I thought it was rather appropriate that this evening’s readings should all be about the Temple, since today is our Church Anniversary and Dedication Festival.
The first reading was part of King David’s prayer at the dedication of the Temple in Jerusalem, and the second ends with Jesus driving out the money-changers from the Temple, which had, perhaps, become very changed from David’s vision all those years before.
I don’t know about you, but I find it very difficult to get the Temple, somehow. I can’t visualise what it must have been like. Oh, I’ve seen pictures of the floor-plans of the various epochs, from David’s temple to Herod’s, but I can’t understand what it must have been like inside. Our own traditional churches and cathedrals tend to mirror the floor plan, with the nave representing the court of the Gentiles, the Choir representing the court of the Israelites, and the Chancel the Holy of Holies, where nobody could enter except the priests. And that, we are told, not without blood – in other words, they had to take blood with them so that God would not see their sins. Rather as we sometimes talk about being covered by “the blood of the Lamb”. And even in our lifetimes, of course, women were never allowed into the Chancel, except perhaps to clean it or to do the flowers. Thank goodness that has changed!
But what I really can’t understand was what it must have felt like inside. What did it smell like, quite apart from anything else? All that blood…. I know tradition has it that God kept the flies and other insects that might have been attracted to it away, but I wonder! Still, the priests seem to have coped with living there remarkably well, so either they didn’t mind flies in those days, or God really did keep them away!
But what was it like to worship in a place where the proper way to worship was to kill an animal? And in the messiest possible way, by slitting its throat, into the bargain. I can’t imagine it, can you? We know, a bit, what it is like to use incense in our worship, as they did, but burnt meat? Blood? I don’t think so!
Of course, what David and them would have had no way of knowing was that the
Temple was due to become obsolete. When
Jesus came, there was no more need for a Temple, and, of course, it was
destroyed shortly after. Actually, if you
look back, you can see how it all came together. Originally, when the Israelites were a nomadic tribe, or group of
tribes, they could do their sacrifices wherever – shrines under trees and on
hilltops were the norm, staffed by the Levites, who could live off what was
brought for sacrifice. Then, after they
were settled and had become farmers, rather than nomads, the Temple became the
only place where sacrifices were allowed, and the synagogues came into being
for every-day worship. The Temple was
where you went if you lived in Jerusalem, and if you didn’t, you went to your
local synagogue most of the time, and up to the Temple in Jerusalem on special
occasions. You remember how the Holy
Family went up, the year Jesus was twelve.
Incidentally, when sacrifices became limited to the Temple, it also
meant that Levites had charitable status along with widows, orphans and
refugees, and it also meant the introduction of a new profession: that of
butcher.
And of course, the Temple itself is now obsolete. Jesus came, and was the “one perfect and sufficient sacrifice, oblation and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world”, as the old prayer-book has it. We don’t need a Temple any more.
But when Jesus was still alive we did need one, and, as far as we can tell, Jesus took one look and didn’t at all like what he saw.
So what had gone wrong? Why had the project that started so hopefully and with such joy degenerated into something that looked very much like a swindle?
Well, of course, to start with, just the passage of time. About a thousand years has passed between our two readings; we have moved from the Iron Age to the Modern Age, from local petty kingships to one of the greatest empires the world has ever seen. The Temple has been rebuilt twice, each time bigger and grander than the time before. This last time, it was rebuilt with Roman money.
And, of course, human nature and human greed. It made sense for animals to be available for potential worshippers to purchase when they arrived, since if you were coming from a long way away, you would have trouble bringing your own. And perhaps you didn’t have a perfect animal, good enough to be offered – well, again, it made sense for you to be able to buy one when you arrived. But, of course, who can resist making two pennies when the opportunity arose? It was easy enough to cheat just a little on the exchange rate for the Temple currency. It was even easier to declare that an animal a punter had brought was not quite suitable, so you would have to buy another one – and who was setting the price? And, of course, you could sell on the so-called “imperfect” animal as perfect to the next country bumpkin that came along. The corruption probably started small, and then, human nature being what it is, grew and grew. And nobody dared say anything. Those who were involved in it were too fond of their profits to wish to do so, and those who were stung either assumed that a visit to Jerusalem would be an expensive business, anyway, so didn’t notice, or were too afraid of the Chief Priests who, in effect, ruled Jerusalem, to want to make waves.
Until Jesus. He was not afraid to make waves. He saw the corruption, and dealt with it in rather a spectacular fashion. Of course, I don’t suppose for one moment that it was permanently dealt with – the traders were probably back again next day with a good story to dine out on – but at least he made his point, and in such a fashion that it is remembered to this day.
And, ultimately, in AD70, the Temple was permanently destroyed. It was no longer needed. The blood of Jesus had been shed for the sins of the whole world, whether they recognised that fact or not. The sacrifices had always been a symbol, of course. Even back in David’s day, he could write, in psalm 51, for instance:
“For you have no delight in sacrifice; if I were to give a
burnt-offering, you would not be pleased.
The sacrifice acceptable to God+ is a broken spirit; a
broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
Do good to Zion in your good pleasure; rebuild the walls of
Jerusalem,
then you will delight in right sacrifices, in burnt-offerings and whole burnt-offerings; then bulls will be offered on your altar.”
In other words, the sacrifice was to be the result of putting things right again, not the means by which it was done!
But what does this mean for us, here in the 21st century, three millennia since the Temple was first built, and two since it was destroyed?
We no longer need a Temple, but we do need some sort of house of prayer. The synagogues, for us Christians, have become churches, and in many, many different ways. But that’s only church buildings, of course; the church, really, is the people. The congregation. We could meet in my front room, or in the middle of Brixton Market, and we’d still be a church.
And that’s what’s important to remember this Dedication Day. It’s a funny time for us, celebrating something that may not exist this time next year. We don’t know what the future holds. We know what we would like the future to hold, of course, but still.
We have to remember, not only that we are the church, but that we are God’s church, and it is for God to say what happens to us. If we are truly God’s people, truly surrendered to God – oh, isn’t it difficult!!! I find it almost impossible to pray, because I am so tempted all the time to tell God what to do! But that’s wrong. I have to get to a place, we all have to get to that place, where we can say to God “Not my will, but yours.” “Thy Will be Done”.
What does God want for us? We can say blithely, well, of course God wants this church to go on, and have its own minister, and so on – but is that so? I hope it is, you hope it is, but hoping doesn’t make it so if it isn’t. We don’t yet know what God plans for us. And God, as Viera Gray once said to me, has a lot of trouble with the Church of England!
I do know, though, that I’d value your prayers while I explore options for perhaps going a little further than being a local preacher and being able to help King’s Acre a bit in that way. I don’t know in what direction, or even which denomination yet! I’ve made an appointment to explore the Methodist options with Cameron in a couple of weeks’ time, and I expect I shall make a similar appointment with Nigel Godfrey, who supervises that sort of training on the Anglican side, and see what is what. But I don’t yet know whether anything will come of it, only that it’s a road I need to explore. Please pray for me.
And please, when you are praying, as I know you are, for the future of our church, do let’s all try to pray “Thy Will be Done”. I know it isn’t easy, I know we all want to ask God for this solution or that solution, but anything less than “Thy Will Be Done” does strike me, rather, as being the Den of Thieves solution, rather than the House of Prayer one. Let’s make this Church, us, you and me, a House of Prayer. A place where God is not only worshipped, although that too, but a place where God likes to be present. But that is down to us, to you, and to me. Amen.