A Roman Catholic priest in Dayton, Ohio, recently defied his archbishop by denying communion to worshipers who did not observe a dress code. For several years he had denied the sacraments to anyone who came to church in "shorts, bare midriffs, tank tops, jeans, and sweatshirts." Finally, the archbishop retired the 73-year old priest for defying his authority. The priest said: "I do not hate the archbishop. I have only pity for him, since he will have to face an angry Christ in judgment." (Christian Century, January 24, 1990, page 73) That sentence set my mind to thinking.
Whatever we may think of the good father's sartorial preferences, I was shocked awake by his words: "an angry Christ." They made me stop and think. An angry Christ?
Yes, according to the Gospel record, Christ did get angry. And He got angry over something a whole lot more important than a dress code. In fact, it might be argued that the attitude expressed by the good father in Dayton was precisely the sort of attitude that made Jesus really angry--putting roadblocks in front of people who wish to come to Him. The first place where it says He got angry was when He was forbidden to heal on the Sabbath. (Mark 3:5) The other place anger is not mentioned, but implied, when He came to the Temple on the Monday of Passion Week. There His passion burst forth against the moneychangers in the Temple.
Where this happened was not the Temple proper, but "the precincts of the Temple." The Temple was a comparatively small building, and contained the Holy of Holies into which the high priest alone might enter, and then only on the annual Day of Atonement. But the Temple proper was surrounded by several courtyards. First, there was the Court of the Gentiles, into which anyone might come, and beyond which it was punishable by death for a Gentile to go. Then there came the Court of the Women, entered by the Beautiful Gate of the Temple, into which any Israelite might come. Next, there was the Court of the Israelites, entered by the gate called Nicanor's Gate, a great gate of Corinthian bronze which was reported to have needed twenty men to open and shut. Lastly, there was the Court of the Priests, into which only the priests might enter; in which there stood the great altar of burnt-offering, the altar of incense, and the seven-branched candlestick.
The scene of the incident described in today's Gospel lesson is the outermost "Court of the Gentiles." It was always crowded and busy, but especially at Passover time. One can imagine a scene similar to that of the great cathedrals of Europe, with worshippers and sight-seers mingling together in mass confusion. But not all the Gentiles came to sight-see. Many came with deep longings in their souls to worship and pray. But in all that uproar of buying and selling, braying and bleating of animals, and pigeon-droppings, it was hard for them to do so.
There was even an inscription between the Court of the Gentiles and the inner courts which said: "No stranger is to enter within the balustrade... Whoever is caught will be answerable for his death, which will ensue." That inscription, more than anything else, must have offended Jesus. No person was a "stranger" to Him. Had not His people been called to be a "Light to the Gentiles"?
What had happened to their sense of mission? What were the money-changers doing there, anyway? Every adult male Jew had to pay a Temple tax of one-half shekel, to be paid at or near Passover time. And it had to be paid in a special silver coin made only in Tyre. As the Interpreter's Dictionary of the Bible says: "The assistance of the money-changers was essential if the people were to discharge properly this universally recognized obligation." (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1962, Vol. 3, p. 435) Money-changing was not an evil thing in and of itself. The problem came in the over-charging for the service. Many pilgrims were kept out because they could not afford the price. The thing was not an abuse in and of itself, but it lent itself to abuse. So, to borrow and paraphrase the title of one of Harry Kemelman's famous "Rabbi David Small" mystery stories: "On Monday, the Rabbi Cleaned House."
It would be easy to assume that this is wholesale condemnation of Temple worship, but that is not so. Jesus Himself regularly worshiped at the Temple. Not all the money-changers were evil. Jesus' anger was directed against those who exploited others; and was especially severe against those who did so in the name of religion! Josephus said that chief priests skimmed off the top of the offerings while poorer priests starved. Their kind is not all dead yet! In our day we have seen TV evangelists indicted for bilking poor widows out of millions while they lived in luxury.
A popular song a couple of years back (by Chet Atkins and Margaret Archer) said: "Woke up this morning, turned on my TV set/ There in living color was something I can't forget/ This man was preachin' at me, yeah, layin' on the charm/ Askin' me for 20 with 10,000 on his arm/ He wore designer clothing and a big smile on his face/ Selling me salvation while they sang `Amazing Grace'/ Askin' me for money when he had all the signs of wealth/ I almost wrote a check out, but then I asked myself/ Would Jesus wear a Rolex on his television show?/ Would Jesus be political if he came back to Earth? Have his second home in Palm Springs and try to hide his worth?/ Take money from those poor folks when he comes back again?/ And admit he's talked to all those preachers who say they've been talkin' to him?" (Copyright 1987, Leona Jay Music Inc., BMI)
I don't recall ever hearing a sermon on Jesus' cleansing of the Temple. Perhaps that is because most preachers are somewhat embarrassed by it. Jesus seems to be acting so out of character. The late Dr. J. Wallace Hamilton wrote a book titled RIDE THE WILD HORSES! which is about the "Seven Deadly Sins," one of which is the sin of anger. He asks of this event in the Passion Week of our Lord: "What are we to make of this outburst, this account of an angry Christ? Did Jesus slip out of character here? Did He `lose His temper' as we express it, to become more human than divine? Does it reveal an impetuosity in Him which, had He lived longer, He would have learned to curb?...Was Jesus less divine here, with the whip in His hands, than when He stretched those hands on a cross to take the nails?" (Westwood, NJ: Fleming H. Revell Co., 1952, p. 114-115)
Anger is not a pleasant thing to see. Often it means that the person who is angry is simply out of control.
Winston Churchill once listened to a hot-tempered raving, ranting tirade directed at him by an opponent whose mouth worked faster than his mind. At the end of it, Churchill said, in his own Churchillian way, "Our honorable colleague should, by now, have trained himself not to generate more indignation than he has the capacity to hold." A lot of people are like that.
Most of the time, anger is not a very pleasant thing to behold. In Sinclair Lewis' famous novel BABBITT, which is a study of small-town life, Lewis gave us the description of an angry woman whose "face was wrinkled like the Medusa, her voice was a dagger of corroded brass. She was full of the joy of righteousness and bad temper. She was a crusader, and like all crusaders, she exulted in the opportunity to be vicious in the name of virtue." That pretty well describes many of the self-righteous crusaders about whom one reads in the daily papers, doesn't it?
I am reminded of a statement attributed to violinist Jascha Heifetz: "No matter what side of an argument you're on, you always find some people on your side that you wish were on the other side." How often one is attracted to a cause, only to be repelled by others who are attracted to the same cause. Their belligerence and unloving attitudes are an embarrassment. But Jesus was not this sort. His anger was different. Jesus' anger was not peevishness at not getting His way, as ours so often is. His anger was directed at those who got in the way of the common people's worship of God. Our basic problem is that we so often confuse our anger with God's, our enemies with God's.
No, anger is not necessarily evil. There are situations and circumstances in which NOT to become angry is evil. Anger can be used for constructive as well as destructive purposes. As J. Wallace Hamilton said: "The Son of man with the whip of cords in His hand, and evil cowering before Him--that is a Christian symbol, too, as God-given a symbol and as much a revelation of the divine nature as the cross." (Ibid., p. 119)
Hard words to hear, but true, I think. Jesus' anger should not surprise us. Perhaps we have heard too much about "Gentle Jesus, Meek and Mild." Try that on the money-changers in the Temple! That's the last thing they would have said of Him. Jesus was no jellyfish, and He did not call His disciples to be jellyfish. Some things ought to make us angry.
Dr. Hamilton said, "Anger is not the opposite of love; often it is love's clearest expression. How can we love people and stand by while they are wounded and exploited by selfish (people)...One of the most lamentable weaknesses of our generation lies in the lukewarmness of its love--the feebleness of its protests growing out of its lukewarmness. Monstrous evils thrive right under our noses, become entrenched in politics and custom, grow brazenly insolent to every plea for decency and justice because we who are Christians do not speak." (Ibid., p. 121)
The opposite of love is not hate; it is indifference. The child who is punished for doing something wrong is not the child who is in trouble; the child who is in trouble is the one who has nobody who cares enough to punish! Jesus cared, and cared infinitely. Therefore, He became angry when religious leaders tried to throw roadblocks between the common people and God.
It would be interesting to trace all of the positive results which have occurred in human history because someone got angry. The Civil Rights movement in our own country got a major boost back in December, 1955, when a black seamstress named Rosa Parks, weary from her hard day's work, got angry when asked to move to the back of the bus in Montgomery, Alabama. Righteous anger has been the source of a great many social reforms. Edmund Burke, you remember, said that "all that is needed for evil to triumph is for good folks to remain silent."
Jesus did not remain silent in the face of evil. Nor should we. In my piles of illustrative materials which I have clipped out and saved over the years I found an empty package which once contained a pair of pantyhose. Inasmuch as we have married clergy in our church, I do not need to apologize for finding it there. What was it doing there? Well, I read something on the side of the package that struck me and that is why I saved it. It described the various colors which one ought to wear together. They had several color groupings: "Basic black," "White, Off-white," "Pinks."
The colors that intrigued me were what were called "The Adaptable Neutrals." That describes a lot of church people I know. "Adaptable neutrals." They are infinitely adaptable. And they are infinitely neutral. As I recall, there is a sentence in the Book of Revelation about such a church: "I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, I will spew you out of my mouth." (Rev. 3:15-16)
St. Augustine said that we should not be surprised at the anger of a righteous man; we should look for the cause of His anger. Jesus' anger was never because of a personal slight, but His anger was always on behalf of others. He did not become angry when evil men drove nails into His hands; but He did become angry when religious folks tried to stop Him from healing another man's hands. His primary concern was for persons, and when the religious leaders of His day made their petty rules and regulations more important than persons, He blazed in anger: "The Sabbath was made for man, not vice-versa!"
He did not get angry when they drove nails into His hands and feet. But when they refused to allow healing on the Sabbath, when their religious customs got in the way of the common people's worship, He blazed with anger. Jesus' anger was never merely negative; He wasn't angry for the sake of anger, but for the sake of people; because the little people whom God loved so much were shut out.
So, "On Monday, the Rabbi Cleaned House." As for the physical violence on that occasion, it should be pointed out that there is no indication in the record that Jesus struck any persons. And what He used on that occasion (as reported by John only) was "a whip of cord" i.e., the light thongs used by the cattle drovers--sticks and weapons were not allowed within the Temple precincts. (See John 2:13-17)
Thus the passage cannot be used, as it has often been, to justify capital punishment or warfare. Any doubt about Jesus' real feelings about violence toward persons should be cleared away by His quick action a few days later on the night of His arrest when Peter started to draw His sword. That battle was short-lived.
Our Gospel lesson ends on a positive note, with Jesus healing the blind and lame in the Temple Court. You see, Jesus did not clear everyone out on that fateful Monday of Passion Week. Those who really needed Him and who were open to Him were still there. Only those with guilty consciences fled before His righteous wrath. Those who needed Him stayed. Ultimately, I have a problem with the Dayton priest's angry Christ.
He sounds more like the Ayatollah than the Christ of the Gospels, to me. I like formality myself, but I cannot imagine Christ getting angry over something so trivial as what people wear to worship. He would be glad that they have come! But He did become angry when the religious leaders tried to put their regulations between people and God. Then it was that He blazed forth in righteous indignation: "It is written, `My house shall be called a house of prayer!'" Mark completes the quotation from Isaiah 56:7: "My house shall be called a house of prayer for all people!" Rich or poor, Jew or Gentile, black, white, red, or yellow, Protestant or Catholic, well-dressed or poorly dressed. "All people!"
Years ago I saw a painting which made a profound impression on me. It depicted a great cathedral, with shafts of light coming down through vast stained glass windows and illuminating the high altar, where the holy sacrifice of the Mass was being conducted; where, according to Roman Catholic theology, Christ was being re-sacrificed for the sins of mankind.
But then you look down at the right hand side of the painting, in the dim, dark shadows, and you see a lonely figure...one cannot tell whether it is a man or woman, merely a person in great need, perhaps what we might call a "street person" today, crouched low behind the last pew. And crouched down there, with arms about that person in need is the Christ. The painting was titled, "The Presence." That's where Christ is present. Not necessarily where there is the most noise, but where there is the most need.
