On reaching Jerusalem, Jesus entered the temple courts and began driving out those who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves, and would not allow anyone to carry merchandise through the temple courts. And as he taught them, he said, “Is it not written: ‘My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations’? But you have made it ‘a den of robbers.’” The chief priests and the teachers of the law heard this and began looking for a way to kill him, for they feared him, because the whole crowd was amazed at his teaching. When evening came, Jesus and his disciples went out of the city.
Mark 11:15-19 NIV
Basic story structure involves a beginning, a middle with some sort of problem, and an end with, we hope, a resolution. The passage today presents this structure in miniature to maximum effect. Between the tidy beginning, “Jesus entered the temple courts…” and abrupt end, “Jesus…went out of the city,” the middle explodes with action. Verbs—Driving out, Buying, Selling, Overturned, Would not allow—propel a reader headlong into the narrative and make it a challenge to read this passage slowly.
Then the pacing seems to change. Energy spent, emotion expressed in action, we’re told that Jesus taught them. Is Jesus breathless, heart pounding from exertion as he speaks? The story doesn’t indicate that he cooled off, straightened his cloak, or smoothed back his hair before he began teaching and quoting scripture. “My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations.” His breathing could be labored, chest still heaving. And it’s possible, in the wake of turning tables, that his last words carried the vigorous zing of speaking truth to power. “…you have made it a den of robbers.”
We can imagine witnessing the scene from different perspectives. Shocked money changer, stunned worshiper. The tables—where one held power over, and one was vulnerable to the abuse of such power—are literally turned. Those of us left in the wake of action stand next to broken dove cages and in the silent aftermath of indignant traders in headlong retreat. Our hearts race. We tremble. Astonished. In awe. Who is this?
Jesus of Nazareth speaks with resonant authority that, even (especially?) in anger, rings the bell of truth in us.
And as a reader sitting with this story that bristles with divine disruption, my heart both sings and aches. It sings because injustice isn’t allowed to roll along without a challenge. As Christ followers we not only care for each other and the world, we must call out systems of abuse; Christ is our example. Radical love responds to injustice with gritty, muscular presence. When we follow Jesus, part of the calling is to embody holy disruption. This strange, courageous cross we are called to take up comes with heartache.
And here’s why. The temple system was disrupted for a day. And a week or a month later, the same unjust and extractive arrangement was most likely back in place. And Jesus probably knew this. Yet he acted anyway. His actions and words proved that things don’t have to be this way; another reality is possible. They also confirmed his identity as one aligned with the poor and powerless.
This calling also involves trembling and awe. Now.
When we will show up for the marginalized, like our neighbors terrified by ICE and Border Patrol, we follow Christ. When we challenge the actions of this administration and the DOJ, we follow Christ. We may draw the ire of those we disrupt. And the story is clear: “The chief priests and the teachers of the law heard this and began looking for a way to kill him.”
In word and action Jesus struck out at a system of entrenched power and injustice that was not about to surrender. And to avoid further such setbacks those in power began plotting a way to kill the troublesome teacher.
We live in unprecedented times. Injustice abounds. Every Christ follower can show up in ways that disrupt inhumane systems. Choose just one. You are standing with Christ.
You. Are. Standing. With. Christ.
Now do you tremble?
Rebecca Waring-Crane is a socially-engaged visual artist, water aerobics instructor, and peaceful protester who continues learning how to hold joy and grief at the same time.