Turning Tables

One of the most dramatic moments recorded in the Gospels is when Jesus enters the Temple and turns over the moneychangers’ tables. Standard practice was to prevent anything Roman from such a sacred space, and changing currency kept the temple pure, but the practice of exchanging currency became lucrative business as well. For Jesus, the Temple had become more of a business place than a holy place, and he took decisive, disruptive action. For the Romans, it was a gross violation of the Pax Romana (Roman Peace), and for Jewish leaders, it was an affront to their religious practices. From that moment forward, Jesus’ days were numbered.

I have to confess, like the Romans, I long for life to be peaceful. Like the Jewish leaders, I feel secure in established religious practices and routines. No matter how hard I try, however, it's clear my desire for peace and love of security have produced neither. I've built temples to express my devotion to God, and established practices to suggest a personal relationship to God, but Holy Week reminds us all Jesus will enter our lives like he did the temple long ago, and when he does, all bets are off.

No wonder we love to jump from Palm Sunday to Easter without walking through the rest of the week. As a wise minister recently pointed out, to reach the empty tomb you need to walk by the cross. Today, however, we are reminded how far Jesus will go to awaken us to practices that are not of God, and reveal the places of false security.

Who knows? Maybe he's telling us turning the tables is the way to peace, challenging artificial life is the way to find abundant life? 

Expectations

In twelve-step recovery circles, they say “expectations are resentments waiting to happen.” During the early days of Holy Week, countless expectations swirled in the air. Everyone had hopes and opinions about the man entering the city gates, and it was just a matter of time before those expectations led to bitter resentments.

There were those expecting a political Messiah, one who would restore Israel to regal glory and deliver them from Roman occupation. Others expected a religious Messiah, one who would usher in the longed for day of justice and peace. Jesus didn't fulfill any of these expectations, at least as the people envisioned he would, and they resented him for it, which ultimately led to his crucifixion.

Although centuries later,  we look at Jesus as he enters the city for Holy Week with as many expectations as the people did in his day.  Maybe we expect him to bring peace to our lives, solve our problems, or bring us good fortune, but chances are he will not meet our expectations, or at least not as we imagine, and this often leaves us discouraged and resentful.

Perhaps the lesson is to accept Jesus as he is, not as we would have him. Rather than look for a Messiah of our own making, maybe we should receive the Messiah we’ve been given. “He’s not a tame lion,” C. S. Lewis once wrote metaphorically, so why put him in the cages of our limited thinking?

It is only when we let go of all expectations, when we stop trying to write the script, that we can begin to know Jesus, the Messiah who surpasses all human understanding . . . and expectations.

Palms

Palms come in all shapes and sizes.

Swaying in the air to the rhythm of songs of praise and welcome outside the gates, palms initiate Holy Week. As a child, the palms signaled something new. Along with the music, which was lighter and brighter, there was a feeling of relief in the air. The dark days of Lent were over, I thought, and I used my palm to tickle my sister’s neck ever so lightly like a mosquito. That is, until my mother's glare reminded me the palms were holy symbols of a sacred day long ago.

Even then, though, I struggled to understand how the story could go from palms one minute, to a cross the next, how “Hosanna” could turn to “Crucify," how welcoming could become killing. Shaking my head as a child at “those people back then,” I now see how similar we all are.

Palms still come in all shapes and sizes.

We’re just as able to get caught up in the excitement, as they were then. We can lift our palms and shout praises as they did, even if only to be like others. We can also change our songs to shouts over night.

Denying it, keeps the week neat, tidy and safe. Admitting it, begins to unlock the deep mystery that makes the week Holy.