John 2:12-25 · Jesus Clears the Temple
Confrontation in the Temple
John 2:12-25
Sermon
by George Bass
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Jesus laid claim to a special relationship with God the Father. He demonstrated an all-consuming love for the Temple (where formal business with God was done in worship and study) when, according to Saint Luke, he was twelve years old. Neither Matthew, Mark, nor John includes that account in their gospels. But Luke evidently considered the incident to be a true story that was important enough to be included in the gospel that bears his name; he was interested, as his Acts of the Apostles affirms, in telling the whole story.

This incident sets the stage for what is bound to happen after Jesus grows up and begins his compassionate yet controversial ministry; a confrontation with the leaders of the Jewish faith was inevitable. John carries this further and places such an encounter at the very beginning of the ministry of Jesus. The Tree and Tomb suddenly appear in perspective. Jesus will die at the hands of the priests and scribes and Pharisees, not simply as a martyr to the faith he held, but as God’s Special One who would be raised from the dead on the third day.

The familiar remark, "Did you now know that I must be about my Father’s business?" made to frantic parents who had searched for him for three days, gives way to a mature scriptural stance: "Zeal for thy house will consume me." People sometimes make statements like that based on what they believe to be special revelations and even visions from God which they have had. In John Pielmeier’s rather involved play, Agnes of God, a court-appointed psychiatrist, Dr. Martha Livingston, is to interrogate and evaluate the mental health of a nun, Sister Agnes, who has given birth to a baby found, strangled, in a wastebasket in her room. Dr. Livingston is cautioned by Mother Miriam Ruth, head of the convent, "I want you to be careful that’s all." To the doctor’s "Why?" she replies, "Because Agnes is different ... She’s special." The psychiatrist asks, "In what way?" and Mother Miriam answers, "She’s gifted. She’s blessed." Just as Dr. Livingston asks, "What do you mean?" Agnes is heard singing, "Gloria in excelsis Deo ... Et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis," and Mother Miriam remarks, "She has the voice of an angel."

In their first interview, Sister Agnes tells the doctor that her dead mother and the Lady, whom she saw in a vision when she was ten years old, "tell me things ... and fight over me all the time." She describes her vision: "I was lying on the grass looking at the sun and the sun became a cloud and the cloud became the Lady, and she told me she would talk to me and then her feet began to bleed and I saw there were holes in her hands and in her side and I tried to catch the blood as it fell from the sky but I couldn’t see any more because my eyes hurt ... And she tells me things ... And she uses me to sing." Agnes goes on: "It’s as if she’s throwing a big hook through the air and it catches me under my ribs and tries to pull me up but I can’t move because Mummy is holding my feet and all I can do is sing in her voice, it’s the Lady’s voice, God loves you! ... God loves you."

In this strange sort of way, Sister Agnes is possessed of God - so much so that she is out of step with reality. That was not the case with Jesus. He, too, had a dramatic experience when John baptized him in the Jordan River; the Holy Spirit, in the form of a dove, came down upon him and he became a marked man then and there. But Jesus never lost touch with reality. Rather, he saw things as they really are in this world - and that got him into trouble with the authorities.

Jerusalem was the locus of the Jewish faith; and the Temple, in the time of Christ, was the very heart of it. Causing trouble in the Temple, let alone challenging the very system of religion that had evolved in the worship that occurred within the Temple, had to be the work of a religious fanatic or a madman. Those who saw Jesus go into action that day when he cleansed the Temple must have thought him mad.

Many of the onlookers would have concurred with Mother Miriam Ruth. When Dr. Livingston, the psychiatrist, said, "But you can try, can’t you? To be good (and thus attain some measure of sanctity)," she replied "Oh, yes, but goodness has very little to do with it. Not all the saints are good. In fact, most of them were a little crazy. But their hearts were with God, left in His hands at birth. ‘Trailing clouds of glory.’ No more. We’re born, we live, we die. Occasionally one might appear among us, still attached to God. But we cut that cord very quickly. No freaks here ..."12 And, no doubt, reactions that day when Jesus evicted the sellers and money-changers who were an integral part of the system were not much different than Mother Miriam’s contemporary observation. The good mother believed that "saints are born" for a reason that often is mysterious; Jesus, in his own case, cleared up that mystery in the Temple.

Had Jesus simply driven the merchants and money-changers from the Temple and then gone about his business, it would have been business as usual as soon as he was out of sight. He might have gone down in history as a religious reformer who had failed. His was a glorious, but temporary, triumph - in the name of God - but everyone knows something about the difficulties that are encountered when one challenges the sytem - almost any system. More often than not, we get chewed up and discarded, not to be heard of, or from, again. In his book, Human Options, Norman Cousins writes about the Bomb, declaring "... the device can rock the earth but it has yet to make a dent in our thinking."13

Herman Kahn, who founded the Hudson Institute, a private center for research on national security and public policy, had been working on a paper on nuclear warfare, which he was to deliver at the Pentagon on July 8, 1983, when he died very suddenly on July 7. For 23 years he had been repeating the same theme: that nuclear war was not only a possibility but a probability, insisting that a nuclear war would not mean the annihilation of civilization. He believed in "degrees of awfulness," and prescribed arms control, negotiated disarmament, and a strong military deterrent to nuclear war. Kahn’s critics insisted that he minimized the dangers of nuclear war and played into the hands of the militarists calling for more powerful weapons systems. Some claimed that his thinking, writing, and speeches merely supported the system when he ought to have been challenging it. Jesus could never be accused of such a sell-out in the scheme of things prevailing in the Temple. He shook the building - and the system - right down to the very foundations of both. Why wouldn’t the priests and the other leaders be upset with him and begin to consider how they might get rid of this Jesus?

How could people so entrenched in such a religious system possibly understand what Jesus was really doing? His action seemed merely to be a revolt against their traditions and, in many cases, no doubt, an important part of their livelihood. There was no way that they could comprehend the meaning of his "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it." He answered their challenge of his authority to cleanse the Temple with a statement that must have seemed to be totally ludicrous. It took 46 years to build the Temple. The man had to be a bit crazy, a madman. But he wasn’t, was he? You and I know now, from our perspective, what he was doing; but how much of a dent has it made on our thinking? Aren’t there times - particularly during Lent - when we’d like to go back to a system of laws to be obeyed, merit to be gained by making the proper sacrifices to God, rather than to have to depend simply on one Man and what happened to him after he had cleaned out the merchants and the money-changers from the Temple? Then, somehow, we could keep score - and we’d know with assurance what our efforts have availed with God. Good works seem to give us much more assurance than grace with its free gift of salvation in Jesus Christ, don’t you think? But by grace alone, as Paul continues to teach the world, we are saved through faith in that Man, Jesus Christ - and we had better believe it!

Jesus staked his life upon the belief that what he was doing was right in the eyes of the Father. This was God’s will for him and the world, and the only way that the new approach could be established, so that a new access to God might be opened up for people, was by actually putting his life on the line in the belief that God would vindicate him by raising him from the dead. "Hope," says Norman Cousins, "is a gift, and hope is magic, but hope cannot exist either in the individual or society, without the prospect of regeneration."14

"Destroy this temple," Jesus told them, "and in three days I will raise it again." Without a doubt they called that ultimate madness, not hope. And that’s the ultimate gift our Lord offers to us - that same deliverance from death that is always attempting to get a stranglehold on us from which we will never escape. The Tree, Jesus’ crucifixion and death, in the face of our own impending death, forces us to face the question of the resurrection: "Do you believe?"

Jesus believed in the truth of what he replied to the Jews in the Temple, or he would never have allowed himself to get caught in their final trap, the one that claimed his life.

Two radically different stories surfaced within two weeks in the daily newspapers. Locally, the headline, "His decision to end treatment carries acceptance of death," introduced the tragic story of Jim O’Grady, who had made a decision to die; his father and friends accepted it in the realization of his pain and futility. Just forty years old, he had been blind from diabetes for twelve years. His body, according to columnist Jim Klobuchar, who tells the story in the Minneapolis Star and Tribune (June 3, 1983), had rejected several kidney transplants. For seven years he had been on an artificial kidney machine, and his heart stopped "and had to be pounded back into life" a few weeks before the story was told. Jim realized that his memory was deteriorating and, after a terrible period of pain brought on by hiccups which redamaged his ribs that had been badly hurt when his heart was restarted, asked to be admitted to a hospice - to die.

Jim O’Grady told the reporter, "I’m a little afraid of dying, but only because like most other people I fear the unknown. There doesn’t seem much sense in prolonging what I have of life ... I believe in a kind God, and I believe he will accept me." His doctor, who remains anonymous, said that he would have made the same decision: "Jim hasn’t been able to accept transplants, and the dialysis hasn’t been good. He’s given this thoughtful analysis ... This isn’t suicide. That’s an active thing, putting a gun to your head. This is acceptance ..."

Jim O’Grady was ready to die; he believed - as much as Jesus had in different circumstances almost twenty centuries before him - that his time had come. The difference is that Jesus’ life wasn’t taken away from him; it was his decision to lay it down in the belief that, through the power of the Father, he would be able to get it back again. Few of us travel that road in life that demands literal self-sacrifice and the deliberate surrender of our lives for the sake of the gospel and Christ’s mission in the world.

We’re more like the other man, whose story was printed after and under a headline that read, "A terminal patient turns test subject in fight to survive." Carl R. Proffer, the reporter, was telling his own story in the article. The summer before, "during a casual discussion of midlife plans," he writes, "a friend asked me what goals I had. To his surprise (and my own), I said my main goal was to live long enough to see my four-year-old daughter get an education. Then we dropped the subject of the future." The very next day, Proffer was hospitalized with severe abdominal pain with "shifting diagnoses" of an ulcer, appendicitis, or a hernia. He was operated upon and, he says, "when I awoke my wife was there to tell me I had a right-side metastatic colon cancer so widespread that no surgery was possible. The doctor said I had very little time to live." Proffer said that his article might have been concentrated on "coming to terms with an unexpected death sentence at 43 ... But there is something more important to make known: the process by which many people discover the possibility of delaying or escaping what seems to be a certain death."

What seemed to be a certain death sentence was not acceptable to Proffer and his wife. Research finally led them to the Institute of Health and the National Cancer Insitute; they had located a physician doing research and experimentation with the exact type of cancer that Carl Proffer had. Proffer offered himself as a "guinea pig" - and was accepted. The last part of his story reads: "Most of us guinea pigs (in the program) are satisfied. We have chosen to be subjects of experiments, and at the very least we and our families have been rewarded with hope. My little girl is almost five now, and I wouldn’t be reading her bedtime stories if I had not become a data point."15 He held on to life desperately and, so far, it has paid off. That’s our story, isn’t it? But it’s not Christ’s story. He was probably ten years younger than Proffer when he offered his life so that all people might live through his death and resurrection.

And so, in the middle of Lent, we take our stand with the disciples before the Tree and the Empty Tomb. We believe that it turned out as Jesus said it would. And that outcome - his resurrection - means life for us, too.


12. Pielmeier, John, "Agnes of God," in The Best Plays of 1981-1982.

13. Cousins, Norman, Human Options. (New York: Norton, 1981).

14. Also front Human Options.

15. Carl Proffer, "A terminal patient turns test subject in fight to survive," in the Minneapolis Star ann Tribune, June 17, 1983.

CSS Publishing Co., Inc., Tree, The Tomb, And The Trumpet, The, by George Bass