Lent 3B (John 2:13:22)
Today’s gospel lesson can be titled “Angry Jesus.” I must confess that it’s quite cathartic to see Jesus making a whip of cords to drive out all those people at the temple selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money-changers seated at their tables. The best part is his overturning of the money changers’ tables! Deep down in our hearts, we want to see justice prevailing in action. This scandalous act of Jesus is theatrical, dramatic, yet very risky. This is dangerous behavior because he is making more enemies by ruining their money-making business at the temple as if he doesn’t have enough enemies already. Jesus’ cleansing or exorcising of the temple again directly targets the religious authorities and damages their business. They allow the temple to be a marketplace where all these two parties (the religious authorities and money changers/sellers of cattle, sheep, and doves) are financially benefiting themselves. Now, we can deepen our reflection on the church’s role in the world, particularly focusing on whether the church has become a marketplace in the free market. Yet, I would like us to pay more attention to what prompts him to behave or protest in such an unusual manner. What makes him chase away people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and turn over the tables of money changers in the temple? Where does his anger come from? What’s that energy that empowers him to challenge the power that be? “Zeal for your house will consume me.” Jesus’ compassion for the temple is activated as soon as he sees the temple has devolved or desecrated into a marketplace where people are misguided and lied that they need materials to be in union with God. He identifies the temple as his “Father’s house.” In other words, the temple is where God dwells or where people connect with God at least ritualistically. Jesus doesn’t stop there. He identifies himself, his body with the temple. This is where his anger is actually justified. What I mean by “justified” is that his criticism of and protest against the religious authorities and their desecration of the temple is not merely personal that he just doesn’t like what he sees. Jesus is wounded by it. The temple is no longer a building in his eyes, but his body. So he says, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” I imagine while Jesus points to himself, his own body as “this'' temple, people take his words literally and look at the temple of forty-six years old. At this point, what he tries to destroy in the temple is no longer the marketplace but instead takes it upon himself and embodies it. He is directly facing and accepting that what bothers and disturbs him in the temple is also his inner struggle. It’s not just what’s happening outside. He mirrors what’s evil outside in his own heart and destroys it before it becomes the source of hatred. His body, which is the temple of God, is cleansed and purified through deconstruction of the evil seed in his heart, which then leads to the resurrection. This isn’t something only Jesus can do. We recognize things, especially unjust matters that infuriates us because what’s outside also exists in us as something so hidden that we want to suppress or push aside or hate it. When unguided desires are tangled up, what’s hidden comes up. When conditions and situations are out of harmony and order, our intentions and actions miss the mark. (The Greek term for sin is hamartia, which literally means “missing the mark.) Rephrasing James Baldwin’s saying somewhat out of context, “Not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced,” everything, especially what can turn into deep hatred and resentment in our hearts, must be faced so that it can be transfigured in Christ. Correct what’s wrong yet without bearing fruit of hatred in us. One of our biggest fears would be that we end up being enslaved by wrongdoers as our anger (though justifiable) changes to rage, resentment, and hatred towards them which becomes a part of who we are. We don’t let them define who we become but only God’s justice and mercy. What’s spiritually clogged in us that we want to face and cleanse? Jesus embodies not just what’s gloriously divine but also what’s miserably human, both heavenly and earthly. The destruction of the temple is the death of our ego in order to be rebuilt anew, to be resurrected as a new creation, not a continuation of our old self. There is no better me but a new being. This is not a wide gate but a narrow one to go through. Like the locals in the lesson, we might say, “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years (or even longer!), and will you raise it up in three days?” How would we as followers of Jesus respond to this? “Yes, God will raise it up in three days only if it is faced and destroyed.” As we become more aware of and attentive to the presence of God in ourselves during contemplation, we experience what it’s like to “be” and “loved.” The voice from heaven at the baptism of Jesus still and always echoes in our hearts. Yet, that peace we experience in our meditation (or whichever activity we find a sense of quietude) does not last forever once we open our eyes and engage with others and things around us. The reality unsettles our minds as if peace never existed in us! For example, whatever peace and serenity we’ve gained from meditation would disappear once we’re stuck in heavy traffic.
Jesus in the gospel story this morning seems to experience the same cycle of peace and chaos that we encounter. The Spirit does not let the voice of love from heaven linger in Jesus a bit but immediately drives him out into the wilderness. It’s the wilderness of temptation or spiritual challenges. Mark doesn’t illustrate in detail what kind of temptations Jesus faced but Luke and Matthew provide: 1) turning stones into bread, 2) having angels protect him from injuries after he jumps from the top of the temple, and 3) worshipping Satan in return for being in control of all the kingdoms of the world. The temptation happens to every human being when something crucial is deprived. We don’t need Satan to tempt us. We become our own tempters. The issue is more about how we manage temptations or challenges that unsettle or irrationalize our emotions and thoughts rather than how to protect our sense of peace or how not to be disrupted. We cannot always stop feeling and thinking to be at peace, which will disable us from any social interactions. However, we can watch how we’re feeling and thinking, how feelings and thoughts come and go. This ability to watch or be attentive to our feelings and thoughts takes practice because we too often become dominated by them. We are that feeling or that thought or both! But we are not. The first step to being watchful or mindful of our own thoughts and feelings would be to recognize them by saying to ourselves. If we’re hungry like Jesus, we must recognize that deep starvation and say, “I am hungry.” And add, “I can neither eat stones as if they’re freshly baked loaves of bread nor turn them into something edible.” Being quite rational, we can have fantasies unenchanted and see clearly what matters just as Jesus sees what matters to his life is not only food but also the rule of life rooted in the way of God’s love. Jesus is not against food but knows who to prioritize in his first temptation to the point that he becomes the bread for all. We can learn two different ways of contemplative practice in the gospel story. One is to consistently remain in silence to listen to the voice of the Holy Spirit that lovingly speaks to the very depth of our being, “My beloved, be loved.” The other is to be mindful of our thoughts and feelings when faced with temptations, challenges, and crises in life. Step back from being consumed by thoughts and feelings and be clear-minded to see what and who to prioritize. If the former contemplative practice helps us to rest, restore, and rejuvenate ourselves, the latter one helps us to expand our spiritual capacity to manage difficult situations. We show love, grace, mercy, and compassion when they lack. The latter contemplative practice is reminiscent of St. Francis’ prayer that we’re all familiar with: “Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.” To be God’s instruments of peace, we first need to be able to see hatred, injury, discord, doubt, despair, darkness, and sadness rather than becoming it. I can imagine Jesus faithfully practicing the first and second contemplative practices as he proclaims God’s coming in each person. What are we thinking now? Are we up for it? St. Mark may have kept in his mind that who you hang out with defines who you are or at least tells about what kind of person you are. While Jesus has a reputation as a glutton, a drunkard, or a friend of tax collectors and sinners, he encounters the two most important figures in the Jewish tradition: Moses and Elijah. They represent the Law and the Prophets in the Jewish tradition respectively. Jesus in today’s gospel account is then described as the one who embodies the essential teaching of the law and fulfills what the prophets sought.
The law is not a set of Jewish rules and restrictions but the rule of life that is governed by love and compassion. The vision of the prophets, on the other hand, is the world that is driven by the culture of grace and love. In a way, the Law and the Prophets are not two unrelated things but interdependent of each other. Think of its relationship as justice and mercy taught (law) and lived out (prophets). Both Moses and Elijah are in the same boat of desiring the kingdom of God on earth, “thy will be done on earth as in heaven.” Reflecting on the life and person of Jesus, we see the law of God fulfilled in action gloriously revealed to Peter, James, and John that “...he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them.” Traditionally we call this the transfiguration of Jesus. Then again, this transfiguration is not just about Jesus but also about us. Every gospel lesson we hear is to be applied to our lives. If Jesus is transfigured, we are to be transfigured, which is to say that Moses and Elijah must be met in ourselves as they are met in Jesus himself. We are to embody the law of love and the prophetic vision of God’s kingdom in our lives. Peter in the gospel story is simply terrified that he does not know what he’s supposed to do. Rather than trying to engage with Moses and Elijah, he takes the role of a bystander and says, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Peter cannot think of building his own dwelling place but only the ones for Moses, Elijah, and Jesus. The only dwelling place he needs to build is his own in which he invites Moses, Elijah, and Jesus altogether. (Avoidance is not to be confused with humility.) How then can we be transfigured? How can our clothes, our faces, our whole selves become dazzling white? How can we build our inner dwelling place where we invite Moses, Elijah, and Jesus rather than becoming a bystander who never participates in the kingdom of God? The simplest way is through our union with God. When we’re united with God, we don’t have to try to make ourselves dazzling white. When we’re embraced in God, we’re transfigured, not by our own but by God’s unconditional love. To awaken or increase our sense of being in union with God would be the first step to our own transfiguration in Christ. We sit alone in silence, meditating on the words of the voice from the cloud of unknowing to us, “...the Beloved; listen!” Then we sit together in silence, lovingly looking at the person next to us and listening to the words of voice from the cloud that is introducing that person to us, “This is my daughter; the Beloved; listen to her!” or “This is my son; the Beloved; listen to him!” As we listen to the voice from the cloud of unknowing that we’re the beloved, we listen to the same voice from the cloud that says others are also the beloved. In Christ, we are transfigured and are transfiguring our neighbors and our world. "The sun shines not on us, but in us. The rivers flow not past, but through us. Thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. The trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of the mountains is our song, our very own, and sings our love." ― John Muir The movement of the incarnation, God becoming flesh, seems to flow from the divine to the human, from heaven to earth, from top to bottom. It’s like gravitational attraction that pulls towards the earth. Jesus embodies this incarnational flow that always seeks for the most vulnerable. He refuses to remain in the place of praise and respect but continues to move to regions where his gospel of God’s reign, God’s coming in everyone’s heart ought to be proclaimed.
The gospel lesson that we hear for this Sunday illustrates why Jesus’ fame starts spreading throughout the surrounding region of Galilee. He liberates the possessed and heals the sick. His work of exorcism (which I think has a lot to do with post-traumatic stress disorder from colonization as some scholars see him as a “village psychiatrist”) and healing (which may actually be curing of physical illnesses) is known to people already. Jesus’ disciples appear to be more interested in marketing than learning from him. They bring the sick and the possessed to him. Not only do they volunteer to handle all the appointments (image all the appointments that we would like to make to get vaccinated during this time!) but also are ready to “hunt” down Jesus whenever he is out of their sight. Jesus suddenly becomes the most wanted person in Galilee. There’s no doubt that his mysterious and miraculous ability to heal and exorcise is the spiritual gift of which he takes advantage in his ministry. Whether we who are scientifically minded believe it to be true or not, we can at least accept the fact that his healing ministry is what draws people to him. Jesus’ friends might have thought this miracle business can help them collect money that can be used for religious and political reform. Perhaps they’re right about it. But Jesus who embodies the incarnational movement has no interest in it at all. While his friends want to have him enjoy his fame and popularity (therefore benefitting from him as his close associates), Jesus moves on. He doesn’t want to remain in the same place. Jesus is quite clear on what really matters. So he says to his friends who are asking him to get back to work, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” Obviously, the message that he is called to proclaim is the kingdom of God, the reign of God, the coming of God within everyone’s heart that God is so intimately present right in their hearts. To do so, he sometimes has to invoke something in each different person by each different means. Curing one’s illness can kindle the divine fire in them that God really is present, loving them unconditionally. Casting out the demons can plant the seed of peace which comes from God who is deeply caring for them. His work of healing and exorcising is a means to show them God’s nearness, God’s unconditional love and mercy. So Jesus moves. He’s in a hurry to proclaim this message. He cannot stay in one place to enjoy people’s praise about how great he is and how he can be their king and savior. He’s got to move to those who haven’t heard the message. At this point, we may want to ask how he’s able to discern his initial calling and act upon it without getting distracted or tempted by fame and honor. It is unfair to him if we think that he just knows how to do the right thing. Jesus, just like all of us, is as human as we are. He can make mistakes as we can. In the gospel lesson, there’s one moment when he is neither healing nor exorcising nor teaching. Early in the morning when it is still dark, he gets up and goes to a deserted place. He seeks to be alone. He seeks to be together with and in God. He rests in God’s presence, probably reminding himself why he does what he does, discerning God’s call. It wouldn’t be too much for us to consider Jesus as a contemplative who is not just so heavenly but also earthly. In our moment of contemplation, we join Jesus. This, in other words, is to revisit our baptismal reality in which we join Jesus, his death and resurrection where our own egocentric desires cease and unselfish (or selfless) wills arise. During this pandemic crisis, we’re called to this state of contemplation more so than ever, first to be alone with God and then to hear the message to proclaim. What is the message you hear in your contemplation and want to share with others that they may be rejuvenated, that their day can be a bit more manageable and bearable rather than feeling so isolated? Today’s gospel story, I think, should be perceived a bit differently. What I mean by “perceived a bit differently” is that it’s not just about Jesus exorcising the legion of unclean spirits. This phenomenon is rarely seen in our time. What we see much more often or perhaps too often is ourselves suffering from the legion of thoughts and feelings generated by those thoughts (thus feelings we obtain from the unreality, the imagined and nonexistent what-ifs). This legion’s presence is much more visible during this ongoing pandemic crisis. It’s not coincident that there’s even a TV show titled, “The United States of Anxiety.”
The man with an unclean spirit in the lesson is situated in a strange setting where he doesn’t quite fit in. He’s in a synagogue on the sabbath day. He’s in the place where God’s laws are taught on the day set apart for worship. His presence of unrest, disturbance, and disharmony in the midst of what people consider holy and sacred is either awkwardly hidden or intentionally ignored until Jesus shows up. He has probably been the elephant in the room, yet no one would say anything about him. The unclean spirits in this man react and recognize Jesus immediately, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” Unspoken anxiety in the synagogue finally manifests itself and becomes public. While we can see in this story how Jesus reveals what’s hidden and thus unhealthy in a seemingly fine and even sacred time and place and how we as the body of Christ should do likewise in our communities and nation. Yet this is easier said than done unless we first look right into what’s hidden and what can become toxic in ourselves. This opening ourselves up happens when we invite Jesus into our hearts. Who he is and how he lives out his own teaching of love and compassion brighten our fear and anxiety. We don’t just face them on our own but with God who leads Jesus to the cross and to the resurrection. Our personified fear and anxiety might react and say, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” “Be silent,” says Jesus to the shout. Silence is Jesus’ spiritual prescription for us to destroy the unreality where God isn’t and lead us back to the reality where God is. This silence, in other words, is Jesus’ call to “go into your inner room, close your door, and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you.” (Matthew 6:6) The rewards are the freedom from the legion of negative thoughts and feelings (or many selves in us), the peace that follows after, and the wisdom to see God’s presence within ourselves, among us, and in the world. Silence lets the devil come out. This contemplative silence takes practice. We learn to be silent by doing it. We shouldn’t be disappointed too quickly if a sense of calmness or peace is not experienced immediately. As soon as we desire to be in silence so we sit down quietly, courageously longing to face our fear and anxiety and to be in the presence of God, we’re no longer preoccupied with thoughts that make us anxious and afraid. I believe this spiritual practice of silence in particular can help us better deal with the pandemic crisis and political uncertainty we face. We start from the place of survival and move to the place of thrival as our profound silence in God deepens and connects us with the here-and-now where God is. Silence is the key to disconnect from the legion of negative thoughts and feelings and to connect with God. We also learn how to connect with one another, not just in person but in spirit. Through the breath we breathe in and out and the breath of God the Holy Spirit as we silently contemplate, we are in communion with one another. As we enter in the silence of God, let’s quietly ponder: Be still and know that I am God. (Psalm 46:10) For God alone my soul in silence waits. (Psalm 62:6) Be silent and come out of him (or ourselves). (Mark 1:25) |
Paul"...life up your love to that cloud [of unknowing]...let God draw your love up to that cloud...through the help of his grace, to forget every other thing." Archives
January 2025
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