What a headline, right? Check out Mark 11:15-19 here. I love the verse that says He would not allow anyone to carry anything through the Temple. Imagine that guy who woke up late, grabbed his crate of pigeons and hurried toward his spot in the Temple market. Up the stairs he rushed, only to be stopped by the Son of God, overflowing with righteous anger. Was it in this guy's face that Jesus made His declaration?
"My house shall be called a house of prayer ... but you have
made it a den of thieves!"
As I read this passage today, the sun crested the tree line and beamed heat on the side of my face—9 a.m. and already hot. The July garden exhaled its heavy fragrance of peak season as the words of scripture sifted into my heart spaces. We are His temple now. The temple market He trashed is long gone, trampled under Roman feet until not one stone remained upon another. But epistle writers say that His temple of preference is now ... in us. And how is that going? Am I using this temple I've been given as a holy house of prayer? Am I bringing the sacrifices of praise and offerings of self? How often have I abused my privilege just like the pigeon-carrying guy?