Jesus answered and said to them,
“Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.”
The Gospels of Matthew and Mark place Jesus's Purification of the Temple after his long-anticipated arrival in Jerusalem. They conclude it with the ominous words, “The chief priests and the scribes came to hear of it and sought a way to put him to death….”
Saint John tells the same story, but he places it immediately after the inaugural Wedding at Cana. Where the synoptic gospels stress the Lord’s controversial teaching which finally leads to his death, Saint John starts with Jesus as the One whom they must destroy. They hate him not for what he says or does, but for who he is.
In neither story does he do much damage to the massive temple. His one-man riot might have disturbed the peace but the money changing tables were set upright and the freed animals caught within a few minutes. His demonstration was a prophetic gesture, like protestors burning a twenty-dollar bill in front of a stock market.
But if he did little damage, the Establishment understood his meaning and didn’t like it. They doubted that God -- or anyone else -- could replace the financial institution they had been building for centuries. If the Church can boast of its founding by Jesus two thousand years ago and its continuous “apostolic succession,” Wall Street can boast of its prehistoric origins and a similar uninterrupted tradition of borrowing, lending, and investments. The specie that Jesus scattered on the floor is still in circulation, as is the money of the eighteenth-century slave trade, and 1929 Crash. Financial markets survive natural disasters, pandemics, and wars; and clever investors usually prosper by them.
If human history can be described as the migration of peoples, the march of technology, or a long philosophical discussion on the meaning of life, it is also a tragedy of the ever-widening gap between wealth and poverty, between Dives and Lazarus.
Where there should be equality in the sight of God, Jesus found “those who sold oxen, sheep, and doves, as well as the money-changers seated there.” He found rituals and practices which direct our gaze to earth instead of heaven. He was revolted.
After the delightful, initial story of Jesus’ blessing the wedding at Cana, Saint John’s gospel takes this ominous turn. He stepped out of the shadow at Cana; now he steps into a glaring light in Jerusalem. If the sign he worked in Cana was so subtle the head waiter missed it; this sign in Jerusalem shouted loudly and could not be ignored.
As we celebrate this solemnity of the Basilica of Saint John Lateran, an enormous church in Rome, we must notice the persistent, sometimes troublesome presence of Jesus. Killing him will not make him go away. He and his Church remain.
Thousands of Catholic churches throughout the world, with their quiet sanctuary lamps always burning, also stand as a forceful reminder of our continuing presence in the world. They announce our Risen Lord both in season and out.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I love to write. This blog helps me to meditate on the Word of God, and I hope to make some contribution to our contemplations of God's Mighty Works.
Ordinarily, I write these reflections two or three weeks in advance of their publication. I do not intend to comment on current events.
I understand many people prefer gender-neutral references to "God." I don't disagree with them but find that language impersonal, unappealing and tasteless. When I refer to "God" I think of the One whom Jesus called "Abba" and "Father", and I would not attempt to improve on Jesus' language.
You're welcome to add a thought or raise a question.