that too often prioritize power over truth, and authority over accountability.
John reminds us that Jesus does not confuse spectacle with faithfulness. Even signs and wonders do not impress him if they leave the human heart unchanged. He “does not entrust himself” to those who marvel without repenting, who admire without participating. Ronald Regan often used the phrase "Peace through strength" in his campaigns, but this means to an end, however effective, should not win Nobel prizes. The U.S threatening NATO allies with tariffs will not bring peace. God is not moved by spectacle. God is not moved by crowds impressed with strength; God is moved by communities willing to be transformed.
When Jesus speaks of destroying the temple and raising it in three days, he is not threatening architecture. He is announcing a revolution in where God dwells. No longer in fortified institutions, guarded by currency and credentials, but in living bodies, in vulnerable communities, in relationships shaped by mercy and justice. Sacred space shifts from stone to flesh.
And there is something subtle but profound suggested by the whip: The tool that Jesus fashions may have been used not for punishment, but for the purpose of guiding animals. Not an instrument of fury, but of restraining and controlling chaotic movement and a refusal to let things remain where they are. Holy disruption is not always loud anger. Sometimes it is the steady, intentional redirection toward life.
That is the invitation before the church now.
Where have we confused faithfulness with institutional survival?
Where have we accepted violence because it is legal, or exclusion because it is efficient?
Where have we learned to live with tables that should have been overturned long ago?
Holy disruption keeps showing up, in sermons and in communities that refuse to let human dignity be reduced to collateral damage. It is not about nostalgia for a purer past. It is about courage in the present.
The cleansing of the temple is not only about ancient Jerusalem. It is a call to holy resistance today: to imagine communities where access to God is not bought, where power is accountable, where love is fierce enough to interrupt systems that diminish life.
Jesus is still not looking for admirers.
He is looking for participants.
People willing to let their inner temples be examined, unsettled, and remade.
And that disruptive work is always, finally, an act of love.
01/18 Service
Guest Musician: Esther Shim
Pastor Emillie' sermon focused on the temple's exclusionary institutional worship practices. What we do at Creator during worship means something and ideally embraces all of what people find meaningful each Sunday we meet. Practicing that can sometimes become tricky. Not having worship bound to a building is a blessing but sometimes calls for rethinking how worship is done.
Esther played an Offertory hymn beautifully on the violin and her expertise in liturgical accompaniment was evident.
There was a Pre-Budget presentation given after service by Mark, Creator's treasurer. Because the mortgage is paid off we are able to dream about outreach that was not possible before. .
No comments:
Post a Comment