As a kid, I absolutely loved this Sunday's gospel reading: Jesus “cleansing” the temple (John 2:13-22).  I loved the image of tame Jesus (mostly shown cuddling rabbits and children in my Bible), getting ticked off and flipping tables. Go Jesus! It made him seem more human, more real.  He was angry. We get angry. In anger, he acted in ways that seemed destructive. We do too.
 
Most of my Sunday School teachers explained the story as how wrong it was to do commerce in church. Hence, no rummage sales on Sunday.  But, there’s a lot more to the story. 

Jesus taught, “Be angry, but do not sin" (Ephesians 4:26-27).  And in this story, Jesus models how.  Anger that increases your heart rate, makes your palms sweat and your face turn red. It makes your jaw tight and your mind race. Psychologists call this “flooding.” And when it happens, we are really likely to sin; to break relationships.  Jesus, feeling all of that, expressed his anger effectively. So effectively that the resonance of his actions still echoes in the reading.

Mahatma Ghandi’s grandson, Arun, wrote a children’s book about things his grandad taught him. One of them was the power of anger. Ghandi-gi told him that anger is like electricity. It can strike like lightning, or it can be controlled to produce light. 

That's the lesson of Jesus' behavior in the temple.  When Jesus tipped the tables and flipped the money onto the floor, it may have looked like lightening striking. But really, it was controlled enlightenment.  Through his actions, he sent a message that rippled through the community, taught a lesson, and enabled the salvation story to go into turbo charge.  His death became inevitable and by his death, his power to redeem and resurrect was revealed.

Like you, I long to let my anger be a light, not lightening. Learning how to manage our anger effectively is a part of discipleship.  May our consideration of Jesus’ actions bring us wisdom on how to be angry, and still turn the tables on our complicity with injustice and sin.

-- Pastor Rebecca

I love the word, transformation.  I preach on it all the time.  I’ve found the power of love and the experience of walking with Jesus to be so transformational that I’ve dedicated my life to trumpeting that good news! For me, transformation is positive, holy, and attractive. I hope that’s how you see it too.

But, there is another side. Transformation inherently requires change. And change means loss. Caterpillars may not welcome becoming butterflies. Why would they?

Cocoons, physiological morphing, the struggle to break out of the chrysalis, UGH! Who wants all that? Rather that we stay on the leaf munching away in the sunshine.
It’s the same with us.

Collectively, as the Church, we followers of Jesus in North America are going through a profound transformation. Many of us have stopped attending church every Sunday. At St. Paul’s, only a third of us are in the building on average on any given Sunday.  Many of us have stopped attending all together. The drop is precipitous across the nation – for all denominations. This is not a welcome change. It’s a loss that sometimes takes my breath away and makes me cry.

You can see why: I deeply believe in the work that we do together as church. But transformation is here. I have to let myself grieve. And so do you. The loss is real. And we don’t know what the future holds. 

Darian and I have a vision for our transformation. We have hope that our worshipping community will thrive for generations to come. But not without change. Not without transformation. Stop and reflect on how that makes you feel. 

As we walk through the days ahead and discern next steps, we will make space to mourn, to honor our past, and to comfort each other. 

Change is tough. But we are tougher. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, our caterpillar community will fly.

-- Pastor Rebecca