Recently, a funeral was held at St Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan, New York.

The deceased was an Argentinian-born trans-woman…

by the name of Cecilia Gentili… 

who had been an advocate for sex workers, people with HIV/AIDS, and inclusion…

a director of a non-profit organisation for gay men’s health…

a coordinator of a transgender health programme…

and an actor who starred in a TV series about the underground ballroom dance scene of the nineteen-eighties.

The funeral came at the request of her family…

but it was largely organised by New York’s LGBTQI community.

Over a thousand people attended.

Following the funeral, however, the Rector of the Cathedral released a statement saying that the church was “outraged”.

He claimed, 

“The cathedral only knew that family and friends were requesting a funeral mass for a Catholic, and had no idea our welcome and prayer would be degraded in such a sacrilegious and deceptive way”.

He added that it was a reminder of the importance of the season of Lent…

and its invitation to repentance. 

Indeed, the Archbishop of New York offered to hold a “mass of reparation”—

which is a rite that’s apparently offered to express contrition for “sin”…

and as a means of “averting God’s wrath”.

Cecilia’s family denied that there had been any deception…

and that the occasion had simply been a celebration of a precious life…

adding that “the only deception…at St Patrick’s Cathedral is that it claims to be a welcoming place for all”.

 

I have to admit that, whenever I hear stories like that, I get angry.

I get angry when the Church fails to reflect the loving nature of God.

I get angry when people stigmatise, abuse, or exploit other people in the name of God.

I get angry when people make God out to be a judgmental and vengeful deity.

And I think that it’s only right that we do get angry…

that we speak up…

and that we demand that those responsible are called to account.

And why not?

Don’t we have a perfect example of that in this morning’s reading?

“Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple…He also poured out the coins of the money-changers and overturned their tables…‘Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!’”

Let’s make no bones about it—

Jesus was furious.

This is not a Jesus-meek-and-mild.

This is someone passionately outraged by exploitation and injustice…

and by the abuse and manipulation of ordinary people.

Ironically…

none of those involved in the exploitation probably thought that what they were doing was wrong.

Quite the opposite!

They probably thought that what they were doing was legitimate—

not only was it quite legal…

but worship couldn’t happen without it.

After all, some of their religious rites required animals for sacrifice…

which meant that people needed to purchase them.

Selling them at the Temple was a way of ensuring that things happened properly—

that people had the appropriate sacrifices…

and that they were in proper condition.

That’s what the Hebrew Law demanded.

The moneychangers were also serving an important function.

It would have been inappropriate to use Roman money in the Temple. 

After all, Roman coins bore the image of the emperor on them—

often with an inscription proclaiming that he was a god.

You couldn’t offer that to God!

It was offensive and blasphemous.

So, it was only right and proper that it was changed for something appropriate.

 

And probably, in the beginning, that’s how it all started—

with the best of intentions.

But, over time, things changed.

It all took on a life of its own—

as these sorts of things so often do.

For those supplying the livestock for sacrifices…

and for those exchanging the coins…

it had become a lucrative way to make a living.

And the organisation of these transactions had begun to resemble a farmer’s market or a country fair—

rather than a place of worship.

But, even more than that, poor peasants were being ripped off and exploited in the process.

And the religious leaders weren’t innocent in all of that.

They turned a blind eye to the corruption—

silently acquiescing with the injustice and abuse—

if they weren’t actually taking kickbacks themselves.

Practices that had begun as good and necessary had become ends in themselves…

rather than a means to an end.

But, in effect, so had the Temple itself.

It had gone from being a means of worshipping God—

through its beauty and magnificence…

and the sense of ‘space’ that it created—

to becoming an object of devotion itself.

And, even worse than that, it had become an instrument of oppression and abuse…

under the veneer of legitimacy.

Jesus was furious—

and why not?

Who could blame him for doing what he did—

even if it was only a symbolic act of protest…

which would have produced no meaningful long-term change.

 

Now it’s worth noting that…

in the other Gospels… 

this story comes right near the end.

It’s the last straw… 

in a sense…

the ultimate reason why they decided that Jesus had to go.

But, in John’s Gospel, it comes at the very beginning.

In the process, the author has played down some of the political implications…

softened the hard social-justice edges…

and presented it more as an example or a parable…

challenging his readers to consider their own practices:

how they go about worshipping God…

and whether their rules and practices have become a means of exploitation and abuse…

or whether they’re consistent with the God whom we encounter in Jesus Christ—

a God who identifies with the poor…

the weak…

the vulnerable…

and the exploited;

a God who always puts people ahead of rules;

and a God who is angered by abuse and exploitation…

especially when it’s perpetrated in God’s name.

 

So, what relevance does all of that have for us, today?

 

Of course, none of us are involved in exploitation and abuse—

not directly.

But, through our complacency, are we complicit?

Are we unwitting accomplices?

Do any of our practices, as a church, cause harm or send the message that God doesn’t care?

Do we ensure that the tea and coffee that we serve is FairTrade?

As individuals, what about our chocolate—

especially with Easter fast approaching—

is it also FairTrade and slavery-free?

What about our clothes?

Do we buy FairWear clothing or do our clothes come from sweatshops?

Do we take a stand on issues such as child labour,

human trafficking, and human rights abuses…

not to mention the appalling conditions in our own offshore detention gulags?

By our apathy, silence, and acquiescence, do we allow abuse and injustice to continue?

 

As the saying—

often attributed to Edmund Burke— 

goes:

“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing”.