Exodus 3:1-14; Psalm 19; John 2:13-22; 1 Corinthians 1:18-25
Sometimes I suspect people think I'm stupid to be a Christian. You can see it in their polite smile when they find out what I do. Well, I'm very happy if that works for you, they say, as they change the subject - and I'm pretty sure they're thinking, But I'd never be such a loser as to fall for religion. It's only there for naive people who can't cope with real life. Of course, the other thing people think and say about religion is that people who believe in God are mad fanatics, ready to destroy whatever gets in their way.
And there is evidence for both these points of view. Unfortunately, religion does sometimes breed conformists who cannot live without rigid instructions from on high, mediated through a charismatic leader who takes away from his flock - and it usually is a man - the pain of living their lives in the real world, where uncertainty and doubt are part of the equation. And unfortunately, extremists whose goal is destruction do sometimes blame their violence on God and see themselves as God's warriors, handing out punishment to those who dare to disagree or disobey. So where does that leave us, self-confessed Christians sitting here in church this morning?
Of the two possible labels that could be put on your faith, folly or fanaticism,
I wonder which you would consider more insulting? My pride finds no enjoyment in our being considered so negligible that we can safely be ignored, and Paul might have agreed. His letter to the church in Corinth just drips with sarcasm, as he argues against those who count themselves much too wise to accept the folly of Jesus' cross. And let's face it, from outside, Jesus' whole life does look pretty foolish. An energetic young preacher, with everyone on his side, he manages to alienate both the reformers who want people to get back to God through keeping God's law and those traditionalists who say that the Temple is the place where God's presence is revealed. Then, just to burn his boats, he criticises the government too! And finally from his lofty deathbed he forgives the lot of them. Naive young idiot, what sense does that make? Yet this is our Lord. If we've never been fools for Christ, are we really following Jesus?
If we don't like being dismissed as idiots, is it any better to be labelled as fanatics? Fanaticism might not be a word you'd associate with our tradition, which looks a bit doubtfully on enthusiasm in a church context. Yet at times in Scottish and in Irish history women and men have risked their freedom and even their lives to worship God in the ways they thought right, and specifically not in the English ways they thought wrong.
Sometimes the ways they understood their faith could also be tragically destructive of the freedom and the lives of others; an echo from such past violence has painfully been heard this week in Northern Ireland. Yet it's not hard to justify religious provocation in our Gospel reading this morning. Jesus comes into the temple, into the courtyard of the Gentiles, where flawless animals satisfying the regulations for sacrifice were on sale, where worshippers, Jew and Gentile, could exchange their ordinary coins for the Temple money used to buy them. He comes into the heart of the religious system, the place where forgiveness for sins and reconciliation with God take place. And he disrupts it. Though his words and actions protested legitimately against the commerce which allowed people with money to buy into God's favour, what he did must have been construed by others as deliberate provocation. Yet he is our Lord.
If our way of following Jesus has never raised an eyebrow in others, let alone a protest, are we really his friends?
In a church tradition where pictorial symbols have traditionally been seen as a step on the road to idolatry, one image that has been associated with our churches for centuries is that of the burning bush, taken from our first reading, often in association with the Latin motto nec tamen consumebatur, yet it was not consumed. It is a symbol of God's power, which in spite of overwhelming need can never be exhausted, and of God's people, who in spite of overwhelming suffering can never be destroyed. And it is that fire of God's love, burning in our hearts, which is the strength of our faith - the strength which comes through our trust in God, without which the covenant promise made between God and us, God's people, would be unthinkable, and God's commandments remain unkept.
As we reflected earlier in our theme introduction, it is that fire of God's love burning within us which precedes God's commands and enables us to follow them. It may take time to catch light in us - Moses' initial reaction to God's call was less than enthusiastic, and the first reaction of many prophets on hearing the voice of God has been, Here I am - send somebody else. And no wonder. God's call may destroy the old order without sure promise of the new: Moses had been an Egyptian prince before God's voice called him back to his own. And it may seem sheer stupidity. Moses' commission to remove thousands of slaves from Pharaoh's economy wasn't a front-runner for political success; his own reward for obedience was to suffer grumbling from his followers all his life, and then to die without entering the land of promise. True religion is indeed susceptible to accusations of fanaticism and of folly.
Yet it is the fire of God's love within us and between us - for God's covenant is not only with each of us as individuals, but also between God and us as a church - which gives us a yardstick to distinguish between actions reflecting God's never-ending forgiveness which will not turn away any, no matter how serious or repeated the offence, and weakness; between provocative deeds drawing others towards God, and violence. That quality of love is poetically described in our psalm this morning. God's loving relationship with us, expressed through both God's created universe and God's revealed law, is like the burning rays of the sun, like the vigour of someone newly married, like the brilliance of gold, like the sweetness of honey. But we believe it is also like one human being, Jesus Christ. And it is his love which we reflect, as well as we are able, in the daily choices of our lives. When we are tempted to retaliation, when we are tempted to close our eyes to evil, the covenant love between God and us, as God's people, can guide our actions. Our psalm acknowledges that we will not always realise when we have gone wrong, which is one reason why we should always take seriously outsiders' reaction to Christianity; they may see what we cannot. But if we discover that our religion is falling into weakness or violence, we know how we should pray: Breathe on me, breath of God.