Readings:
Sermon:
Sometimes, when we want to stress the permanent and unchanging nature of a law, we say “it’s set in stone.” Or “it’s written in stone.” Almost certainly that phrase was coined with the ten commandments in mind, but they’re not quite as fixed as we sometimes think.
Have you ever tried to count them? That’s not quite as stupid a question as it sounds, because if you do count them, you’ll find there are eleven! Either the first two (in Roman Catholic and Lutheran churches) or the last two (in Orthodox, Anglican and Reformed churches) get combined into one.
The version we read today, from the book of Exodus gives one reason for the sabbath rest: God rested on the seventh day of creation. The version in the book of Deuteronomy gives a different reason: the people should remember that they were once slaves in Egypt who had no rest, and make sure that as free people they rest from work, and give their own slaves a rest day too. (Deut 5:12-15)
But that’s always what happens to laws: they get interpreted for particular contexts and situations, and it even happens to laws that are set in stone. And law is limited: typically it forbids specific things. “There’s no law against it” someone will say – usually when they’re being told off for doing something someone else regards as a bit shoddy.
I can imagine some of the traders in the temple saying something similar when Jesus turns up in today’s gospel and starts overturning tables and scattering money on the floor. “Stop making my Father’s house a market-place” he demands. “Well, there’s no law against it.” Laws, even ones that come from God, can only take you so far, and the ten commandments didn’t go far enough for Jesus. Do no murder. Well, says Jesus, that’s okay as far as it goes, but I tell you, don’t angrily dismiss someone as a fool. (Matt 5:22).
John, the gospel writer, takes this story of Jesus disrupting business in the temple, and moves it from the last week of Jesus ministry, from the end of the gospel, to the beginning, straight after his first miracle. For John, Jesus has come to transform how people relate to God. This is what the whole of the story of his earthly ministry is about, and John plays fast and loose with the historical order of things in order to underline his point.
As Paul puts it in the second reading “Christ is the power and wisdom of God”. It’s not that the law is wrong, but that it’s limited. Law is better at saying what we shouldn’t do, not so good at helping us do what we should. And law – especially as interpreted by people out for their own interests – can get it wrong, as it did when it crucified Jesus.
In John’s gospel, the idea that the temple is a house of prayer is implicit, the focus is on knocking down the market-place, the economy and structures with which people have surrounded God’s worship, no doubt to make a quick buck for themselves while fleecing the tourists.
It’s terribly easy for any of us to confuse the institutions we belong to with the reasons they were set up. The church is here, as the temple was there, to enable people to encounter God. All too often, as we discuss our mission plans, pore over our accounts, and plan our activities, it can seem as if God is there to help get people to church.
Laws and institutions can be good servants, but they can make really bad masters. This Lent, as we seek to renew our faith and put ourselves in the way of God’s grace, let’s try again to align our priorities with those of Jesus: enabling ourselves and others to encounter God.
Questions:
- I’ve suggested that John moves the story we usually call the cleansing of the temple to the beginning of his gospel to set the agenda for what he sees as important. In what ways does this help you think about reading the rest of the story?
- Are there ways in which “keeping the show on the road” gets in the way of the things that really matter, either for you or for your church?