The Disrupting Sacrifice

Text: John 2:13-25

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

            They knew that the Messiah was coming. They also knew what had been commanded of them in God’s Law from Mount Sinai concerning sacrifices until the time the Messiah came to lead them into all truth. So the descendants of Abraham continued as they had for 2000 years, offering sacrifices continually at the temple in Jerusalem, the place where the Lord had made His name to dwell. They especially made sure to honor the holy feasts, the days of the year when sacrifice was mandatory for every household; when every man, woman, and child would be represented by some kinsman bringing sacrifices of oxen and lambs, goats and doves to the altar of the Lord in the temple. But as they filled the land they had been promised and given by the Lord, they soon discovered that sometimes sacrifice was difficult. Yes, it was costly of course, as all sacrifice is meant to be—otherwise it wouldn’t be a sacrifice. But they also discovered it was practically challenging. For those coming in from long distances to the temple for the required times of sacrifice, like Passover, it was very difficult to bring oxen and sheep from their faraway homes to the city precincts of Jerusalem. This is where the moneychangers and livestock salesmen in our Gospel reading came into the picture.

            In the temple of Jerusalem, there was a constant stream of sacrifice. For those coming from far away, it was much more practical to simply buy the beasts to be sacrificed right there in the temple than to lead them from the homestead to the mountain heights of Zion. It was a pragmatic solution to a logistical problem. And for those paying the temple tax, required of all Israelites, a special coin was needed. The moneychangers would exchange whatever currency the temple supplicants had for the necessary coin. All parties were still sacrificing—cash instead of a sacrificial animal. But it did create some bit of distance between the one sacrificing and the sacrifice itself. It was much easier to fall into the rote pattern of it, going through the motions. So while it wasn’t the best practice, it was something that helped them at least fulfill the requirements of the Law on some level.

            So when Jesus arrived one Passover and made a whip to drive out the sacrificial animals for sale and flipped over the tables of the moneychangers, notice that those in the temple don’t ask Him what He’s doing. They know that while they are technically fulfilling their duties, it’s not the best way. They also know that the Messiah is coming and their expectation is that He will lead them to a better and more perfect way to do things—that He’ll keep them on the path they’ve been going, He’ll just show them how to do it better. So they don’t ask Him what He thinks He’s doing when He pours out the glittering coins and drives out the beasts of convenience. They ask Him instead who He thinks He is. “What sign do you show us for doing these things?” they demand. “Prove that you actually have the authority to do this. Prove that you’re the One we’ve been waiting for to lead us into a better way of doing what we’ve been doing.” They were expecting the Messiah to help them to do things better, or purer, or more. They certainly weren’t expecting a Messiah to overturn and disrupt everything.

            For that is way of fallen humanity. We like God, sometimes we even love Him, but we expect Him to not interfere or disrupt our lives too much. We don’t expect—nor do we even want—Him to tell us that we’re wrong about something, or that we need to turn from some deed or way of thinking that we’ve decided is OK. We don’t expect Him to ask a lot of us, to make too costly a request, whether it’s money, time, or energy that’s being sacrificed. And if we don’t expect Him to tell us that we’re wrong about those things that the Commandments forbid or demand, then we certainly don’t expect Him to tell us that our attempts at doing those things are futile and failing as well. We don’t expect Him to disrupt everything, to bring it to a halt and tell us that we need something more than our efforts and sacrifices. We don’t expect Him to tell us that we’ve been treating our God as if we’re in a house of trade, exchanging this good deed for His help or favor, doing that work for His approval. We don’t expect Him to tell us that we need more than our attempts at fulfilling the Law.

            Yet Jesus still arrives, driving out the moneychangers and sacred cows from temples and hearts. With this account of Jesus cleansing the temple, and what it means for us, He’s doing two things. First, He’s driving us to repentance, not only just for our outward deeds, but also deep in our hearts. He’s calling us to recognize that those acts of sacrifice that we do are not just mere checks in a box of requirements, nor are they simply things that we do out of rote habit. Rather, we sacrifice treasure, talent, and time out of love—love for God and love for the neighbor, recognizing that this is simply what we are called to do, even if it costs us, even if we’re not repaid. For if our good deeds are always equally repaid, how is that different than any other transaction in a house of trade?

            The second thing that Jesus is doing in this cleansing of the temple is He is interrupting the endless flow of sacrifice, disrupting the river of blood from goats and bulls being poured out in the temple. Without those creatures there, you can be sure that the rhythm and constant stream of sacrifice was halted, at least for the day. Why? To show that the Sacrifice had arrived. Jesus would be the Lamb of God, sacrificed for the sins of His people—all people: Jew, Gentile, corrupt, upright, obviously shameful, and outwardly righteous. Jesus was tearing down the entire system of self-justification, thinking that God’s favor could be won by merits and deeds of fallen mortals, no matter how good they seem or how pragmatic they are. He was overturning the ways of going through the motions, of making excuses for sin rather than repenting, and of earnestly thinking that you’re doing good enough on your own. So He says, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” It baffled the hearers then—“It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and you will raise it up in three days?”—just as we might be baffled now, when Jesus insists that we stop trying to make ourselves holy before God. So St. John explains, “But [Jesus] was talking about the temple of His body. When therefore he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this and they believed the Scripture and the word Jesus had spoken.”

            The point is this: In Jesus we do not have a religion of “Do more” or “Try harder.” Jesus will not have you keep doing things you always have been. He’s arrived to disrupt that old way. He’s come to overhaul it. He’s come to do it in your place, with His perfect life, with His sacrificial death, and with His glorious resurrection. He’s come to bring you something new, something wonderful, something life-giving and cosmos-changing. He’s come to bring you eternity.

            Jesus is cleansing you. Be purified. Don’t ask Him what He thinks He’s doing, getting involved in your life. Don’t ask Him who He thinks He is, doing these things. He’s the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. He’s the Sacrifice to end all sacrifice. He’s the temple of God in human flesh, come to live among you and make you a temple of the Holy Spirit, where He lives and renews. See your temple coming to you now in the body and blood of Jesus. Seek His blessing in this house of prayer. Remember all He has spoken, all He promised, and believe. In the name of Jesus, our Sacrifice, Amen.