A Sermon for the Third Sunday in Lent (Year B)
March 7, 2021
Text: John 2:13-22
This past week, I spent some time re-reading one of Martin Luther King, Jr’s most popular writings: “Letter from Birmingham Jail.” This wasn’t a random, “spur-of-the-moment” decision. It was actually a homework assignment for those of us who recently came together to form a new ministry in our parish called Project Beloved Community.
Over the past several months, this group has gathered monthly to discuss issues related to social justice and racial inequality. It was born last summer in response to the racial tension and protests that we witnessed all across the country. We began our time together with a study of Bryan Stevenson’s book, Just Mercy, which dealt with really difficult subject matter, including: race relations, the criminal justice system in America, and the death penalty. After that, we decided that our work as a group shouldn’t be limited to just one book study. So, we decided to keep meeting with the hope that our newly-formed group might serve as a springboard for future ministry within the parish and the wider community.
Because of the pandemic, most of our work up to this point has been done through reading articles together, watching videos, listening to podcasts, and participating in monthly Zoom meetings. Mostly, we’ve been trying to better educate ourselves and come up with possible ways that our parish might be involved in the work of building the “Beloved Community.” This phrase, by the way, isn’t something that we came up with. “Beloved Community” is a phrase that was made popular by Martin Luther King, Jr. The King Center, an institution founded in memory of Dr. King, defines “Beloved Community” as “a global vision in which all people can share in the wealth of the earth. In the Beloved Community, poverty, hunger and homelessness will not be tolerated because international standards of human decency will not allow it. Racism and all forms of discrimination, bigotry and prejudice will be replaced by an all-inclusive spirit of sisterhood and brotherhood.”
That sounds a lot like Jesus, doesn’t it?
“Beloved Community” is what Jesus refers to, in the Gospels, as “the kingdom of God” or “the kingdom of heaven” depending on which Gospel you’re reading. It’s God’s dream of a world redeemed in the self-giving, sacrificial love of Christ. Or, as our Presiding Bishop likes to say, it’s God turning the world upside down, which is really right side up.
Building the “Beloved Community” is work that all of us are called to do as followers of Jesus. It’s the work of the Gospel. Jesus spent his entire ministry trying to tear down the walls that divide us, to bring healing and reconciliation to the world. He did this by teaching us and showing us a better way to live. He did this by allowing himself to be captured by Roman guards and handed over to be crucified, serving as an example of what it truly means to love as God would have us love.
But, building the “Beloved Community” and working to tear down those walls that keep us cut off from each other and from God isn’t easy. It requires steadfast determination and a commitment to moving beyond the walls of the church. It requires a willingness to be vulnerable and to accept the fact that things aren’t the way that they should be. It requires us to ask ourselves tough questions that might be difficult to answer.
Think about our own parish for a moment. What are some of the questions we might ask ourselves?
Who’s here, and who isn’t?
Who are we reaching out to in the wider community?
Are there groups of people who are being overlooked?
How much of our time and resources are we devoting to things going on here?
And how much of our time and resources are we devoting to outreach?
What is the message we’re sending to the wider community when acts of violence and oppression are being committed against the most vulnerable members of our society?
As I re-read “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” which was written in April of 1963, I was reminded that we still have a lot of work to do as the Body of Christ. Many of the issues we were dealing with in the 1960s are still prevalent today. People of color are still suffering as victims of violence and systemic racism. As the Church, we have a lot of work to do in building the “Beloved Community,” and that work begins with repentance and truth-telling. It begins with acknowledging the fact that the Church, including our beloved Episcopal Church, has played a role in the oppression and discrimination of others. As difficult as that is to say out loud, it’s the truth. As I read it this past week, there was one line in Dr. King’s letter that really hit me hard. He wrote, “When I was suddenly catapulted into the leadership of the bus protest in Montgomery, Alabama, a few years ago, I felt we would be supported by the white church. I felt that the white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South would be among our strongest allies. Instead, some have been outright opponents, refusing to understand the freedom movement and misrepresenting its leaders; all too many others have been more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of stained glass windows.”
I don’t want to be the kind of priest that Dr. King wrote about in his letter, and I confess to you, my brothers and sisters, that at times, I’ve been more “cautious than courageous.” At times, I’ve been too afraid to speak out about important issues for fear that my comments might be too divisive. At times, I’ve been more concerned with maintaining the status quo, with not wanting to “stir the pot” too much, than to speak the truth in love, even though that’s what the Gospel demands of us. Trust me when I say that it’s much easier to preach a sermon that makes you feel good than a sermon that might disturb you or challenge your ideas and assumptions.
Maybe you feel the same way as I do sometimes. Maybe fear has caused you to doubt whether or not to speak out on difficult issues that demand our attention.
I don’t want us to be the kind of church that Dr. King wrote about, either. I want us to be a mission-focused church, equally as concerned about what goes on in the world around us as we are about what goes on here and unafraid to tell the truth about difficult issues that might challenge us or make us uncomfortable. Don’t get me wrong. I love what we do here as a faith community. Church on Sunday mornings is one of my favorite times throughout the week, and I love being able to spend it with you. But, we’re mistaken if we think of it as a means to an end. Worship on Sundays typically takes up about an hour of our time each week (if the preacher will wrap it up already). But, the reason we come to church isn’t just for that one hour. We come to be renewed and restored, to be formed as disciples of Jesus, so that we can go out, beyond the walls of the church, to bring the light of Christ to the world.
The message of the Gospel is one that the world desperately needs to hear. God needs us to be bearers of the light of Christ, to stand up and speak out when the powers and principalities of this world seek to destroy the children of God. It’s our responsibility, as members of the Body of Christ. And, as Dr. King once said, “The time is always right to do what is right.”
In our Gospel lesson for this morning, we heard John’s account of Jesus cleansing the Temple in Jerusalem. He and his disciples are preparing for Passover, and when he enters the Temple, he sees merchants selling cattle, sheep, and doves—unblemished animals that people could purchase and sacrifice as an offering to God. Jesus also witnesses money changers in the Temple, who were there in order to exchange currency for people who were visiting from outside of Jerusalem. Temple money was the only form of currency that could be used to purchase sacrificial animals for high holy days, and it’s likely that, because of this system of exchanging currency, pilgrims were frequently exploited and taken advantage of. What’s worse is that the religious leaders in the Temple allowed it to happen!
They allowed money and wealth to cloud their judgment. They allowed the Temple to become a place of commerce, a place overly concerned with its own well-being rather than a place of prayer and devotion to God.
When Jesus sees what’s happening, he becomes outraged. He drives the merchants, along with their animals, and the money changers out of the Temple. He pours out their money on the ground and overturns their tables, saying, “Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!”
His actions aren’t just a criticism of the merchants and money changers. He’s angry with the whole institution. The Temple has become a place committed to something other than what God intended.
I think it’s important for us to consider the possibility that, at times, Jesus is disappointed and even angry with the Church as well, especially in those moments when we’re more concerned with what’s going on here and sustaining our own well-being than being a place solely devoted to the worship of God and serving God’s people. When we forget who we are and why we’re here, it’s easy for us to become focused more on ourselves and less on those whom we’re called to serve.
We love having a beautiful space where we can come and worship God and spend time with each other, but as the Church, we are more than our buildings and property.
We love times of fellowship, sharing meals together, and growing as a parish family, but as the Church, we are more than a social club or a weekly gathering of friends.
We love to come to church on Sunday mornings, to be inspired for the week ahead, but as the Church, we are more than a place where we come to feel good about ourselves once a week.
We are the Body of Christ. We are called to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus through our words and actions and to love and serve God and God’s people. We are called to work for the building up of God’s Kingdom, the “Beloved Community,” to help bring healing and transformation to this broken and sinful world. Nothing else will do. It’s our Gospel imperative to do this work. My prayer is that God will open our eyes and break open our hearts so that we may see and know the truth of who we are and what we’re called to do. May God give us the strength and courage we need to be faithful to our calling and to cast out those things which cause us to forget who we are. Amen.
A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 17:50 mark.
The Rev. Eric Mancil 