Lift High The Cross

Sermon based on Numbers 21:4-9 and John 3:14-21

This week, my friend’s cousin in Palestine was killed.  Because we live in a 21st century world with instant access, I watched on social media as his shrouded body was lifted high in the air, and paraded down Prayer Road, while his mother wept and could not be consoled.  I listened to the heartbroken crowd confidently cry out, “Allah Akbar”–God is the greatest. I wept with my friends, even from thousands of miles, as we watched his body lifted high for all to see.

I’ve never witnessed a funeral like this–one that comes so soon after the death, and becomes such a scene of community grief.  But what moved me most profoundly, and also disturbed me, was that as the crowd lifted this dead teenager over their heads, they said over and over, “God is the greatest.”  

It’s times like this–when a teenager is senselessly killed–that I reserve the right to NOT say, “God is the greatest.”  When children are shot in their schools, on our streets, or by the military in occupied territory, I reserve the right to purse my lips, turn my head and refuse to say that God is the greatest.  It is a phrase that is dissonant in my ears and heart when something so unnecessary and so outrageously violent happens.

This funeral procession is not unlike Moses lifting up the snake in the desert.  In this strange story from the book of Numbers, God’s people are plagued by poisonous snakes, who are biting and killing the people at random.  And the only way to survive the bites was to look at that snake that Moses is holding up. In order for the people to live, they had to look at the thing that was killing them.  

This is the opposite of what we usually do.  If something is hurting us, we run from it. We don’t look at it, we avoid it. 

But this is what God told Moses and the people to do.  Look At the thing that’s killing you. That will save you.  

And just as Moses lifted up that snake in the desert, so must the Chosen One be lifted up.  Just as Moses lifted up the thing that was killing the people, so must we look at the cross, that symbol of all that killed Jesus, and all that is killing us.  

In our story from the gospel of John, Jesus met Nicodemus in the cover of darkness.  Nicodemus was a Pharisee and religious leader, who couldn’t be seen with Jesus in the light.  Nicodemus represented the religious establishment, the powerful and the privileged in Jewish society.  And Nicodemus had all of that to lose in coming to Jesus.

But he saw something, heard something in Jesus that he found irresistible.  He wanted to be part of the reign of God, but was struggling to understand it fully.  

So Jesus said these words to Nicodemus in the darkness:  Just as Moses lived up the snake in the desert, so must the Chosen One be lifted up.  God loved this world so much that God sent their child–God made flesh–so that everyone that believes will live.  God didn’t send this child to condemn the world, but so that the world would be saved. Whoever believes is not condemned, but whoever doesn’t believe is already condemned.  Here’s the verdict:  Light comes into the world, but the people love the darkness, because that’s where evil hides.  Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear of being exposed.  But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so all they have done comes plainly into view.

Jesus, who was talking to a proud and powerful Nicodemus in the darkness, was talking about a couple of things at once.  First, he’s scolding Nicodemus for coming to him in the darkness. All Jesus did and taught was about coming out of the darkness and into the light.  Second he’s revealing himself as God’s child, the light of the world. And finally, he’s calling Nicodemus, and all people, into the light, into the truth of the reign of God.  

And, it seems, into order to do that, we have to look at Jesus raised high in the light.  We have to look at Jesus on the cross. We have to look at all that killed Jesus in order for the truth to be revealed.  And in the case of Nicodemus, he’s being asked to look at the thing that was killing Jesus, killing him, and killing all of us, and face it in the light.  

I hate to break it to you, folks, but Christianity is not some sort of sanitized religion, or a feel good faith.  This Jesus Christ we follow is calling Nicodemus, and us to look at the thing that killed Jesus, and to look at the thing that is killing us.  

The thing that killed my friends’ cousin this week was a system of oppression that demanded obedience to military orders barked at him, and did not care that he was deaf and couldn’t hear the instructions.  The thing that killed Jesus was a system that demanded blood, demanded a scapegoat so that people could feel safe. What killed Jesus was a religious and political system that demanded things be hidden.

And that’s what kills us too.  Hidden things. Things we refuse to believe, things we are afraid to bring to light in this world.  

Yesterday I attended the funeral of an old friend’s fiance. He was 57, and he died of a stroke while on a business trip. I didn’t know Steve–I was there to support my friend–but after hearing so many stories about him yesterday, I decided that I’d like him.  He was a talented musician, a rabid sports fan, and he loved good theological conversations.

One friend shared Steve’s favorite toast to make when he and his friends would gather together.  They’d get together to sing, laugh and make music, and after the second or third round of drinks, Steve would stand and make a toast–the same one he’d make every time they gathered.  He’d lift his beer in tha air and say, “Onward, towards death.”

Steve’s friend said the thing that we often hear at funerals.  “Steve wasn’t afraid to die.” Now, I don’t know how true that is, but I’m sure that however Steve felt about death, he was looking it straight in the eye.  He was levelheaded enough to know that death is inescapable, and God asks us to look at what is scaring us, and what is killing us.

God doesn’t take away the snakes that bite us–I wish God would.  God doesn’t take away the pain of this world, even though I wish God would.  God doesn’t even take away death. But God says, look at the thing that kills your body and your spirit, and you will be healed.  

In the same way Jesus said to Nicodemus, and to us (who are more like Nicodemus than we’d like to admit)–Just as the Moses lifted up the thing that was killing the people, just as the people lifted up the body of Mahmoud Al Jabari, just as Steve lifted his beer in the air and said, “Onward,towards death!”, so Jesus must be lifted up, so that we can see the things that are killing us, and see the truth of the world.  Because that truth–brought into the light of day–will save us. That truth, brought into light, is healing us. And maybe as we who have our battle scars, see how far God has brought us, and experience our healing, we too can say, “God is the greatest.”

AMEN.  

Let your anger guide you

Sermon based on John 2:13-22 and I Corinthians 1:18-25

A few weeks ago, I attended a training on Non-Violent resistance put on by Christian Peacemaker Teams. We did several activities that involved us being put in uncomfortable situations–like pretending we were at a rally, or role playing bystander intervention.

All of those role plays are uncomfortable and thought provoking.  The thing that really had me thinking was one particular exercise.  We were given scenarios, and based on what we heard, we had to stand in a circle that had been divided into quadrants.  Violent on one side of the circle, and nonviolent on the other. And on the other axis–effective or not effective.

Here was the scenario that was given to us:  You are at a peaceful demonstration, and police arrive in riot gear–shields, helmets and face masks–and they throw tear gas into the crowd.  The tear gas lands in front of you, and immediately begins to spray the noxious fumes everywhere. You think fast, and grab the tear gas and throw it back towards the police.  

And then we were asked: Is this violent? Is this effective?

Most people in the room stood over on the violent, non-effective side.  I stood on the nonviolent, effective side. It felt pretty lonely over there on that axis, I’ll admit.  But I had my reasons. I put myself in that scenario, and was worried about the people around me being hurt by teargas when they had no protection from it.  And I knew that the police had protection. So, while they would be mad that I threw it back in their direction. They would also be safe from its impact. And the protesters would be safe too.  This move felt to me like the safest option.

There’s was a lot of great conversation generated here.  And some people changed their minds, and others did not.

It had me thinking about this text we read today.  This one where Jesus entered the temple, makes a whip out of cords, and drove the vendors and animals from the temple.  He turned over the money changers table, and the money flew everywhere. This story confounds those that read the texts and try to see Jesus as non-violent.  Because Jesus seemed angry and aggressive here. But Jesus calls us to peace. So how do we reconcile this?

This story is often called the “Cleansing of the temple” story.  But I’m not sure if cleansing is the right word. I have the sense that Jesus is doing more than simply cleansing.  I think Jesus wants to do away with the system altogether, he doesn’t just want to clean it up.

Here’s why:  This story is happening in Jerusalem during the Passover, the biggest festival of the year where folks are required to come to the temple to make an offering.  

Jesus came to Jerusalem expecting to see a celebration of the people’s liberation from slavery in Egypt, and instead he witnessed a scene where poor people were being exploited.  

There were two points of exploitation in the temple that day, and both had become commonplace.  First, the selling of ritually pure animals to poor people who could only buy the animals at the temple at outrageous prices.  And, the money changers who changed money from international currency to local currencies so it could be used in the temple. Both vendors were corrupt.  

The animal sellers sold animals of all sorts in the temple.  If you were rich, you’d sacrifice a cow or ox, and if you were poor you’d sacrifice a dove or a pigeon.  But the temple couldn’t take just any animal–the animals that were sacrificed had to be unblemished, and in order to ensure that, they had to be purchased at the gates of the temple, where the prices were higher than the countryside prices.  And, as with any tax or pricing system, the costs tended to be felt more by the poor than the rich. If you wanted to purchase two doves, you paid two days wages just outside the temple. The doves had to be inspected just inside the temple, and if they were found to be blemished, you had to buy two more doves inside the temple for the equivalent of two months of pay.

The second place of exploitation was found with the money changers who were located just inside the temple court–they bought and sold money because temple taxes could not be paid with roman images on them (graven images).  So roman money had to be exchanged for usable local currently.

While money changers were important, they were also corrupt, because they could inflate the exchange rate and exaggerate the fees.  So for poor people, the money changers exchange rate was the equivalent of a day’s wages, this was before the person purchased an unblemished animal and had to buy them again at a higher rate because the temple inspector found a blemish.  

When all was said and done, a one day stay in Jerusalem could cost $3,000-$4,000 in contemporary value. This was an outrageous expense for a poor family in occupied Palestine.  

Jesus, coming from a poor family himself, understood that this system was designed to exploit people, especially poor people.  So he made a whip out of what he found lying around, and he ran the money changers out of the temple. He turned over the tables, poured out the coins, and demanded that these folks “Stop making the realm of God into a realm of commerce.”  Interestingly, Jesus doesn’t call for a systemic reform, but an end to this system altogether.

Jesus was calling for an end to this system that was oppressing people. And Jesus was bringing about an end–at least temporarily–to this system, by mixing up the blemished and unblemished animals as they ran out of the temple.  He was bringing about an end to the money changers, at least temporarily, by having coins scatter all over the courtyard. He was bringing about and end to this oppressive system in the chaos by mixing up who had paid and hadn’t, and by demonstrating the chaos of the oppressive system on poor people’s lives.  

Meanwhile–those in power were more concerned about HOW Jesus did something, than they were outraged by WHAT Jesus is exposing. We get more worked up about the anger of Jesus than we do about the system Jesus is calling out.  We get more upset that tear gas is thrown at cops in riot gear than we do that cops in riot gear show up at a peaceful demonstration.

And I’m not talking about those people out there that do that–I’m talking about me.  I’m talking about us. Mennonites spend a chunk of time deconstructing Jesus’ actions here.  Because they scare us. His actions certainly scare me. It scares me that our peaceful Jesus appears angry.  It scares me that in order for reign of God to come near, that the world must be turned upside down, property must be scattered, my life must be radically changed, and the system that we comfortably exist in must be chaotically overturned.  

Perhaps we are more scared of Jesus’ anger here because it will upend our lives and the ways that so many prosper on the backs of poor.  

But anger is a healthy emotion, a good emotion.  Because it tells us that something isn’t right. It tells us there is danger.  It tell us that we have to pay attention to what is underneath that feeling. Are we feeling protective and that’s why the anger is bubbling up?  Are we fearful? Are we feeling deep love?

And what do we do with that emotion, with that anger?  Because yes, anger can be toxic–anger can turn into violence, but can also turn into creativity, it can tell us to change our behavior, it can call us to deeper discipleship.  

In Jesus’ case here, even in his outrage and anger about what he saw happening in God’s temple, he took time to let his anger guide him. He took time to fashion a whip out of cords.  Jesus was resourceful. He was coming up with a plan. This was a well thought out demonstration. He knew what he was doing.

And we are so focused on his behavior, that we forget to look at the system he is criticizing.  Where is Jesus’ anger taking us? Where is this outrageous display taking us? Some would argue that our anger and outrage makes us look foolish.  How can we work towards the reign of God? It’s wishful thinking. It’s impossible. But I think our anger and outrage at injustice takes us to the cross.  The cross is foolishness to those who don’t understand, but to those who have a better sense of what God is up to, this cross–this perceived foolishness–is saving our lives.  This outrageous expose’ of injustice and unfair treatment of poor people would send Jesus to the cross, and it would save him and us in resurrection.

Don’t let your anger scare you.  This anger could be the Holy Spirit at work–calling you deeper into discipleship.  Let it take you to the cross. Let it take you to the place where injustice is exposed and all the hidden things are brought into light.  Let your anger guide you to a world as it should be. Let your anger guide you to resurrection. AMEN.