From the
Promenade on Brooklyn Heights, you can look out across New York Harbor. You can
see Liberty Island, Governor’s Island, and Staten Island. You can look right
across the East River to Manhattan Island. And if you stand in the right spot
you can look right up Wall Street to where it ends at Broadway. There’s a
church at the end of it, at the west end of Wall Street.
It’s an
Episcopal church, the Parish of Trinity Church in the City of New York. If you
were to take the subway over there and walk up the hill from the stop near the
East River, you would pass a number of large office buildings. On your right
you would come to Federal Hall, where Congress met, in early days. On the left,
then, down a side street would be the New York Stock Exchange. And still, ahead
of you, would be the church.
Scamper
across Broadway and through the iron gates that stand open all day. Around you
are the graves of the churchyard, an old statue and a memorial to the prisoners
of war who died in confinement during the Revolution.
Go into
the church. It’s old, a hundred and fifty years old. The parish is twice that
age; this is their third building.
What is
in it? Cows and ducks? No, there are no ducks. No cows. No sheep. No goats. No
pigeons or doves (usually). This is a house of prayer.
It is not
a marketplace. Imagine if it were. Imagine if all the bulls of Wall Street and
all the bulls of Pamplona were to run in here. Imagine cows, sheep, and
pigeons. Imagine a stockyard, in full auction mode. Imagine the noise. Imagine
– the mess.
Imagine
buying and selling; money changing hands.
Imagine –
your disgust.
Picture
Jesus – walking into the room.
He is not
afraid. He knows what to do.
He drives
out the sheep and the cattle, and, turning on the bankers and brokers, he
upsets their trading tables. He orders the birds to be taken away. He says:
This is
not an auction yard! This is a house of prayer!
In the
first century, in the Temple of Herod the Great, this is what Jesus did.
The
people there knew what he was doing. He is doing what a prophet out of the Old
Testament would do. He acts. He acts in a way that tells you God is present –
and active in the world.
What,
though, are his credentials? Who is he to play the prophet? Can he show me a
sign? I’ll be willing to believe him if he does. Maybe.
He
answers with a riddle. “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it
up.”
He will
take this – where the presence of God is felt, the ‘thin place’ where human
beings could come close to God – and he will restore it from annihilation?
How can
that possibly happen? The great temple of Herod had been under construction
since before he was born!
And yet –
he did it. He did raise up the Temple.
But he
raised a new Temple – one not made of human hands.
“If all
else fails, read the directions”
In the
book of Exodus, chapter 20, we hear the words Moses heard on Sinai: “I am the
Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of
slavery; you shall have no other gods before me.”
God is
God. There is no other. There is not another way to approach God or relate to
God except as God. He will not settle for anything less; he is the One.
Psalm 19
brings out the bright side of the covenant, the relationship of trust and
faithfulness we have with God. The law, like the sun, rejoices the heart,
illuminates the mind, and revives the soul. The God who made us has entered
into relationship with us.
The law,
the promise, is the way of life that works.
It is
perfect, it revives the soul; it is sure, it gives wisdom; it is just, it
rejoices the heart; it is clear, it gives light; it is clean, it endures
forever: it is true and righteous all together.
But the
Law points beyond itself – to relationship. And that relationship is fulfilled
ultimately in nothing less that the presence of God incarnate in Jesus.
What kind
of presence would you expect the Creator of the universe to have, if God could
be present among us? Would it not be wisdom, power and might, all the time and
everywhere, unmistakable? But somehow God chooses to show greatness and glory in
a way surpassing human categories.
At his
weakest and most vulnerable, at his most powerless and foolish, we are meant to
see, God is still stronger, surer, mightier, and more full of wisdom, than any
human possibility.
God comes
to us, to a world in need, not as hero conqueror, a sign maker and wonder
worker, a prophet of manifest greatness; God comes to us in a simple, humble
man, the son of an ordinary family. And in that apparent weakness is incredible
strength.
God comes
to us, to a planet in shadow, where truth is less valued than knowledge,
expertise than truth, and cleverness than charity; and he comes, simply,
astoundingly, to the least of us, and calls him Brother.
And then
he will take the extraordinary step – he will allow the Temple of his body to
be destroyed. He will give his life for us. He will take on himself all our
loss, all our grief, all our sorrow; and he will give us – joy.
What
happened to the Temple of Herod? It was destroyed, and razed to the foundation
stones. The Romans took care of that, under Vespasian and Titus.
What
lived was a Temple of the Holy Spirit, a temple of flesh and breath, of heart
and mind and strength. What was raised was Jesus himself. Jesus the Christ
himself became the ‘thin place’ where human beings could come close to God. To
feel the presence of God, seek Jesus.
Seek him
where he wills to be found. Seek him where he reveals himself. Seek him where
he said you could see him and serve him. Serve him in the least of these.
Serve him
so that when the naked are clothed and the hungry are fed and the sick and in
prison are visited and the jubilee year of God is proclaimed, and when we speak
up for the captives, saying, FREE THEM, that all will know that God is present
in the world, at work through the body of Christ which is his church.
May the
words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart and the actions of my hands,
be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.
