Matthew 21.12-17

At this moment, more than any other, Jesus knew they would kill him for this.

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The temple remained littered with the remnants of the rabbi’s outburst.  The Pharisees and temple priests began to trickle back into the temple courts to survey the damage.  It wasn’t cataclysmic, but for them it was strangely symbolic.  Splintered tables ruptured across the stone floor.  Gold and silver coins scattered about in disarray like from a bank robbery.  Doves and pigeons caught in the corners of the temple courts and circling overhead.  The trail of hustled cattle, their footprints leading out of the temple gates and onto the streets outside.  It wasn’t the end of the world for them, these religious leaders, but they knew of this rabbi and what he had done.  He could heal the blind.  Exorcise demons.  Raise the dead.  And he came to Jerusalem on a donkey, like some king.  It felt strange to them, almost prognostic.  Like this was a whisper of things to come.  And they knew their duty.  They would have to kill him for this.

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Jesus had perfect control over his fury.  He knew when to let it roll free and when to let it subside.  But even he had to admit that he nearly lost control when he entered the temple courts that day.  It was a like a market, with vendors and sellers peddling their cattle and doves.  Two doves for a drachma.  A bull for a month’s wage.  The poor stumbled up to the selling tables and fumbled into their pockets for pennies to purchase a pardon.  A couple of well-to-do, God-fearing Gentiles handed over a gorgeous sum of money to the sellers for a couple of bulls to sacrifice, but the sellers looked down on them with upturned noses and pointed them to the moneychangers.  The Gentiles gathered up their foreign coin and had it exchanged at what Jesus could see was a horribly unfair rate.

In the distance, Jesus could see a woman with her veil drawn back, standing at the edge of the Court of Women and looking on at the men who could travel further to God’s resting place.  He caught a sense of regret in her eyes, and he knew her heart.  Why did God make me a woman? she thought.  Why are we so weak?

A pair of priests folded back the curtain from the inner sanctum, decorated in their gold and jewelry and garbed in their elaborate robes.  An entourage of guards appeared on either of side of them and escorted them past the men, the women and the Gentiles on their way out the temple.  They looked upon their congregation with nausea, wondering how God could possibly love such filth as these.  And Jesus knew their hearts.  Thank God, we’re not like them, they thought.

And it dawned on Jesus what he saw.  Not a temple.  Not a house for his Father.  It was the tomb of a dying religion.  It was the bank of a corrupt government.  It was an institute for racial and sexist oppression.  It was a hideout for bandits.  A den of robbers.

Jesus sensed his wrath grow within him and let it boil forth.  And in the midst of his fury, he understood completely that they would kill him for this.

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Ezekiel looked up and saw the figure of a man.  The figure appeared to be glowing like burnished metal, and from his waist down he was fire.  He reached out to Ezekiel and grabbed him by the hair of his head and pulled him to the northern entrance of the inner court of the temple.

He saw an idol standing in the space where God’s presence should reside.  To the side he saw a hole in the wall of the temple.  He tunneled into the wall, and inside, he saw all kinds of crawling monsters and filthy, repulsive beasts and the idols of the people of Israel cast in their wood, stone and metal.  There was no light in the temple.  Only darkness.

When Ezekiel came to, he realized that it was a vision from the Lord.  But as he reached for his pen to write down what he saw, he hesitated.  I shouldn’t write this down, he thought.  They won’t like what I have to say.  They’ll kill me for this.  

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The words were coming out of Isaiah before he even knew he was speaking them.

…foreigners who bind themselves to the Lord 

to serve him, 

to love the name of the Lord, 

and to worship him, 

all who keep the Sabbath without desecrating it 

and who hold fast to my covenant— 

these I will bring to my holy mountain 

and give them joy in my house of prayer. 

Their burnt offerings and sacrifices 

will be accepted on my altar; 

for my house will be called 

a house of prayer for all nations.

He surveyed the Babylonian countryside from his window, watching the sunset, and wondered when he could go home.  He wondered if he would get to see the Temple in Jerusalem again.  It seemed to him a strange thing to write while exiled to a foreign land: a house of prayer for all nations.  One of those very nations had destroyed his home country and enslaved his people.  

He knew it would be risky to proclaim a message such as this to his fellow Israelites.  They wouldn’t approve.  But he knew his duty to the message.  And he knew the consequences: they would kill him for this.

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Solomon rolled up the sleeves of his cloak as he scanned the layouts for the temple construction.  Everything was coming along smoothly.  The lumber was on its way from Lebanon.  The stonecutters were nearly ready to begin laying the foundation.  They had accumulated plenty of gold to cover the costs.  

I will build a house worthy for the Lord and for my people, he thought.  He looked out to the east, toward the land of the foreigners.  And perhaps it will be for them as well.

“Where are the layouts?!” a foreman shouted in panic.  Solomon hurried to return to them.  He thought, I better return these.  That foreman is vicious.  He might kill me for this!

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David stood before the Lord, naked and exposed.  His plea was simple: he wished to build a magnificent temple worthy of the Lord God Almighty.  The Lord wished to honor David’s request, but could not.  “You have the blood of foreigners on your hands,” he said.  “You cannot build it for me.”

David hung his head in sorrow.  He thought to himself, I would have killed for an opportunity like this! 

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Before the creation of the world, I like to think the Father, Son and Spirit had the following conversation (although they most likely didn’t).

“So we’re all agreed,” the Father said.  “We’re moving forward.”

“Yes,” said the Son.  “We must create something else in order to share this love we have with one another.”

“So we create the heavens and the earth,” the Spirit said.  “The universe and stars and planets to fill them.”

“And then we will create the world,” God said.  “And fill it with life.  With plants and animals.  And humanity.  We will create humanity in our image.”

“But we cannot force these humans to love us,” the Spirit said.  “Otherwise, it cannot be love.”

“I will give them a choice,” God said.  “I will set a tree in this world and give them an opportunity to disobey.  They will have the choice to obey or disobey, to love or to hate.”

“They will certainly disobey,” the Spirit said.  “They are not like us.  They will have the capacity for wrong.”

“We will redeem them,” the Son said.  “We will give them laws to follow so that they may become righteous.  We will reveal ourselves and our nature to them so that they may follow us.”

“We would have to keep an eye on them,” the Father said.  “They will disobey.  They will need us to live among them.  To show them what is right and to save them from their sins.”

“In a temple?” the Spirit said.  “There are problems with temples.  Humanity will become defensive of their temples.  They will use them to their advantage.  They will force others out and teach that we do not love them.  It will make them think that some are closer to us than others.”

“We will live in a tent, at first,” the Father said.  “Then, in a temple.  But eventually these will fail.  Nothing manmade can contain us.”

“We could go down there,” the Son said.  “As one of them.”

The Father and the Spirit looked at the Son with such love.  “Will you do it?” they asked him.  “Will you go down and live among them and show them our love?”

“I will do it,” the Son said.  “I would die for this.”


Kyle Welch