As I was slogging thru the cold, driving rain this morning from Neaum Crag over Loughrigg Fell to Ambleside, for my yoga class, I was listening to a podcast, “Pray-As-You-Go”. The theme was Jesus cleansing the temple--an old saw to be sure. But the comments to this passage caught me up short: “people will always be angry when Jesus clears a space to worship Him.” When he flogs away my profit or prestige motives within my inner temple, don’t I too want to kill Him? Don’t I do so over and over with weapons of mass distraction? I hit the “Jesus Delete” button on my consciousness. I resume life as a functional atheist. I put a Mafia-style bullet in the back of His head, and say, ‘nothing personal; just busyness.’
The word “therapist” derives from the ancient Greek, a hybrid word, “theo” and “rapiste”, God and janitor. Thus a therapist is God’s janitor. The ancient therapists pushed brooms, clearing space in the temple for people to worship their gods. I have been a therapist for others. Now it’s my turn to clean and clear, scrubbing space into stillness where I can meet with Jesus peaceably rather than homocidally. Like this local tree was scrubbed clean in just a few days.
My focal verses for this sabbatical year are from Isaiah 58:12-14: “if you watch your step on the Sabbath, not using my Holy Day for personal advantage; if you treat the Sabbath as a day of joy, God’s holy day as a celebration; if you refuse ‘business as usual,’ making money, running here and there—then you’ll be free to enjoy God. Oh I’ll make you ride high and soar above it all…” Yes. So let it be. For me and for thee.