“And making a whip out of grass, he drove everyone out of the Temple courtyard including the sheep and the oxen, poured out the exchangers coins, and overturned their tables” (John 2.15).
Desert Wind, where are you? The courtyard is full of merchants who have made your house a den of thieves, a place of predators, and a shelter for toxic thinking. Lies are peddled in place of truth. Hate instead of love.
Where is this Jesus, the one who makes whips out of what’s at hand to crack the air and send people running? Where are you when it’s long past time for the tables to be turned over, tablecloths pulled, scattering the worldly foolishness disguised as your wisdom? You hear all this, don’t you? You see it? You know what’s going on, don’t you?
Are you waiting, plotting, planning your move? Is there a moment for which you’re waiting to dump their full purses and melt down their idols? Are you coming to return what was stolen, to correct the errors, to save us?
Exhale, won’t you, so your Breath will come like that of a spring storm from darkened skies, a gale that whips up the tablecloths, scatters the pamphlets and pages, pulls down the flags that have drawn false worship, and topples the idols from the stage.
But first, come through my door. Let your Spirit howl as it rips past the corners of this home I’ve been in day in and day out since last Lent. Creep in every place where the doors don’t quite meet the frames and the weather-stripping has worn flat. Flutter the mail stacked up on my desk, the fur of sleeping cats, and the t-shirts, sweatshirts, and pajamas that are my everyday attire. Bring warmth like its summer and cold like winter all in the same breath; so, I can feel the sweat on my neck rolling over the gooseflesh on my arms.
Get inside of me, through my nostrils and my lips, and fill my lungs, invade my blood so that every heartbeat pushes you throughout every inch of my being—from hair to toes. Let it feed my heart, my brain, my ears, my eyes.
And teach me that table-turning and whipping cords are not what I need. That though I would like to rearrange the furniture, you are about something greater. Because while I’m looking for you to topple tables, you are ready to move stones. You are about to let them cry out.
Start, Wild Wind, with the stone of my heart. Make it tremble, crack, and then sing. Let it declare that there is no hiding place from your love, no place you cannot reach. Through crannies and cracks you will come, until every inch of this world is full of your love.
Then, your breath on my tongue, let me speak love to hate, justice to oppression, and redemption to every corner of this world. And let my words break the tables of greed—for money, for influence, for power—that live within my own heart.
Breathe, my friend, so all things, including me, will be made new.