Church of the Incarnation

Growing up, we had a fussy little toy poodle named Bobbin. She was a strange little dog, always prancing around the house busily, her toenails clicking on the wood floors. She was definitely my mother's dog. In fact, the only time she would leave my mother's side was if someone were watching TV in the den. She would click-clack her way over to the corner by the TV and busily sniff and snort against the baseboards. Now, I grew up in an old house - over 200 years old, in fact - so there was always a steady stream of bugs coming and going around the baseboards. It really wasn't surprising that Bobbin might find bugs in the corner. But in Charleston, of course, the most popular bug by far is the roach. And I don't mean a tiny, innocuous little Palmetto Bug. No, we were overrun with inch-and-a-half long, come-flying-at-you-like-vultures, been-known-to-chase-rats-out-of-alleys cockroaches. And it was unheard of for a tiny little poodle to go after these monsters. So we would always go over to see what little Bobbin was hunting in the corner. And there was never anything there. Nothing. Not a roach, not an ant, not a flea. Nothing. No, our genius dog would come running into the den and frantically snuffle in the corner over... nothing.

Sometimes I feel just like Bobbin. I think I spend more time than I'd like to admit snuffling after microscopic bugs. Last weekend my niece and nephew spent Friday night and Saturday with me. But when Thames called to ask if they could come, I worried about the things I wouldn't be able to do if I said yes to her: things like giving the house a super-good cleaning, and getting the laundry out of the way, and cooking several things I could eat throughout the week. I know how absurd it sounds that I would even think of those things as impediments to being with Thames and Miller. Like I said: I snuffle after microscopic bugs.

You may have noticed that since the beginning of Advent, which is the start of a new church year, we've been reading from the Gospel of Mark. And the story we read today occurs in Mark, but we read it from the Gospel of John. In Mark - and in Matthew and Luke, too - Jesus drives the moneychangers out of the Temple right after he rides into Jerusalem on a donkey, right after Palm Sunday, during the last week of his life. But in John, this incident happens at the very beginning of Jesus' public ministry. Jesus calls the disciples, then he turns water into wine during the wedding feast at Cana, performing a miracle that makes it clear he's the Son of God. A few days later, he goes to Jerusalem to worship at the Temple for Passover, and he demonstrates what really matters in a powerful way.

In the outer courtyard of the Temple, the part where even Gentiles are welcome, he finds merchants selling cattle, sheep, and doves and he finds the tables of the moneychangers. The animals were for sale so that pilgrims coming to town to make sacrifice could purchase a suitable animal on site rather than lugging an unblemished lamb on their long journey. And the moneychangers allowed worshippers to exchange their Roman coins - embossed with the image of Caesar - for Temple coins without the image of a supposed god, keeping their Temple tax payments unsullied by idolatry. Notice that Jesus isn't railing against animal sacrifices, and he doesn't take issue with the exchange of coins. But, as you might imagine, both of these practices had become money-making ventures for those inclined to make a buck off others' devotion. So Jesus enters the Temple and, seeing the buying and selling, he chases the animals out of the Temple and pours out the coins of the moneychangers. He tells them, "stop making my Father's house a house of commerce." 1

We're used to hearing a house of worship referred to as "God's house," and we take it metaphorically. But the Jews believed the Jerusalem Temple was the Lord's house in a much more literal way. The buying and selling was in the Court of the Gentiles, sort-of the Parish Hall of the Temple, the area where anyone was welcome. But only Jews could enter the next area, and then only male Jews could pass on to the next area, and only priests could pass to the next, until the Holy of Holies, the part of the Temple where the Lord lived. Only the High Priest could enter the Holy of Holies, and he could only enter once a year. The other priests would deck him in bells and tie a rope to him and send him in to confess to God the sins of all the Jews. They knew that, as long as they could hear the bells tinkling, the High Priest was still alive and moving. But they knew that if the High Priest looked at God he would die, so they were ready. If the bells went silent, they would assume their High Priest was dead, and retrieve his body by pulling on the rope. It may sound a little silly, but that's how literally they believed that their Temple was God's house.

And there they were, these people turning a profit, just a few feet from the Lord himself. How could they? How could they be that close to God and still be chasing after money? How could they see the devotion of all those pilgrims, families who'd walked for weeks to be there, and still think money was the most important thing? How could they snuffle after microscopic bugs?

There's a painting of this scene by El Greco in the National Gallery in London. It's a blur of motion. Jesus is at the center with his hand raised, about to fling his whip across at another merchant. To his right, a man flees with a basket of doves on his shoulder, a woman falls to the ground clutching a basket of feed, and a man dives after his scattered coins. To Jesus' left, the disciples chatter busily among themselves. Some seem shocked by Jesus' behavior, while others wag their fingers at the merchants. Of the seventeen figures on the canvas, only one sits still and looks at Jesus, listening to his words and seeking to learn from him. Only one looks up from the microscopic bugs to see God standing right in front of him.

I want to be that guy. I want to stop snuffling after microscopic bugs like trying to keep my house perfectly and worrying about having enough money to pay all the bills and trying to be the best at my job. I want to look up from all that and see Jesus right there in front of me. I want to remember that being with him is what really matters, recognizing him in those I meet, appreciating him in creation, and responding to him in worship. I want to dedicate myself to him. And I want to be so committed to him that I always know the difference between the microscopic bugs and the really valuable things in life.

In the back of our Prayer Book is a prayer that expresses this far more eloquently than I can. I invite you to turn to page 832 and join me in the Prayer of Self-Dedication at the bottom of the page. Let us pray.

Almighty and eternal God, so draw our hearts to you, so guide our minds, so fill our imaginations, so control our wills, that we may be wholly yours, utterly dedicated to you; and then use us, we pray, as you will and always to your glory and the welfare of your people; through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Amen.2

References:

1. John 2:16.
2. Book of Common Prayer, 832.