The Justice of Jesus: A Holy Week Meditation For Great Monday
The next day as they were leaving Bethany, Jesus was hungry. Seeing in the distance a fig tree in leaf, he went to find out if it had any fruit. When he reached it, he found nothing but leaves, because it was not the season for figs. Then he said to the tree, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.” And his disciples heard him say it. 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.
Holy Monday sees Jesus fully enfleshed. He’s on edge, a bit testy, even angry. He’s lived his entire life on the margins, eating the scraps dropped from the imperial table of Rome. And now he finds himself an enemy of the religious establishment. It’s so bad he’s even staying outside the city as a safety precaution. He must be tired, discouraged, and maybe even wondering if all this is really even worth it. His blundering disciples continue to misunderstand even his most basic teachings, and the crowds have mistaken him for a violent revolutionary. On his way back into Jerusalem on Monday morning he pauses for breakfast, yet even this fig tree disappoints. By the time he makes it into the Temple he’s flush with anger, and who can blame him.
In brilliant Markan fashion, the Gospel writer pairs the withering of the fig tree with Jesus’ act of clearing the Temple, but why? In ancient Israel, the “fig tree was an emblem of peace, security, and prosperity.” A withering tree, on the other hand, would represent God’s judgment. By linking this story with Jesus’ symbolic act in the Temple, Mark is also indicting the religious establishment who continue to use their privileged positions to exploit the poor and “spiritually unclean.” When Jesus re-enters the Temple Monday morning, he manifests the prophet Jeremiah, standing in condemnation of a religious system of exploitation and exclusion:
“If you truly amend your ways and your doings, if you truly act justly one with another, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other gods to your own hurt, then I will dwell with you in this place...Has this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your sight?
With this as the backdrop, Jesus’ action in the Temple is clearly understood. Whether it be in ancient Jerusalem or modern America, daily acts of injustice exploit the poor and oppressed, turning God’s people into robbers. When we exclude our LGBTQIA+ brothers and sisters from a place at the table, we are re-enacting purity laws designed to draw spiritual lines of isolation. When we tell women their place is in the nursery but not in the pulpit, we rob our daughters of their God given right to lead. When the largest Christian movement in America can be counted on to hate their enemies, put the stranger in cages, ban books but not guns, scapegoat the transgender community, and support the most craven political criminal in history, it’s time to turn over some tables.
When Jesus clears the Temple, he is insisting that worship without justice is meaningless. He is forever indicting hypocrites like Sean Feucht who grifts on the graves of murdered school children while supporting the policies that killed them. As the prophet Amos wrote, “I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them...But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”
Holy Monday reminds us that there is no Gospel that is not social. That you cannot proclaim Christ with your lips when your hands are full of blood. “It is a myth that the Gospel of Jesus Christ can ever be personally redemptive without being socially responsible,” warns pastor Robin Meyers. This very fleshy Jesus seems particularly interested in what happens to our bodies, not just our souls. Why else would he touch the impure, heal the blind, set captives free, feed the poor, and give dignity to prostitutes and tax collectors? Perhaps the most profound statement Jesus ever uttered was, “as you have done it for one of the least of these brothers of Mine, you have done it for Me.’
And what does this all mean? It means you cannot dehumanize and deny immigrants and still worship on Sunday morning. It means you cannot turn your back on our Black brothers and sisters as they continue to suffer police brutality. It means you must not horde your wealth while your neighbor goes away empty handed. It means you cannot pray for the salvation of the soul while destroying the planet. It means you cannot offer anemic “thoughts and prayers” while cashing NRA checks. Justice is at the very heart of the Jesus movement. But rather than being retributive, the justice of Jesus is always restorative.
As my therapist recently noted, you cannot heal what you do not accept. Which begs the question, what forms of injustice are you either benefiting from or participating in? How might you work for restorative justice in your home, neighborhood, or community? What do you need to cleanse from your way of life in order to “seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly before God?”
