church

Sorting out the Temples

A sermon for the Third Sunday in Lent, March 3, 2024. The scriptures are Exodus 20:1-17, Psalm 19, 1 Corinthians 1:18-25, and John 2:13-22.

Memorial Garden made of chapel ruins at Virginia Theological Seminary.

Those of you who know a little history about our church know that we are sitting in what is really the third Church of the Holy Trinity. The first parish was founded in 1864 at 42nd Street and Madison Avenue (where air rights are currently selling for zillions of millions… but never mind). The parish grew and so, a new building was built on the same spot in 1873—a huge building that supposedly could seat 2,300 congregants. Because its tile and brick patterns were so colorful, it was nicknamed “the church of the holy oil cloth” by one critic. Over time, leadership changed, demographics shifted, and the parish declined. When Holy Trinity asked the Diocese if it could move northward a few blocks, it was told that there were already enough churches in that area—so Holy Trinity would need to look farther north. In conversations with St. James’ Church, a plan eventually developed whereby Holy Trinity’s property would be sold to help pay the debt of St. James, the two would combine, but a new mission with a church would one day be established in Yorkville. Thus, with the gift and vision of Serena Rhinelander, our current building was built (St. Christopher’s Mission House in 1897 and the larger church in 1899.) And so, this year, we celebrate 125 years of THIS incarnation of Holy Trinity.

I’m reminded of our “three churches” by our Gospel today, in which I think we can see three churches, or rather—three temples.

The first temple we hear about this morning is the physical temple, the one that was standing in Jerusalem, the centerpiece of religion, culture, as what theologian NT Wright has described as the “heartbeat of Jerusalem.” The temple was the place where God and people met. There the veil was thin between heaven and earth. It was the place of pilgrimage and procession, of incense and intrigue, and it’s this area of this temple that Jesus enters and causes a disruption. Though we might associate this story of Jesus overturning the temple tables with his entrance into Jerusalem just before his crucifixion, and we hear it in mid or late Lent each year, the Evangelist John places this story of the cleansing of the temple early in the Gospel. Near the beginning of John’s Gospel, it then sets tone for all that follows. Jesus in John’s Gospel gives the ending away when he says very clearly: “destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.”

This brings us to the second temple in today’s Gospel. Jesus speaks of the temple of his body. He speaks of himself as a temple because it is in him that God meets humanity. It is in Jesus that God is known and loved and worshipped, through Jesus that God makes possible sacrifice, intercession, forgiveness and life eternal. Paul extends this image to include us as well when he asks the Corinthians, “Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy him. For God’s temple is holy, and that temple you are. (1 Corinthians 3:16-17).

Jesus is the prototype for this new understanding of temple. His cleansing of the temple, the physical action of overturning the tables of the moneychangers and trying to restore purity and sanctity to the physical temple foreshadows his work on the cross. Through the cross and resurrection, Jesus restores, purifies and makes holy. And, he is, indeed, raised up on the third day.

And so, there’s the “first temple,” the one made of stone. There’s the second temple—the one made of the body. But I think there’s also a third temple in today’s Gospel. It’s the temple of the imagination and perhaps it is just as strong as the one made of stone.

Before the actual temple was built by Solomon, there was a dream and a desire to locate God, to have a place that was special to God, a place set aside and made not only holy, but especially holy. And so after years of waiting and praying, God allowed Solomon to build. Years later when the people of Israel were taken off to Babylonia, they remembered their temple and they wept. They remembered the songs that were sung, the worship, the glory. And this became an enormous inspiration and encouragement. By the time of Jesus, the temple was the center of a well-developed system of power and money and status and commerce.

The temple had become many things for many people. For some it was source of income—certainly the taxes sustained a lot of people. For some, to be associated with the temple meant prestige and protection. For the Romans, the temple pacified the people to a certain extent—it kept them at worship and out of trouble. As long as they couldn’t see beyond the incense, they would be blind to injustice. But to the vast majority of people, those faithful and unfaithful who simply tried to get through life–the temple must have represented a mystery—a place where prayers and sacrifices might be offered. Or perhaps they weren’t offered– you really never knew if the priest offered your sacrifice or not, did you? And who was to say whether God would listen?

This third temple, this temple of the imagination, had grown into much more than a physical place for meeting God—part symbol, part magic– for many it had replaced God. It was in the way of God. It was in-stead of God. Which brings all this talk of temples home to us.

On this Sunday when we remember Jesus overturning the tables in the temple, calling into question the structures of the temple, itself, what are the temples in our lives that God wants to cleanse?

Are there things that have become for me like temples, things that get in the way of God’s presence? Are there temples of my own making that need to be cleansed or knocked down?
Are there thoughts or opinions or ideas that God would overturn this season?
Have I inherited temples from others without questioning, or even cleaning up to make my own?
Have I learned from the church in some way particular habits or attitudes that need to be cleansed or thrown out?

Or are there things—pretty things, nice things, comfortable things, things I may have worked hard for, things I saved up for and finally bought, making them mine, mine, mine—are there things that God might be trying to overturn in my world this season?

As the people of God in THIS place, let us give thanks for our several temples—or churches—the one that allows us to worship, and the second, which is the Body of Christ and our bodies united with his, but let’s also be mindful of the need to cleanse, renew, tear down, and rise again, as we follow our Lord and Friend Jesus, who died and rose again, showing us the way forward.
In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Redeeming “Evangelism”

A sermon for the Third Sunday after the Epiphany, January 21, 2024. The scripture readings are Jonah 3:1-5, 10, Psalm 62:6-14, 1 Corinthians 7:29-31, and Mark 1:14-20.

I had a friend in college who loved to compete. Every minute he wasn’t in class he was playing basketball. He was also a devout Southern Baptist, considering going off to seminary after college. Had you asked anyone on our floor, he would have been “most likely to be a minister.”

Rick had a routine for Saturday mornings. He would drive to his hometown, about an hour away, round up a few kids from his youth group, go to a public park and play basketball. The idea was to start a pickup game and eventually draw in strangers. At some break in the game, Rick would begin to talk about the youth group, his church and his own faith in Jesus Christ. He would very casually invite any of the new kids just met to join them all for church the next day, to come and hear more about Jesus and God’s love for all people.

My friend would refer to this Saturday morning process as “winning people for Jesus.” In other words, if someone were introduced to the Christian faith in the process of hearing about Jesus, praying to God, reading a bit of scripture, and promising to pattern one’s life after the life of Jesus, then that person had been “won” to Christ.

Now, I fully understand if that sort of evangelism seems completely intrusive and makes your skin crawl. There have been times when I would have said that that sort of thing had to do with a completely different understanding of Christianity. While I have not ever, and can’t imagine ever, being called to “basketball evangelism,” there is something in my friend’s perspective that I admire and I think we can learn from. In the notion of “wining” people for God, there is a sense of urgency.

There’s an old preacher’s story about the devil and his generals trying to mount a new offensive on Christianity, to try to make Christians ineffective in the world. The generals all gather together and the first suggests and idea. “What if we try to convince Christians that there really is no God?”

“No,” says the devil. “That will never work, too many Christians already have a strong sense of God.” The next general stands up and says, “I have it. Let’s convince them that there really is no difference between good and evil, between right and wrong.” But the devil shakes his head again. “No,” he says, “too many already know the difference and think it’s important. We’ll have to think of something else.” Finally, the third general steps forward. “Sir,” he says, “my idea is a little subtle, but I wonder if we might encourage them to continue believing in God, encourage them to distinguish between good and evil, but we simply suggest to them that there’s no hurry in any of this. There’s no need to rush, no need to worry, no sense of urgency.”

I think there is some hurry, and there is a certain urgency– because too many people are being lost. I’m not talking about church statistics, nor am I worried about denominational statistics. I’m talking about something much larger—about losing more and more people to violence— violence in the streets, violence in the home. We lose too many people to addictions, addictions of habit or need. We lose people to lives lived in compulsion, those who are never happy no matter how many things they may buy; happy no matter how many places they have traveled; happy no matter how many people they have used.

There are just too many people living lives that seem to have no purpose, lives lived in a hopeless circle of meeting immediate needs but never making space to recall why it is we might work, in the first place.

Evangelism has to do with sharing our faith. It has to do with sharing good news. It has to do with sharing a bit of ourselves with other people, whether it involves saying something about Jesus Christ through words, through prayer, or through actions. Evangelism, at least as I see it, is a matter of winning and losing. It’s not about church growth or meeting the goals of the budget or putting people on committees—it’s often life and death. It’s about life lived as fully as possible.

In today’s Gospel, the urgency shines through. Jesus calls Simon Peter and the Andrew. These two brothers are busy fishing, casting their nets, making their livelihood. But Jesus makes another offer. He raises the stakes. “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Jesus calls James and John and invites them to drop what they’re doing, but even so, to use the skills they already have and apply them to a larger purpose. This new purpose will carry them into dangerous waters, indeed, as they are led into messy, untidy, uncontrollable and unpredictable places of faith.

We, too are called to “fish for people” or rather, we’re called upon to use whatever skills, abilities, or gifts we might have in order to help others know the love of God through Jesus Christ. We may be called to teach for people, to cook for people, to build for people, or to listen for people. Whatever it is we may do, in meeting Christ, we have the potential for our everyday work to become ministry and mission. In our teaching, in our cooking, in our building, in our talking and praying and listening, we offer Christ; we fish for people.

At Holy Trinity, we’re pretty good fishers, fishermen and fisherwomen. Some of our members, as individual fishers, are outrageously successful. But it seems that, as a church, our style has not been so much to go out on the high seas or the deep water, but rather to be a little like a lobster trap. If one should wander our way and come inside, then one finds we have quite a lot to offer.

For a few years, we’ve used a slogan on our website and elsewhere that simply says, “The Church of the Holy Trinity: To show and share the love of God.” That’s a great mission and a holy mission. But to what extent do we really do that?

Lobster traps work. But I wonder if, at some point, we aren’t called to respond to that sense of urgency, the urgency of the gospel and the urgency of our own world. What would it look like if we were to fish for people in new ways?

For some, if might look like inviting a neighbor to church some time. It might look like getting involved in a new mission project and bringing people from church with you. It might look like our forming new mission relationships with some of the new refugees who have come to New York City. Or maybe others who need friendship and support around us, or further away—in Central America, the Middle East or Africa. Fishing for people might look like our sitting at a table in our garden on a hot, summer Saturday, just offering water to people who go by. Fishing for people can involve mission and hospitality, evangelism and publicity, music and ministry in all shapes and forms.

Jesus has promised to be with us always. He has told us we should never fear. With hope, and faith and joy, let’s go fishing. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.