Mark 11:1-19
How do you approach scripture? Some have the zeal of a spiritual explorer who digs deep and ranges widely discovering and studying the rich treasure of these ancient writings. Others of us, most of the time, hear reference to familiar stories and take them at face value, as though the words written on the page mean exactly what they say – then, now, and forever.
Over the six Sundays in Lent this year Diane and I invite you to join us in exploring further, and opening our hearts and minds to some new understandings of the days of Holy week – the seven days that begin with Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem on what we call “Palm Sunday,” and end with Saturday, the day of the grave.
We can draw deeper meaning by naming one critical truth: Jesus and his disciples lived in counterpoint between the claims of the realm of God and the claims of the realm of Caesar, emperor of the Roman Empire.
Jesus taught that you can’t serve two masters, and challenged his followers to make the faithful choice. If we miss that tension between these two realms, we miss the real story, and we miss what the Gospel asks of us in every generation.
Far from being a powerless victim of Roman oppression, Jesus engaged in a carefully scripted drama – guerrilla street theater if you will – knowing that his true followers would get it. Those who listened with lives of faith saw it then. And we can do the same.
This powerful subplot of God and Caesar comes clear in the fascinating work of biblical scholars Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan in their collaborative book, The Last Week. Diane and I make no claim their interpretation is the only one, yet they clearly name the ways Jesus and the disciples lived at the intersection of these two realms. When we claim to follow Jesus we have to decide which realm truly demands and deserves our allegiance.
Each Sunday our sermons will begin with Mark’s rather simple and unembellished account, and we’ll look for that tension between God’s realm and Caesar’s.
We begin with a Sunday, the day after the Jewish Sabbath, as Jesus entered the walled city of Jerusalem, intending to observe Passover with his disciples. The city was alive with buying and selling and preparations. As faithful Jews prepared for the observance, Caesar’s soldiers patrolled the city at this time of heightened expectation. When Messiah comes, they reasoned, wouldn’t it be at Passover, the spring festival remembering how God had freed the children of Israel from Egyptian slavery?
Ancient prophets had said Messiah, the anointed one for whom the children of Israel waited, would be the Son of David – great iconic king of Israel, a warrior who became champion of the nation. David rode a stallion and led armies against the Philistines. Enters now Jesus of Nazareth, a country rabbi and teacher, riding on a donkey and leading an army of unarmed peasants.
We need to see this entry was scripted and planned. Jesus had told the disciples what to do, whom to approach for a donkey, what the owner of the donkey would say, what they should reply. As he now rode the donkey through the ancient gate the crowds tore fronds from the trees – palms being a recognized symbol of Jewish independence – and waved them as they cheered “Hosanna,” which is Hebrew meaning “save us now!” “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.”
This wasn’t a children’s pageant but a mob action, each part carrying a powerful message. Jesus knew it. King Herod knew it; the Jewish high priest Caiaphas knew it; and Emperor Augustus in Rome knew it, as he awaited word of how the local authorities would deal with this man – another pretender, another rebel, another blasphemer.
Diane will explore Palm Sunday further when we get there in just five weeks, but for now, we need to feel the raw emotion and the palpable tension as the messenger of God’s realm rode up to the representatives of Caesar’s realm so long ago.
After the parade, at the end of the day, Mark says Jesus entered the Temple, but since it was late he and the twelve went back out of the city, across the Kidron Valley, and over the Mount of Olives to Bethany, likely to the home of his dear friends: the sisters Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus whom Jesus had raised from the tomb.
When Monday dawned Jesus awoke and was hungry. As he headed back toward Jerusalem he saw a fig tree in full leaf, but not bearing fruit. Mark tells us it wasn’t the season for figs so, of course, there were none on the tree. Nonetheless, Jesus cursed the tree and announced that it would never again bear fruit.
How do we understand this? Well, first, Borg and Crossan tell us that Mark is drawing parallels here – the fig tree that isn’t bearing fruit reflects the temple that isn’t bearing fruit. The fact that a fig tree cannot bear fruit in March or April, the Hebrew month of Nissan when Passover always occurs, tells us this is a metaphorical event, not an historical event.
Rather than reading this as Jesus’ temper tantrum, imagine it as the Master Teacher’s lesson about the rightful nature and purpose of the temple, reflected by the rightful nature and purpose of the fig tree.
Put another way, fig trees are intended to bear fruit. The temple is also. Jesus destroyed the fig tree that wasn’t bearing fruit and then, in the next verse, he didn’t just cleanse the temple as we generally phrase it – he destroyed the temple that had evolved over generations, straying further and further from its intended purpose. His act of destruction was not an attack on Judaism or the priesthood per se, though later generations have claimed that it was. His intention was to call out the high priest Caiaphas who was a puppet of Pilate the Roman Governor (p. 41).
Again, let’s not overlook the dramatic conflict to which Jesus was pointing. Caiaphas appeared to serve God all right, but could only do so at the pleasure of the Roman occupiers. When he failed to please Pilate he could be discharged and replaced… as in fact he was.
The high priest was the primary Roman collaborator in Jerusalem at the time (pg. 42) and he used his authority to subject others to Rome as well. Near Mt. Zion, the Antonia Fortress – barracks for the Roman soldiers – literally cast a shadow on the great temple. In the court yard outside the temple, Herod had placed a gigantic Roman eagle on a pedestal – an offense to God and to every pilgrim who passed by. If Rome can continue its rule nothing will change. If Jesus can shut down the temple everything that has been built will be destroyed. Of course they needed to silence him!
It was into this highly charged scene Jesus strode that day – cursing a fig tree that didn’t bear figs and cursing a temple system that didn’t bow to God but rather to Rome. The temple couldn’t be saved by gentle, incremental reforms. It must be destroyed and rebuilt. Revolution, not reformation.
So he began to drive out those who were buying and selling – illicitly profiting by gouging the pilgrims who came to offer their sacrifices. Verse 17: “Isn’t it written that the temple will be a house of prayer for all nations? But you have made it a den of robbers.” The temple authorities kept looking for a way to kill him (vs. 18); they were afraid because the crowds of people were spell-bound by his teachings. At the end of the day Jesus and his disciples again left the city, likely back to Bethany.
Every human institution is at risk of drifting away from its intended purpose, its founding principles. All around us are the struggles between the old ways and new, the status quo and the inbreaking of God. True, sometimes new things are passing fads or wrong-minded tinkering. But the God we know and love and serve is the reason for our gathering and worshiping and offering thanks and praise, and then going out and serving.
Think of last Sunday (the morning after the biggest Maine blizzard on the records) as a good-sized congregation gathered to sing and dance for Mission-Mardi Gras Sunday. We let out the stops – not bad for a bunch of reserved New England Congregationalists. And then we went downstairs to Guptill Hall for a Mission Fair with representatives of several community agencies and services that we’ve supported as a church. As I visited around I heard “what a great church; what amazing energy; what wonderful spirit.” This is who we have become.
The tension between old ways and newer ways is in the news every day:
- look at the Boy Scouts of America wrestling with their ban on gay Scouts and leaders and finding the old morality is indefensible.
- Look at the unexpected announcement that Pope Benedict XVI will step aside so new leadership can step forward, amidst great speculation whether the next celibate male pontiff might be other-than-European.
- As my own years of parish ministry are drawing to a close, a search committee of able folks – our own sisters and brothers in the faith – moves the search process to the next step and begins to receive profiles of real people who would love to be your new pastor; surely including women, men, younger, older, straight, gay; each of whom will be prayerfully considered not because of their labels but because of their love of God and people and ministry; and their suitability to join you in the wonderful ministries we have shared so far.
Because ultimately, being disciples, being followers, isn’t about programs or budgets. It’s about risking a life-changing encounter with God. Sometimes it’s metaphorically like tearing down the temple – just as Jesus did – and striking terror into the hearts of those who want everything to be structured and rigid and locked into familiar patterns.
Make no mistake, to continue to be a vibrant, healthy, faithful church we must continue to unfold by the guidance of the Holy Spirit, letting ourselves be transformed from what we used to be into what we are not yet. And that will frighten some and thrill some… and only by trusting in God and faithfully loving each other – even in times of tension and conflict – can this church (our church) be right with God…
The old order is passing. Jesus didn’t fight it – he incited it. He broke barriers and confronted the stone-wallers and threw out the money-changers and called for a purification of principle and purpose.
So let me ask you… if he were to walk up to the door of our church building and look around at who we are, how we worship and learn and grow, would he curse us like a fig tree that doesn’t bear fruit? Or might he look at us with compassion as we trembled in his presence, and offer a blessing?
What do you think?