On righteous indignation

A SERMON FOR THE 3^RD SUNDAY IN LENT
Sunday, March 3^rd 2024
St. Saviour Church, Penticton BC
The Very Rev. Ken Gray

I feel so righteous in my indignation today. And I am not alone, for today’s Gospel text takes into the heart of the temple of Jesus’ day, where we see our Lord acting in a similar manner:

In the temple (Jesus) found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. He told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me.”

A similar, consuming cry surrounded our mother church, Canterbury Cathedral a couple of weeks ago. In response to a Silent Disco event set in the nave, one of a number of similar events designed to welcome and engage local communities, the Very Reverend Dr David Monteith responded to criticism of such events occurring above the tomb of St. Thomas Becket. In a recent sermon the dean explained the rationale for such engagement, as a legitimate and necessary use of public space, and also—let’s be honest—in support of the Cathedral ministry which as a UNESCO world heritage site receives little state funding—the cathedral costs twenty thousand pounds daily to operate.

As part of an extended early church baptismal preparation curriculum, today’s testimony from John says many things simultaneously. Reading and responding to John is like peeling an onion. Feel free to read the stories as text and at face value; then go deeper, as I was told in high school English to “read between the lines” to discover other layers of meaning. Jesus speaks not only about the physical temple—the place of reconciliation between humanity, creation, and all which lies beyond. He is doing more than describing a legitimate temple trade gone wild. Jesus is the new temple. His presence is intentionally disruptive. So what would Jesus—the new temple—have us do in the midst of the murky conditions of life? To what extent does our witness give birth to specific action, even activism?

Meanwhile, in Russia, Putin has murdered, amongst others though most notably, Alexei Navalny? Guardian reporters write that “when Navalny was murdered many people in Russia felt their hope had died with him. Therefore it is vital that we support Yulia Navalnaya, who announced that she would continue fighting for her husband’s cause. She asked us not only to share in her grief, but in her anger . . . The time for onlookers to be “deeply concerned” is over.” Deep concern is not enough. Is anger however, always part of the solution?

Closer to home, and in our Canadian Anglican context, a chapter in my little book describes  the anger and hurt felt by residential school survivors following the initial settlement agreement between the federal government and out church, given its exclusion of language and cultural deprivation. Ellie Johnson’s work in working through that crisis remains inspiring. At General Synod 2019 I was so pleased to witness Archbishop Fred Hiltz to offer the apology for Spiritual Harm. The reconciliation process continues . . . Anger however remains.

Concern is not enough! Can you imagine Moses walking into Pharoah’s throne room saying, “My Lord, I am concerned about your treatment of my people.” Well, he tried that to no avail. Paul reminds the Corinthians of the conflict between the wisdom of the Greeks and the revelation of God-in-Christ. There is no contest between the two, though again, concern was not enough.

There will always be something to anger me personally, and possibly yourself. I get angry, I think for good cause, though anger really is wasted energy though it does garner attention.  The prophet Isaiah invites us all to “reason together,” but conversation with unreasonable people is difficult if not futile. What do I do, and what should we do, with our anger? Do we turn to Jesus as a model for constructive engagement? The result of his tantrum was crucifixion. Want to get yourself in trouble? Criticize the religious elite. Negative result guaranteed.

Blogging from the Centre for Action and Contemplation, Allen Dwight Callahan reminds us that “faced with an outrage, anger is the price we pay for paying attention. It is the rage that ought to come out, because, when faced with an outrage, it is a sin not to be angry.”  Scriptural voices continue the conversation. “In your anger do not sin”: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold. (EPH 4:26, Ps 4:4)

So what is my current gripe. I continue to be astonished, even dismayed at leaders in the Government of Alberta who continue to go to every length imaginable to frustrate a just transition to sustainable technology. We can discuss the details at coffee; indeed we should and must. Quoted in The Guardian, John Kerry warns of “the disinformation crowd that are willing to put the whole world at risk for whatever political motivations may be behind their choices.”

 Is there another way to utilize our anger, an effective and compassionate way? I suggest we turn to the arts, and today, to poetry, to a poem from a mother to a daughter with which I will close:

Dear Matafele Peinam (MAT-A-PHELE PINE-AM) Extract

(Creation, from a southern hemispheric perspective)

Dear Matafele Peinam

you are a seven month old sunrise of gummy smiles

you are bald as an egg and bald as the buddha

your thighs that are thunder and shrieks that are lightning

so excited for bananas, hugs and our morning walks past the lagoon

dear matafele peinam,

i want to tell you about that lagoon

that lucid, sleepy lagoon lounging against the sunrise

men say that one day that lagoon will devour you

they say it will gnaw at the shoreline

chew at the roots of your breadfruit trees

gulp down rows of your seawalls

and crunch your island’s shattered bones

they say you, your daughter

and your granddaughter, too

will wander rootless

with only a passport to call home

dear matafele peinam,

don’t cry

mommy promises you

no one

will come and devour you

no greedy whale of a company sharking through political seas

no backwater bullying of businesses with broken morals

no blindfolded bureaucracies gonna push

this mother ocean over

the edge

no one’s drowning, baby

no one’s moving

no one’s losing

their homeland

no one’s gonna become

a climate change refugee

or should i say

no one else

to the Carteret islanders of Papua new Guines

and to the Taro islanders of the Solomon Islands

I take this moment

to apologize to you

we are drawing the line here

because baby we are going to fight

your mommy, daddy

bubu Jimma your country and president too

we will all fight

and even though there are those

hidden behind platinum titles

who like to pretend that we don’t exist

that the Marshall islands

Tuvalu, Kiribati, Maldives

and typhoon Haiyan in the Philippines

and floods of Pakistan, Algeria, Colombia

and all the hurricanes, earthquakes, and tidal waves

didn’t exist

still

there are those

who see us

hands reaching out

fists raising up

banners unfurling

megaphones booming

and we are

canoes blocking coal ships

we are

the radiance of solar villages

we are

the rich clean soil of the farmer’s past

we are

petitions blooming from teenage fingertips

we are

families biking, recycling, reusing

engineers dreaming, designing, building

artists painting, dancing, writing

and we are spreading the word

and there are thousands out on the street

marching with signs

hand in hand

chanting for change NOW

and they’re marching for you, baby

they’re marching for us

because we deserve to do more than just

survive

we deserve

to thrive

dear matafele peinam,

your eyes are heavy

with drowsy weight

so just close those eyes, baby

and sleep in peace

because we won’t let you down

you’ll see

The text of ‘Dear Matefele Peinem’ was taken from Kathy Jetñil Kijiner’s blog post, ‘United Nations Climate Summit Opening Ceremony — A Poem to My Daughter’, published 24 September 2014