(John 2:13-22)
I wonder what Jesus would think – the historical Jesus of Nazareth, that is – if he walked into Canterbury Cathedral today, or the Vatican City. As he watched the goings on in the headquarters of the Christian faith, what would he think? What would he approve of? What would he disapprove of? And above all, how would he react?
I wonder what Jesus would think – the historical Jesus of Nazareth, that is – if he walked into Canterbury Cathedral today, or the Vatican City. As he watched the goings on in the headquarters of the Christian faith, what would he think? What would he approve of? What would he disapprove of? And above all, how would he react?
I’m
not going to even try to answer that question, but it’s a good starting
point for our reflection. Because the Bible tells us that when Jesus walked
into the Temple in Jerusalem, the headquarters of the Jewish faith, he trashed
it. According to John’s Gospel, the supposedly meek and mild Jesus made a whip out of cords, and drove all from
the temple courts, both sheep and cattle; he scattered the coins of the money
changers and overturned their tables.
It's
ironic that Jesus should have entered the Temple – the place supremely dedicated
to his own Father – and violently rejected what it had come to stand for. To many
Christians the meaning is obvious: this story has been the inspiration for countless
rants against the church and it’s attitude to money. And indeed, there must be a
number of tables in this and any other church that Jesus would like to overturn,
and perhaps a few people he would drive out if he walked in today.
However,
that’s not what the story is really about. It’s actually making a much deeper
point – a point we can easily miss because we’re so well primed as Christians
to look for present day meaning in every Bible story. But this story is not
about religious buildings in general; rather, it’s anchored in the Temple
itself and what it represented to the Jewish people. What Jesus is giving here
is a lesson about the Temple – what it was and what it is. And although the
building has been gone for nearly 2,000 years, the teaching is of as much
relevance today as it has ever been.
Let’s
think for a moment about the history of the Temple. It started out as the Tabernacle
– the tent which the Hebrews carried with them during their nomadic existence and
erected in each place they stopped. As they left their nomadic way of life
behind and settled in cities they built a series of stone temples, but the
basic basic concept and purpose remained the same: In a world divided into
‘them and us’, the Temple was what made ‘us’. Does that make sense? Put another
way, the Temple was what sanctified the people of God and set them apart from
the other peoples around them. In their eyes, it was the place in which the
transcendant God of eternity (who was their God and not the God of the other
tribes around them) broke through into our physical universe. And thus tt was the
one and only place in which they could come into God’s presence.
But
just as a tent had outlived its usefulness when the people settled in one place,
so a single stone building was no use if the knowledge of God was to break out
of its geographical straitjacket and spread throughout the world. And Herod’s
Temple in particular, the one Jesus disrupted, had become an instrument of oppression
that ruthlessly excluded the struggling masses even within the nation of Israel.
In fact in Jesus’ eyes, and in the eyes of the New Testament authors, the
Temple hadn’t merely outlived its usefulness; it had become a real obstacle to
faith and belonging for the majority of people.
And Jesus could see an even greater catastrophe looming, one that threatened the
very survival of a community devoted to the service of Yahweh. He clearly foresaw that the Temple itself was doomed; in
fact less than 40 years after his ascension to Heaven it was burned out and razed
to the ground. If it had remained the central symbol and home of faith in
Yahweh, the heart would have been ripped out of the people’s faith.
What
was needed was a new way of understanding God’s presence among his people. And
when Jesus says to the authorities, ‘destroy this Temple and I will raise it again in three days’, he is pointing
to that new reality. In short, Jesus is consciously supplanting the Temple with
a new vessel of God’s presence in the world – his own body.[1] God continues to be among his people, but no longer
in the dark Holy of Holies, where just one man is allowed to come into the
divine presence for a few minutes each year. God’s presence among his people is
now manifested in the person of Jesus, to be encountered not just by a solitary
priest, but by all the masses of people Jesus meets in his travels.
Even
that is not the end of the Temple’s evolution, because Jesus’s body was not
going to be on earth for much longer. But when he ascends to his Father, he
sends the Holy Spirit. And the Spirit lives in the hearts of all believers,
directly interacting not with one priest, not with thousands of one-to-one
encounters, but simultaneously with the billions of Christians throughout time
and space. Everyone who is in relationship with God is now a Temple; why else would
St. Paul write, “Do you not know that
your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have
received from God?” (1 Co 6:19)
And thus the Temple has evolved, becoming at each stage the point of contact with God for a
wider cross-section of humanity. It has gone from tent to stone building, from
one body (Jesus’) to billions of bodies – everyone who has a relationship with
the risen Christ. God has always been everywhere, even when his people saw him
as occupying a specific physical space. But now, because of what Jesus has done, we are a nation of priests, all of us living in the Holy of Holies at every second of every day. It should be both a source of comfort and a challenge to our lifestyles, knowing that we are constantly in his presence.
Where
does that leave the church today? Many of us find a sacred space reassuring – a place
of peace and quiet without distractions, and a visible, tactile symbol of God’s
presence. I do myself. Many find that singing worship songs together, or
joining in a liturgy, creates a sacred
space wherever we happen to be. I know I do. But we don’t need sacred space. We don't need
worship songs. We don't need liturgy. God is, in a telling phrase from the Qur’an, closer to us than
our own jugular vein.
While
we are here, let us enjoy one another’s fellowship and the beauty of our
surroundings. Let us revel in the sense of God’s presence as we lift our voices
in song and come together in the Eucharist. But later, as we step outside into
the dark, let us remember that we are not leaving the sacred
space behind; we are taking it with us.
[1] In the same way, at the
Last Supper, he supplants remembrance of the Passover and Exodus from Egypt –
the foundational event in the story of Israel – with the remembrance of his
body and blood.
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