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The
Cleansing of the Temple,
An exhortation on the events of Mark 11. |
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| Evangelion |
| Posted:
Jan 1 2003, 04:22 PM |
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It
is some time in the early afternoon, and Akiva the
Jew is approaching the great temple of Herod. He
wishes to make a sacrifice.
Akiva lives just outside the city of Jerusalem,
but his property is too small to support livestock,
which means that every time a sacrifice is required,
he must bring money from home, and purchase the
necessary animal when he arrives. The Law of Moses
had specified that the purchase of an offering was
permissible in the case of the annual tithe; it
was intended to accommodate those who had to make
a long journey to the place of worship. Akiva (who
has an Aramaic copy of the Scriptures at home) isn’t
sure if this provision also extends to the regular
offerings, let alone the offerings of the Passover
Week – but he had heard that the great students
of the Law (the Pharisees, Sadducees and scribes)
had examined the relevant passages of Scripture
in painstaking detail, and declared (after considerable
debate) that, it was indeed permissible.
Since experience had taught them that the likelihood
of the Pharisees, Sadducees and scribes actually
agreeing on anything was extraordinarily low, many
of the common people agreed that this remarkable
consensus was a clear sign that the interpretation
was personally endorsed by God Himself. Over the
years, they accepted far too many decisions of this
nature, and as each new rule was added, the regular
observance of the Law became increasingly difficult.
It would not be long before every facet of Jewish
life was crowded with Pharisaical jots and tittles.
Picking his way through the crowded streets, Akiva
suddenly catches sight of the temple, and stops
for a moment to admire it. He has seen this great
building on countless occasions, but it never ceases
to inspire him with a sense of awe. Forty-six years
in the making, it towers over this part of the city,
utterly dominating the landscape. Akiva sighs, and
reflects...
This is one part of Jewish culture that the Romans
have never succeeded in eliminating. Herod’s temple
stands as a monument to the Only True God, and the
indomitable spirit of the Jewish people. It represents
the generosity of the Tetrarch, who paid homage
to his noble ancestors by the donation of this beautiful
gift to the entire nation.
At least, that is the popular view. Akiva
– who is something of a cynic at heart – personally
believes that it was squeezed out of a reluctant
Herod by the wily Sanhedrin, as a payment for their
co-operation in certain dubious affairs of state.
Even the conservative Jews were forced to admit
that the political situation had calmed considerably
– and inexplicably – once the temple was completed.
Roman interference was at an all-time low, and Herod’s
relationship with the governor – Pontius Pilate
– was remarkably stable, despite their mutual dislike
for each other. Of course, there was no direct proof
either way, but it did make you wonder…
Stirring from his meditation, Akiva jingles the
money in his purse, and begins the long walk down
the marble flagstones of the Gentile’s Court. Looking
up, he runs his eyes down the full length of the
porch, which surrounds it on all four sides, and
with his keen eye for detail, begins to calculate
its incredible dimensions. Eight hundred feet long,
and a hundred feet high at the roof, this majestic
construction had always left him feeling uneasy,
for some strange reason. Today, for the first time
– he realises why. It’s the Corinthian columns –
all one hundred and sixty-two of them.
“That’s a Greek idea”, he tells himself. “We’re
not Greeks. We’re Jews. Looks great, of course,
you can’t deny that – but…”
Well. Now it suddenly strikes him as outrageously
inappropriate. There’s a curious tension here, and
Akiva struggles to identify it. Is it merely the
presence of the Gentile architecture? Or is there
something more valuable at stake? He’s not quite
sure.
By the end of the day, he will be...
Akiva’s passage through the Outer Court takes him
past the fifteen steps which lead to the Nicanor
Gate, through which he would eventually enter the
Inner Court. Here he pauses, for he cannot help
admiring the radiant Corinthian brass with which
it is plated. Then he remembers the Corinthian columns,
and frowns. Once again, he grapples with a peculiar
sensation of inner doubt. He looks around for reassurance.
No, nothing is different; everything looks exactly
as it did when he first began to visit the temple
at the age of twelve. And yet… there is a difference.
Somehow – in a way that he can’t quite pin down
– this building is not what he has always believed
it to be.
But there is no time for reflection – he has come
here to offer a sacrifice.
“This time belongs to God”, he tells himself. “My
time is just as much a sacrifice as the literal
offering itself. I must give it willingly, as the
people gave to Moses for the tabernacle in the wilderness.”
As he crosses the Outer Court, the wind changes,
and Akiva’s nostrils are assailed by the powerful
scent of oily wool. He winces at the sound of bleating
lambs, frustrated goats, and caged pigeons. Theoretically,
the Outer Court was a general meeting area, while
the inner court was divided into separate areas
– the Court of the Men, the Court of the Levites,
and the Court of the Priests. The Court of the Women
lay outside, back through the Nicanor Gate. But
Akiva knows that the sounds and smells of the Outer
Court will be with him long after he has entered
the Inner Court.
There is simply no way to keep them out.
“In any case,” he tells himself, “this whole idea
of 'different courts' is a complete farce!”
It is true. The Outer Court, where the animals were
bought and sold, and money changed, was not considered
a part of the sacred temple space. But the sheer
volume of animals, the tremendous numbers of people
during Passover Week, the noise of the trading,
the avarice of those who traded, and the corruption
of the High Priest Annas (who was said to derive
a percentage of the profits) made a complete mockery
of any such distinction. Regardless of the physical
barriers which separated them, there could be no
doubt that the spirit of the Outer Court had infiltrated
the Inner Court.
The only real difference lay between the Priest’s
Court and the Levite’s Court – for the Priest’s
Court contained the Laver and Altar, while the Levite’s
Court contained a slightly larger proportion of
hypocrites...
Akiva feels a sharp pang of conscience. That was
an unworthy thought.
“But how can I be reasonably expected to concentrate
in such a place?”, he asks himself defensively.
It is inevitable that sin will intrude – even here.
“And yet”, Akiva’s conscience points out, “the prophet
Daniel managed to pray all night in a lion’s den.
Do you see lions here, Akiva?”
Akiva has no answer for his conscience, so he moves
quickly to the moneychanger’s table. This is necessary
– even for Akiva, who brings local currency – because
some of the Pharisees have become so legalistic
that they will not permit the use of stamped coins
within the temple court.
In defence of this prohibition, they refer to the
Second Commandment –
Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image,
or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven
above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that
is in the water under the earth:
Akiva knows that the point is far from settled,
because he has heard it debated in the streets –
not just between the Pharisees and Sadducees, but
also amongst the scribes and lawyers. But it is
better to be safe than sorry, and Akiva prefers
to err on the side of caution. So it is that he
finds himself at the moneychanger’s table. Here,
a greasy, long-fingered man performs a brilliant
conjuring trick, involving the miraculous disappearance
of Akiva’s large pile of money, and the somewhat
less miraculous appearance of three tiny silver
coins.
The exchange rate is exorbitant – even worse than
last year – and Akiva’s disappointment shows on
his face. The moneychanger gives an apologetic shrug,
and Akiva – struggling with the fist that is now
clenched discreetly behind his back – turns away.
(In his mind, he is shaking it vigorously at the
moneychanger.)
“This man is a sinner, who requires firm correction”,
he says to himself.
But the words ring hollow, for Akiva now stands
in the animal-trader’s queue, waiting to purchase
a relatively unblemished sacrifice, as atonement
for his own sins.
And “relatively unblemished” they certainly are,
for the trader’s boast is that his animals cannot
be faulted by any exterior examination known to
man!
“Of course, this does not account for the interior
examination”, Akiva reminds the trader when his
turn comes to buy.
”If you’re so pious,” the man sneers, “then why
don’t I see you over there, at ‘Havel’s Immaculate
Animal Supply’?”
The answer, of course, is very simple.
Akiva cannot afford the ruinous prices of Havel’s
Immaculate Animal Supply. He must take whatever
he can get. After all the entire system is largely
a matter of good luck, rather than good management.
Sometimes you are met at the altar by a casual priest
in hastily-prepared robes, whose cursory glance
at your offering could not even be called a “long
stare”, let alone an “examination.”
At other times, the priest in charge of the sacrifice
is meticulous in his examination, refusing even
the finest-looking beast. He will send you back
again and again, until at last, (after you have
given half your money to the trader with whom he
had a special “arrangement”) he will graciously
accept your offering.
Generally speaking, however, most of the priests
don’t really seem to care very much these days,
and it is common knowledge that the purchase of
a genuinely spotless animal is only done for the
sake of the outward show. That is a privilege reserved
for the Pharisees and Sadducees – and very few others...
Akiva grits his teeth, and pays a ridiculous price
for a small, grubby goat of dubious parentage. He
mops his brow with his sleeve – the Outer Court
is hot, and he has already been here for more than
an hour.
Thankfully, the altar queue is short, and he will
not have much longer to wait. In the meantime, he
tries to collect his thoughts, guilty in the knowledge
that his yearly sacrifice – which he used to offer
with a quiet sense of joy and inner peace – has
slowly evolved into another fatiguing chore, which
he observes – somewhat mechanically – during Passover
Week.
But for all his faults, Akiva is a genuinely religious
man, who applies himself to the Scriptures on a
daily basis. Now, blocking out the distractions
of the carnival atmosphere, he recalls his favourite
set of verses, and begins to recite them under his
breath. The passage in question is Malachi 3,
verses one to four.
Let’s read it now:
Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall
prepare the way before me: and the Lord, whom
ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple, even
the messenger of the covenant, whom ye delight
in: behold, he shall come, saith Yahweh of Armies.
But who may abide the day of his coming? and who
shall stand when he appeareth? for he is like
a refiner's fire, and like fullers' soap:
And he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of
silver: and he shall purify the sons of Levi,
and purge them as gold and silver, that they may
offer unto the Yahweh an offering in righteousness.
Then shall the offering of Judah and Jerusalem
be pleasant unto the Yahweh, as in the days of
old, and as in former years.
Akiva rocks back and forth as he repeats these words
again and again. He is soothed by the gentle motion,
and with his eyes closed, he finds it easier to
rid his mind of unwelcome thoughts. Finally at peace,
he opens his eyes after five or six minutes, and
looks around. His gaze is arrested by the passage
of thirteen men across the Outer Court. Akiva can
see them quite clearly, for he now stands at the
steps of the Nicanor Gate, from which he commands
a panoramic view of the temple bazaar...
The noise of the trading tables has abated, for
many of the pilgrims have made their sacrifices
and gone home. As they cross the Outer Court, the
men find themselves under scrutiny. They are not
wealthy – this is obvious from their plain clothes.
They are not locals – this is obvious from their
speech. Akiva, straining to catch their conversation,
is close enough to pick up the unmistakable traces
of a Galilean accent.
The men begin to disperse, pairing off as they move
towards the various trading tables. Only one man
stands alone. He is somehow different to the others;
he moves easily, with confidence and poise. Akiva
is fascinated.
He watches as the man slowly makes his way through
the Outer Court, until finally he stands by a small,
dingy pen, in which three feisty lambs jostle for
position. His hand reaches down to stroke each of
their heads in turn, and as he withdraws, his fingers
drop lightly across with a bunch of strong cords.
Here he stops. As Akiva continues to watch, the
man gently draws out half a dozen of these cords
and transfers them to his other hand.
Then he stands – but his fingers are still busy.
They move quickly, passing back and forth across
each other. Both hands are now working together,
teasing out the cords, wrapping them up, and letting
them fall slack once again. It seems a natural action;
the habit of a man who works with his hands, and
cannot feel at ease unless they are busy. Akiva
blinks – and suddenly, the man has vanished.
Turning his head sharply, Akiva realises that the
stranger has moved beyond his field of vision. But
how? There was only a split second in which he might
have done it. Surely that is impossible. Akiva rubs
his eyes – and by the time he has managed to refocus,
an incredible scene is taking place.
The stranger moves rapidly across the Outer Court.
Now he is at the cattle pen, throwing open the gate;
now he is at the goat pen, tearing off the wooden
lock which keeps them secure. Another moment, and
he is upon the traders themselves, lashing at them
with a knotted scourge – the cords which Akiva had
seen earlier. The traders flee from him in hopeless
disarray, stampeding for the exit, alongside their
animals. The stranger pursues them to Solomon’s
Porch, but no further.
Suddenly – miraculously, it seems to Akiva – he
appears before the moneychanger’s tables. There
is a desperate scramble for cover as the lash comes
down, while the stranger’s free hand grips the edge
of a table and overturns it with a single flick
of his wrist. A thousand coins spill onto the floor,
in brilliant streams of silver and gold. Greedy
finger reach for them instinctively – only to be
crushed by the edge of the table, as it lands heavily
on its side.
With a phenomenal display of strength, the stranger
snatches up a second table and hurls it across the
Court, mindless of its precious contents.
By this stage, the marble floor is covered with
debris; coins, broken furniture, feathers, boxes
– even clothes. The moneychangers – half running,
half crawling – fall over themselves to escape the
Outer Court, almost colliding with the temple guards,
who are running in the opposite direction. There
is utter chaos – complete pandemonium.
People are shouting, crying – even laughing – and
nobody seems to know which way to turn.
But the stranger is not finished yet. His freezes
the dove merchants with a penetrating gaze, as if
they are now being examined for blemishes.
Several of them have been quickly piling up their
cages, in a vain attempt to flee without loss; others
are simply retreating; falling back under the watchful
eye of this terrifying man. As he advances, he stoops
down to a fallen cage, and with gentle strokes from
the tips of his fingers, calms the frightened dove
inside. Then he opens the cage, and releases it.
The dove takes flight, and for just a moment, it
appears to hang in the air, hovering high above
the man’s head. Then it is gone.
In the voice of one who is used to giving commands,
the man stabs his finger at the cages which remain.
“You will not carry these
across the Court,”
he orders. “You will
open them, and go your way.”
While the traders busy themselves with this task,
he turns to the wondering crowd of temple visitors
which has slowly gathered behind him.
“Is it not written, My
house shall be called of all nations the house of
prayer?”, he
asks.
The question is clearly rhetorical, for the man
continues.
“But you have made it
a den of thieves.”
There is anger in his voice – but Akiva detects
great sorrow as well...
Akiva looks down at his goat. His goat looks up
at him.
And Akiva spontaneously recalls the words of Malachi
1, verses eleven to fourteen.
Let’s read them now:
For from the rising of the sun even unto the
going down of the same my
name shall be great among the Gentiles; and in
every place incense shall
be offered unto my name, and a pure offering:
for my name shall be great
among the heathen, saith Yahweh of Armies.
But ye have profaned it, in that ye say, The table
of Yahweh is polluted;
and the fruit thereof, even his meat, is contemptible.
Ye said also, Behold, what a weariness is it!
and ye have snuffed at it, saith Yahweh of Armies;
and ye brought that which was torn, and the lame,
and the sick; thus ye brought an offering: should
I accept this of your hand? saith Yahweh.
But cursed be the deceiver, which hath in his
flock a male, and voweth, and sacrificeth unto
the Lord a corrupt thing: for I am a great King,
saith Yahweh of Armies, and my name is dreadful
among the heathen.
Akiva walks home with his goat. The events of the
day call for a night of prayerful meditation. He
has decided to offer his sacrifice tomorrow… with
more than his usual care...
If our hypothetical friend Akiva had witnessed the
events described in the opening verses of Mark
11 – which, it appears, he did not – he might
have understood the significance of the temple cleansing.
Turn with me to Mark 11, verse 7-10:
And they brought the colt to Jesus, and cast
their garments on him; and he sat upon him.
And many spread their garments in the way: and
others cut down branches off the trees, and strewed
them in the way.
And they that went before, and they that followed,
cried, saying, Hosanna; Blessed is he that cometh
in the name of the Lord:
Blessed be the kingdom of our father David, that
cometh in the name of the Lord: Hosanna in the
highest.
This remarkable scene involves the open reverence
of Christ as the conquering king – the long-awaited
Messiah. As an open display of his authority, it
is without precedent. Jesus would have known that
this would cause trouble – in fact, we may be assured
that he was ready for it.
But the only objection comes from a group of Pharisees
in the crowd, who demand that Christ should rebuke
his followers. And yet, that will not happen, for
the triumphant entrance of Christ marks the fulfillment
of prophecy. Jesus confirms this in the record of
Luke, where he says that even if the people should
keep silent, the very stones of the earth would
cry out. Regardless of human endeavor, God’s
will shall be done. It simply cannot be resisted...
The Pharisees are deeply disturbed – and understandably
so. They recognize the significance of this event
only too well. If Christ believes himself to be
the Messiah, he can be expected to present himself
in two separate roles – first as a king, and then
as a high priest. Watching enviously from the crowd,
the Pharisees are horrified by the symbolic overtones
of this event. They can see for themselves that
Christ has assumed the first Messianic role – King
of Israel, Son of David. There can be no doubt about
it.
We can only imagine their consternation, therefore,
when Christ immediately turns his face towards the
temple of Herod, in verse eleven:
And Jesus entered into Jerusalem, and into
the temple: and when he had looked round about
upon all things, and now the eventide was come,
he went out unto Bethany with the twelve.
Astonishingly, Christ’s visit to the temple ends
without incident, and the Pharisees breath a sigh
of relief. It seems that their fears were unjustified.
Their spies report that Jesus has gone to Bethany
with his disciples, and it is unlikely that he will
cause any trouble there.
But the next day, Christ returns – and his return
is dramatic.
We pick up the record in verse fifteen.
And they come to Jerusalem: and Jesus went
into the temple, and began to cast out them that
sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the
tables of the moneychangers, and the seats of
them that sold doves;
And would not suffer that any man should carry
any vessel through the temple.
And he taught, saying unto them, Is
it not written, My house shall be called of all
nations the house of prayer? but ye have made
it a den of thieves.
And the scribes and chief priests heard it, and
sought how they might destroy him: for they feared
him, because all the people was astonished at
his doctrine.
This is exactly what the Pharisees had dreaded.
Christ assumes the second Messianic role – the high
priest of his people. Again, the significance of
this event is not wasted on his enemies. The Pharisees
would have held yet another of their nervous meetings,
while the chief priests and scribes, we are told,
took council to kill him. What was the charge?
Not blasphemy.
Not violence.
Not civil unrest.
Not anything which we might expect them to
associate with this disturbance.
In fact, there was no legal charge! Astonishing,
but true. And this should tell us something important
– that if any other man but Jesus of Nazareth had
attempted to do the things that he did, the chief
priests and scribes would have eliminated him without
a second thought. Why was Jesus different? Because
his actions were consistent with his words – and
his words could not be refuted because his doctrine
came from God.
That is precisely why the chief priests and scribes
feared him, while the people were astonished at
his doctrine.
If this had been a simple matter of popularity,
Christ’s ministry would not have prevailed. The
essential difference between this man and the Messianic
pretenders who had come before him, was that Jesus
could prove his claims in a way that no other man
could. And this is verified by the action –
or rather, the inaction of the chief priests and
scribes. They had heard of his entrance into Jerusalem.
They had understood its prophetic significance...
Unlike the Pharisees, who attempted to engage Christ
directly, the chief priests and scribes were more
subtle. They waited for Christ’s next move – in
fact, they might even have predicted it. If that
is the case, then Jesus certainly lived up to their
expectations, for the next piece of news which came
to their ears, was his purging of the temple.
First the king, and now the priest. Are we surprised
that the chief priests and scribes were afraid?
We should not be. Are we surprised that they did
not attempt to prosecute him for this disturbance?
We should not be...
The minds of these men are laid open to us by their
choice of action. When Christ returns to Jerusalem
for the second time, they are ready for him. Let’s
resume the narrative in Mark 11, from verse
twenty-seven.
And they come again to Jerusalem: and as he
was walking in the temple, there come to him the
chief priests, and the scribes, and the elders,
And say unto him, By what authority doest thou
these things? and who gave thee this authority
to do these things?
And Jesus answered and said unto them, I
will also ask of you one question, and answer
me, and I will tell you by what authority I do
these things.
The baptism of John, was it from heaven, or of
men? answer me.
And they reasoned with themselves, saying, If
we shall say, From heaven; he will say, Why then
did ye not believe him?
But if we shall say, Of men; they feared the people:
for all men counted John, that he was a prophet
indeed.
And they answered and said unto Jesus. We cannot
tell. And Jesus answering saith unto them, Neither
do I tell you by what authority I do these things.
Look carefully at their choice of words. Do they
accuse him of wrongdoing? No. Do they threaten him
with violence? No. Do they enquire after his identity?
No.
They know exactly who he is, and they know
exactly who he has claimed to be. This is
a power struggle – Jesus versus the chief priests
and scribes...
If Jesus had been a normal man – a Messianic pretender,
full of political aspiration – he would have observed
that the Sanhedrin had made no attempt to arrest
him after the temple cleansing, and he would have
concluded – erroneously – that this was a sign of
defeat. But Jesus knows better.
Through his actions, he has already declared his
identity and his intentions – through their inaction,
they acknowledge that they understand his message.
So Christ does not waste words with them here, because
an unspoken dialogue has already taken place. He
has already passed the test of diplomacy – a sophisticated
double bluff – and the Sanhedrin now realise that
they are not dealing with an ordinary man.
When the two opposing sides meet, the Sanhedrin
have only one question for Jesus – on what legitimate
basis do you claim to be the Messiah?
Expressed in the form of a typical Hebraic parallelism,
it sounds like two questions in one:
By what authority doest thou these things,
and who gave thee this authority to do these things?
Christ’s response is masterful. He traps them with
one of his famous unanswerable questions. Instantly,
the Sanhedrin are plunged into chaos. They can deny
the authority of John, at the risk of losing the
people’s support. Alternatively, they can accept
the authority of John, at the risk of losing their
credibility.
The only problem here, is that if they lose their
credibility, they will also lose the people.
Ever-ingenious, they attempt a sidestep – “We cannot
tell.” But in doing so, they lose their advantage.
Christ is now under no obligation to answer
their question – in fact, their inability to answer
his question only serves to reinforce his authority
in the eyes of the people!
Now – perhaps for the very first time – they understood
the fearful reaction of those who had bought and
sold in the temple. They had felt the presence
of God, manifested in a man who acted on God’s behalf.
They would have realised that of all the miracles
he had performed elsewhere, the cleansing of the
temple was beyond compare. And we, who find it so
difficult to cleanse our own hearts and minds –
the temple of the living God, whose servants we
are – cannot afford to underestimate the events
of Mark 11. In order that we might see them
in perspective, I would like to read an excerpt
from B. W. Johnson’s Commentary on the Gospel
of John, in which he accurately describes the
sheer enormity of this task:
The traffickers fled before his glance; not
in terror of his scourge, or of one man whom they
might have defied, but there was something about
him that struck consternation; an authority, a
divine majesty, a mysterious power that could
not be resisted. The act was superhuman. If
any one doubts it, let him try to clean a market
of thousands of greedy traffickers with a harmless
scourge, and see how soon he will bite the earth.
When we gather around the table of the Lord, and
look back at a less-than-perfect week, we are well
advised to see it as a vast temple court, which
cannot be cleansed except by the power of a supernatural
act.
Like Akiva, we struggle with the inconsistency of
our service; our doubts; our fears; our personal
cynicism. Like Akiva, we struggle with the subtle
influence of Gentile practices which have slowly
encroached upon our personal lives, and continue
to distract us from our service to God. Like Akiva,
we would love to return to the days when our sacrifices
were always pure, and our response to God was spontaneous,
not ritualistic.
But, like Akiva, we, too, can be inspired by the
selfless example of Christ.
For not only did Jesus perform the physically impossible,
but he also performed the spiritually impossible.
Only he could cleanse the temple of Herod, for only
he possessed a temple which did not require cleansing
of any kind.
Are we humbled? We should be. Because that penetrating
gaze of Christ has fallen upon us this morning.
Need we fear it?
That is for each of us to determine as we take the
symbols of our Lord’s body and blood.
But before we do, let us remember that when he drove
the animal traders from the Outer Court, he was
symbolically removing the requirements of the Law.
He was making it possible for us to enter the Inner
Court without a literal sacrifice.
The true sacrifices of God are a broken spirit.
A broken and a contrite heart, He will not despise...
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