7 March 2021, 3rd Sunday of Lent

I have continued to reflect upon our Autumn Exploring Other Faiths course. What a remarkable week this week with Pope’s first ever to Iraq, and Grand Ayatollah Sistani, the Shia leader's message of peace.

I’ve also particularly been reflecting on the tradition that’s so close to our own: the Jewish faith. I’ve become increasing aware of the subtle, and not so subtle, elements in our faith that have more than a whiff of anti-Semitism. As the lovely rabbi Jonathan Wittenberg highlighted, this threat is as real as ever.

One of the things we were attempting to do in the course was to hear from the practitioners of the various faiths. This is really important in religious engagement: to ask the adherents of that religion and not its enemies.

One of the ways we might denigrate the Jewish faith is by caricaturing it – of viewing it as being based around keeping lots of commandments. We might describe our Christian faith as being liberated from slavishly obeying the law. And of our faith not being based around works but on God’s freely given grace. But that’s a shameful parody of Jewish faith, and it’s understood by our Jewish friends as using a ‘language of contempt’. (Holy Envy, Margaret Brown Taylor, p.87-88)

For many Jewish worshippers, the law is something to delight in. God’s law is a treasure, not a burden. And works are good, not bad. Righteousness is a response to God’s grace, not a substitute for it. At the end of the annual cycle of reading of the Torah, the Simchat (simcat) Torah, the whole congregation rise and dance around the synagogue carrying a huge Torah scroll. I can’t quite imagine us doing that at the end of our annual liturgical cycle! [unless, Fr Neil, you can come up with an appropriate liturgical dance?]

I heard a wonderful reframing of this by Steve Chalke the founder of the charity Oasis. He was interviewed on the radio. They had people phoning in to ask questions. There was one lady who called and said, ‘Religion, it’s all about, “don’t do this, don’t do that”.’ It was clear to her that God only made laws to stop us enjoy ourselves.

Steve Chalke responded saying: ‘Gosh, I’ve never heard that before. ‘Don’t do this, ‘don’t do that’. Which part of the Bible are the talking about? Caller: ‘You must have heard it... you’re a minister... it’s the ten commandments.’

Steve Chalke: ‘Oh, the ten commandments... but they don’t say that.’

Interviewer: ‘Yes they do, don’t they?’

Steve Chalke: ‘No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. It doesn’t say that. In the book of Exodus, it has God speaking to the Israelites, and he says, ‘You are my dear people. You’re important to me. I want the best for you. Look, I’ve brought you out of slavery in Egypt to the promise land. I’ve given you this covenant because I delight in you, I love you. So please don’t commit adultery or steal or lie or murder, because this will damage you and the community and I wouldn’t want that. I want you to flourish.

It was a wonderful reframing of the ten commandments and brought a refreshing perspective. Because rules are important. Try playing a game of football, cricket or rugby, without rules. Chaos would ensue. The rules, the commandments, we heard read this morning, about how a community might flourish. They’re based on God’s loving relationship with his people. They aren’t simply a check list to stop us enjoying ourselves.

Rules can, however, be manipulated to align with one’s own ends – usually by the powerful and those in charge. Which is partly what was happening in c.1 Jerusalem. Jesus was often getting in trouble with religious authorities because he would do things like show compassion and heal people on the Sabbath. This would eventually to a huge confrontation. This gives rise to a question for us as a church. In what we do we put rules first before people; of sticking to what we perceive as orthodox Christian teaching yet lacking in humanity and compassion? Something to ponder.

We come to an abrupt change of gear in today’s Gospel - Jesus is furious. He storms through the entrance to the temple overturning the money changers.

This is the ‘muscular side’ of Jesus’ ministry. The controversial image of Christ as an in-your-face whip-cracking dispenser of rough justice might seem a more appropriate role model for a Hollywood Western than a member of a church.

Picking up from earlier comments, this wasn’t a wholesale rejection of Judaism by Jesus – we’ve got to keep reminding ourselves that Jesus was a Jew. But Jesus was angry the abuse that had crept in – which is a challenge for all religions. In this particular case, Jesus is calling out a system of exploitation via exorbitant tithes and taxes that blocked equal access to the divine. These were keeping the poor outside the gates of the temple, and forced into debt before they could approach God.

Faced with a house of prayer being turned into what in St Mark’s account calls ‘a den of thieves’ (Mark 11:17), Jesus’ righteous anger was a positive demonstration of righteous anger in action. And like Jesus, we too are meant to be angry at injustice.

In conclusion, whenever the pandemic winds down, our communities open up, and we find ourselves free to return to church next Sunday, I hope we’ll remember the Jesus who upended the temple when it forgot how to be the Father’s house. 

I hope we’ll burn with the passion that animated the whip-wielding, coin-scattering Christ.  I hope we’ll settle for nothing less than churches that are, truly, houses for prayer, welcome, freedom, and hope for all people.