Well, it hasn’t been a quiet week here at UBC. We’re grappling with budget challenges, so we’re looking at some hard cuts in ministry expenses. I’ve heard different feelings of grief about this in the family, expressed as usual in the form of anger, blaming, defensiveness, anxiety, and fatigue. This is what all families do when they are under stress, and though this is a great family, we are a human family.

Some of this has made me angry, because the most important commandment Jesus gave us for being church is that we love one another. So I was sitting on a little anger along with everybody else when I started itching on Sunday night with a fresh case of poison ivy from working in my yard the Friday before. I went to my doctor. She prescribed steroids and warned me: “You might be a little jumpy and irritable for the next two weeks.” (Uh-oh! A preacher on steroids! Let that be a warning to you all!) And then I open this week’s lectionary to find our text is John’s story of Jesus cleansing the Temple!
My first thought was, “Hand me a whip!” But I’m not Jesus, and there’s no one I want to drive from this Temple. So I thought maybe I wouldn’t preach at all today but get three or four of you to give your testimonies about what this Temple means to you. You know, one could talk about what this old building means to him, another what these people mean to her, somebody else what our mission means for us. Not a bad idea to do sometime, but at this moment it would mean dodging my pastoral duty to preach the gospel I hear in this text today. The stories of the Bible engage me week after week, but to be honest they can be a real burden, too, because they get so personal, you know? So sometimes I read a text, and I just want to be excused from the demands it makes. And this is a tough one.

What a strange Jesus John gives us this week! Angry, violent, physical – not the “gentle, Jesus, meek and mild,” we are accustomed to meeting in the gospels. Made quite an impression on the disciples. It’s one of the few stories found in all four gospels, though Matthew, Mark and Luke locate it at the end rather than the beginning of Jesus’ ministry (Mt. 21:12-13, Mk. 11:15-17; Lk. 19:45-46). John says the disciples remembered the words of the psalmist: “Zeal for your house has consumed me” (Psa. 69:9). Makes me think of Ephesians 4:26-27: “Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and do not make room for the devil.” Which means to me anger is a good and productive emotion, an opportunity to do good but also dangerous because it can do serious damage. There is a mature and healthy way for us to express anger, and it is important to do so, but with the goal of reconciliation. Don’t sit on it, but don’t whip people with it, because, hey, you aren’t Jesus either, you know?

But this isn’t a sermon about our anger. It’s a sermon about Jesus’ anger. I wonder, what made Jesus so mad that day in the Temple? Matthew, Mark, and Luke – the synoptic gospels - want to say Jesus was angry because the business of the Temple was superseding the mission of the Temple. Jesus quotes Isaiah: “‘My house shall be called a house of prayer'; but you are making it a den of robbers” (Isa 56:7). But John pushes us farther.

The Temple leaders ask Jesus for a “sign,” a way of asking by what authority he would presume to give orders in their domain. Jesus says, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up” (John 2:19) Of course, they don’t get it. “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?” “What a nut!” they think, assuming they have discredited him. But John tells us “he was speaking of the temple of his body” (John 2:21). John says the disciples didn’t understand either, until “after he was raised from the dead” (John 2:22).

Jesus isn’t just “cleansing the temple” in John. It’s not a reform movement he’s after, but an extreme makeover. He’s turning their entire understanding of temple on its ear. For Jesus, the holy of holies where God dwells isn’t some building; it’s the human heart. The Temple God honors most is the human temple. People are what matter to God, and that should always define the way God’s Temple operates. So when Jesus sees people shut out from God’s Temple around the usual social hierarchies of status and class and market economy, it flies all over him. And that just about whips every one of us at some level, don’t you think?

We never are comfortable with Divine wrath, what Luther called “the strange face of God.” But God does get mad in the Bible. The Bible never describes anger as a constant component of God’s character. As the psalmist says, “You, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Psa. 86:15). This very description of God’s constant character is found again and again in the Hebrew Bible (Ex 34:6-7, Num 14:18, Neh 9:17, Psa. 103:8, Psa 145:8, Joel 2:13, Jon. 4:2, Nah. 1:3). But God does get mad. God gets mad over certain specifics. God gets mad over sin because it damages people. God gets mad over injustice because it damages people. God gets mad over the ways we hurt ourselves and each other and the ways we so casually shrug our shoulders over those who are despised and rejected and abused by our systems. God gets mad because God loves. Love gets mad when the object of love is hurt. And God loves people. God loves people more than any building. God loves people more than any law or any Bible. God loves people more than any religion or any nation. As our beloved brother Paul put it, “God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us” (Rom 5:8).

So Jesus gets mad at the temple today in the very way God gets mad – when he sees the holy temple of God – people – desecrated in the name of all that is holy. And by God’s love, Jesus declares, you might destroy that Temple, but God will have the last answer. God will raise it up again.

Which brings me to my testimony today about what this temple means to me. I want to tell you what this old building means to me. I get a chill down my spine every time I walk into this sanctuary, carpet stains, peeling paint, cantankerous pipe organ, weird acoustics and all. Because every spot is holy to me. We’ve experienced so many awesome, holy moments in this space. We’ve baptized children whose birth was prayed for. We’ve offered and received the grace of the Lord’s Supper. We’ve heard hard truths and gracious calls pour from our pulpit. We’ve watched the word of God fall upon the faces of people so hungry to hear that God loves them, too, they wept when they heard it. We’ve handed people a plate of food who were so hungry they wept when they received it. We’ve seen old enemies reconciled beneath the cross of Jesus. We’ve said goodbye for now to some of the dearest souls we ever knew. We hope to see them again. This is such a holy space, the intersection of heaven and earth. “Surely the Lord is in this place,” and we know it. But still, it’s just a building, you know?

So let me tell you what you people mean to me. We’ve been through some profound stretches in our journey together, climbed some mountains, walked some valleys. We’ve prayed together at hospital beds and gravesides, at fellowship feasts and house parties, at retreats and long committee meetings. We’ve offered hope to the hopeless, friendship to the friendless. We’ve raised our candles on Christmas eve and crushed out the light on Good Friday and shared our “Alleluias!” when we relighted the Christ candle on Easter morning. We’ve learned each other’s quirks and put up with each others flaws and rejoiced in each others victories and wept with each others sorrows. We’ve weathered controversy and responded to people’s pain and stood arm in arm and side by side against the wider church and world when they didn’t like the way we preach God’s love that leaves no one out. Sometimes you drive me crazy, and I’m sure I do you, but I love you. You’re my family. And you are the most diverse, thought-provoking, caring, hilarious, ennobling, infuriating, and amazing church I have ever seen. What a cast of characters is the University Baptist Church! God loves you and brought you here to be a part of a very special people. It takes something to be a part of this church, and it means something, you know?

Which leads me to speak of what the mission of this church means to me. We are like every church – called of God to embody the presence of Christ and proclaim the gospel in the place where God has planted us. But we are unique in our mission in this place and time. As a university church we have a calling to love the Lord our God with all our minds, to have a thoughtful, intelligent faith engaging the intellectual currents of our day with the gospel of Christ. As a public church at the heart of the city we have a calling to participate in the life of a great city with concern for the quality of life of the broad community. As a church down the block from the state capitol we have a calling to be a prophetic voice in our state, protecting religious liberty and calling our political leaders to an ethical conscience which advocates for the least of these. As an American Baptist Church we have a calling to stand firm on our Baptist principles of a free church in a free state, a democracy of the Spirit where we make decisions together as spiritual equals by open processes with consensus and trust, soul competency, the priesthood of the believers, liberty of conscience, and spiritual freedom. As a church on the corner, we have a calling to open the doors of God’s house for all the people God sends us, but not to forget our partnership with other churches to carry this gospel of God’s grace to every corner of the world.

I never tire of seeing the way you respond when God sends a new challenge along. God says, “Will you welcome my children of different colors?” You say, “Yes!” God says, “Will you treat women as spiritual equals?” You say, “Yes!” God says, “Will you love my gay and lesbian children?” You say, “Yes!” God says, “Will you support these refugees from across the world?” You say, “Yes!” God says, “Will you build some houses for the homeless and repair homes that are falling down?” You say, “Yes! God says, “Will you befriend my Jewish children? You say, “Yes!” “Muslim, too?” “Yes!” God says, “Will you feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick, welcome the stranger, show mercy to the despised and rejected, lift up the brokenhearted, forgive the fallen, be the beloved community of God?” You say, “Yes!” God says, “Will you love each other through it all, be Christ to each other?” You say, “Well, we’ll try!”

But it costs us. Each answer to God’s call costs us. I don’t mean the money. I don’t mean the wear and tear on buildings. I don’t even mean the way we get marginalized when we stand with the marginalized. There’s a reason many churches don’t do the things you have done and find excuses or defenses when God invites them to these tasks. This kind of ministry with this kind of diversity is so hard to do. It stretches us. It pushes us. It moves every one of us out of our comfort zones, and God knows most people go to church to feel comfortable and happy and good about themselves. Well, we’ve tested the limits. Can this radical message that God loves every person so we will, too, really work? I’ve decided, no it won’t, not unless we give ourselves over to that Jesus who sees every person as God’s holy temple and are so filled by Christ’s love for us that we can love each other with his love, because I know I’m just not that loving or forgiving or accepting or caring on my own.

Look at the front cover of your bulletin this morning. Do you see those words at the top? They’ve been there most every week the last eighteen years.

The purpose of the University Baptist Church
is to be the body of Jesus Christ
worshipping God together
nurturing God’s family
building God’s kingdom
sharing God’s love.

I believe in that mission so deeply. I believe the world needs that mission fulfilled in the way you have sought to fulfill it. I believe the church in the world needs churches like ours that call them forward. I believe you and I need this church with its unique and courageous voice, and that’s why God has called us here.

I had the privilege at the expense of the Lily Endowment to pray in the rustic church of San Domiano in January on the outskirts of Assisi where a young monk prayed before an old painted crucifix which hung there. I have been praying the prayer he prayed at that cross each day during Lent:

Most high, glorious God,
Cast your light into the darkness of my heart.
Give me right faith,
firm hope,
perfect charity
and profound humility
with wisdom and perception, O Lord,
so that I may do
what is truly your holy will.

The story goes that while Francis was praying that prayer, he heard God’s voice saying, “Go and repair my house, which as you see, is falling completely into ruin.” Francis of Assisi set about to repair the old churches in the countryside around Assisi. But he started a movement which eventually pushed the church to recover its core virtues of simplicity, mercy, and love which significantly repaired the church from within.

“Go and repair my house, which as you see, is falling completely into ruin.” Turned out, God wasn’t talking to Francis about the buildings. God was talking to him about the people. God was talking to him about the mission. Beloved, what is God calling us to do about this temple now? I mean the buildings? I mean the people? I mean the mission? Will we answer that call? And will draw closer to God and closer to each other in the process? God is calling you again to join the church. God is calling you to love each other first. How will you answer this time? May we pray?

Inviting God, You keep calling us out of our comfort zones and into deeper experiences of your grace preparing us for the glory to come. Help us discern your calling in this moment and by your grace to say “Yes” again. Fill us with your love that we might love each other well. Let our lives be your holy Temple and let us honor your presence in each other. Most high, glorious God, Cast your light into the darkness of our hearts. Give us right faith, firm hope, perfect charity and profound humility, with wisdom and perception, O Lord, so that we may do what is truly your holy will. In the name of Christ, Amen.