The Clanking of Coins
Sermon
SOUNDS OF THE PASSION
A SERMON Series FOR LENT
Suppose that I tingled a batch of coins in my pocket or dropped some quarters on a marble floor. If you were to close your eyes and listen to the sound that money makes, what would it remind you of?
... A bank teller spilling out a deposit for counting?
... A child shaking a piggy bank in hopes that a coin will slip through the slot?
... A clerk dropping the money from your purchase into a register?
... An expectant gambler at the fair, trying to make a penny land between the lines?
... A woman searching through a change purse, trying to locate money for a parking meter?
... A cafeteria cashier pushing a button that lets two dimes and a few pennies rattle down a metal slot?
What does the sound of loose change remind you of? Have you ever thought of this as a sound of the passion? Have you ever associated the sound of jingling money with the crucifixion of Jesus?
During the Lenten season, the church seeks to make us aware of how overwhelming the love of Christ really is. It is overwhelming because Jesus was willing, is willing, to make himself vulnerable to love. That means that he was willing, is willing, to place himself in a position where we can accept or reject him, embrace him or exclude him, receive him or dismiss him.
In the first chapter, we discovered how the sound of weeping gives us an indication of how Christ feels when we reject him, exclude him, dismiss him from our lives - when we refuse his offer of life. It is not a sound of anger or disgust or resentment, but rather the weeping of a broken heart. There is another distinctive sound of the Passion, a sound that will be forever associated with those events that took place during the last week of Jesus' earthly life. It is the sound of clanking coins. Listen. Hear what it may say to us.
The sound of clanking coins can either be grating or pleasant, depending on where and for what reason it is being made. During that last week we hear it three times.
The first time Jesus is sitting in the Temple of Jerusalem beside the treasury. The treasury consisted of thirteen trumpet-shaped receptacles into which worshipers put their offerings. As those temple coins clanked into the receptacles, the size and worth of the offering was inevitably revealed.
Jesus, sitting there watching and listening, noted a widow as she threw in two tiny coins. The coins made very little noise as they struck the receptacle, so he could easily tell that they were insignificant. Something about the widow, however, told Jesus that her giving was an expression of her thankfulness and her love. He realized that those two coins were all that she had. She must have felt so grateful that she could only express her feeling by giving all she had, even though it was such a small amount. Her action and her attitude surely gladdened Jesus, and helped to lift his depression, to restore his faith in human nature. The sounds of those coins were sounds of care and response, for they had found their proper place. It was the sound of what money can do.
There was another sound of clanking coins that week also in the Temple. It was the sound made by coins that had gotten out of their proper place.
Pilgrims came to Jerusalem from all over the Mediterranean area for the annual celebration of the Jewish Passover. They felt that if they could get to the Jerusalem Temple, they could experience the presence of God as they could no where else on earth. Many of them saved to finance this trip at least once during a lifetime.
When the pilgrims entered the Temple, each had to pay a tax that could be paid only with temple currency. This meant they had to exchange the various currencies of the lands from which they came for that temple money. The money changers sat at their tables to help with this exchange, at a percentage all out of proportion to the service rendered.
Making a sacrifice, which was at the very heart of their religion, would seem essential to the worshipers. Unless they had to travel too far, they brought lambs or other animals for this sacrifice. The animals had to be inspected to make sure they were without blemish, and so acceptable to God. The inspector made a point of finding some blemish, and the pilgrims then had to pay "the inside price" for an acceptable animal. The whole affair was a huge racket, yet no one could do anything to stop it.
Into this situation came Jesus of Nazareth. He was angry that worshipers were being exploited, taken advantage of. He unfastened the cages and freed the animals, then turned over the tables of the exchangers, loudly scattering the money in all directions. "You have made this House of Prayer a den of thieves." (Luke 19:46)
Here was the sound of money that had gotten out of its proper place. Here was money exploiting a person's deep need for God, turning sacred rituals into gimmicks for personal gain, cashing in on the faith of the seekers.
There was another sound of clanking coins during that last week. Again it was in the Temple, where coins sealed the worst bargain ever made. It was the clanking of thirty pieces of silver.
This grating sound is a familiar part of the Passion narrative, but never so familiar that the terrible enigma of Judas fails to haunt us every time we read it. There are five different accounts of Judas and his tragic action, but none quite answers our question of why he betrayed his Master. How could Judas bring himself to go through with it?
Was it his greed? It could have been, although thirty pieces of silver was a small sum. The high priest and the other leaders were desperate to arrest Jesus and would have paid any price Judas asked. Why didn't he hold out for more? Perhaps the thirty pieces were meant only to seal the bargain, to commit both Judas and the officials. It was like taking an option, making a deposit on the purchase of a piece of property. The thirty pieces assured Judas that he was now part of the inner circle, the power group, the decision makers.
Did Judas betray Jesus because he was disappointed, disillusioned, disenchanted with the Master? Like all of his fellow Jews, Judas had some expectations about the Messiah, this long-expected deliverer of the Israelite nation. Since Jesus was not living up to Judas' expectations, he may have decided to force his hand.
"Get on with it, Jesus!" Judas may have muttered under his breath. "I expect a solution to problems. I expect you to ease my pain. I expect protection and favoritism. If I sell you to the priests, then surely you will call down the armies of God and invade the planet earth."
A lot of us make down payments on more than just land and houses and furniture. We make payments of a little dishonesty, a bit of deception, a few lies. We do so in order to be part of some group, or win some favor, or be awarded some promotion. We don't measure greed in quantities. The thirty pieces do represent self-seeking on Judas' part and our part. He did give in to greed, and so do we. We give up our integrity, our chastity, our sincerity, our uprightness, our truthfulness, in order to get something that will give us immediate gratification, quick satisfaction.
The sound of clanking coins may remind us of our greed, however hidden that greed may be.
Often God does not come up to our expectations by giving us what we want, or feel we deserve. Knowing we cannot force his hand, we take matters into our own hands and assume that his way is our own.
Our whole society is built around the philosophy that we can get what we want so long as we have the money to pay for it. We do not need to defend that statement or back up that philosophy, for it is obvious when we measure our homes, automobiles, clothing, vacations, social standing, and on and on.
The Christian faith tells me, and I believe it, that there are a host of things that money cannot buy. Peace of mind, assurance about life, friendship, love, understanding, are just a few.
Years ago there was an ambitious couple who both felt that a high income, a large house, and social prominence would put them on top. They worked at it, using every available opportunity, resource, and friendship to obtain their common goal. His profession blossomed because he was a good lawyer. Her status in the community rose, for she was gregarious. They built the house, and it was large, spacious and elegant. They had no financial difficulties; their income matched their ambition. The one thing they had neglected to pursue was their marriage, their own relationship. Money had brought them both what they wanted, but in the process, they lost their marriage.
This story could be multiplied a hundred times - yea, hundreds of times. Money can buy us what we want, provided we can live with what we want. It can never buy us what we need. Judas sold Jesus for thirty pieces of silver in order to get what he thought he wanted. The coins represent his misplaced priority.
I often wonder how Judas spent the rest of that Thursday night and the early hours of that Friday morning. Was he alone, counting his money, congratulating himself that he was forcing Jesus to act like his kind of Messiah? Perhaps it was later that Good Friday morning, hovering on the fringes of the crowd, listening to the trial before Pilate and watching the governor fight for the life of the prisoner, that Judas suddenly saw what he had done. Perhaps then he realized that he had followed his greed and misplaced priorities to crucify Jesus.
He hurried once again to the Temple. With a desperate sense of urgency, Judas wanted to give the money back to the priests, go back on his bargain, cancel the contract, undo the whole sorry business. It was too late. The priests told him it was none of their affair and refused to take over for him in any way. The thirty pieces of silver could not buy Jesus back. There are also some things that money can never bring back.
A minister writes about a friend with whom he attended high school and college. The friend left
college before graduation and started a business. It flourished and within a few years he was wealthy. He bought a yacht on which to travel the Canadian lakes. On the maiden voyage, with his family aboard, he touched the starter. There was a short circuit, a blinding explosion, and the boat was immediately enveloped in flames. He managed to push his wife and one of his sons overboard to safety and then jump himself, but his other son was burned to death.
Months later, the minister and this friend were playing golf. Standing on the tee waiting for a foursome in front to get out of range, the bereaved father retold the story of the fire. He also told how some well-meaning person, trying to cheer him, had said: "Well, there's one thing you can be grateful for. Your boat was insured, so you didn't lose your money."
The minister writes that he will never forget the expression on his friend's face as he relived that moment. Drained of blood, his skin was gray. Tears ran down his cheeks. His voice broke as he said, "My money! What did I care about my money - all my money? My boy was dead!"
There are some things in life that money cannot replace. There are some experiences that money cannot undo.
Judas tried to undo what he had done. The priests would not take the coins back, so he flung them on the floor of the Temple. Can you hear the coins clanking on the marble? Was there ever a more tragic outward expression of what money cannot buy, or buy back? Was there ever a more tragic outward expression of what money cannot do and all that it cannot undo?
"Then Judas went out and hanged himself." (Matthew 27:5)
Out of the strange silence which comes when the clanking of those thirty notorious coins is stilled, we seem to hear a voice. It asks, as we ponder the enigma of Judas, "What does it profit you, if you gain the whole world and lose your own soul?"
... A bank teller spilling out a deposit for counting?
... A child shaking a piggy bank in hopes that a coin will slip through the slot?
... A clerk dropping the money from your purchase into a register?
... An expectant gambler at the fair, trying to make a penny land between the lines?
... A woman searching through a change purse, trying to locate money for a parking meter?
... A cafeteria cashier pushing a button that lets two dimes and a few pennies rattle down a metal slot?
What does the sound of loose change remind you of? Have you ever thought of this as a sound of the passion? Have you ever associated the sound of jingling money with the crucifixion of Jesus?
During the Lenten season, the church seeks to make us aware of how overwhelming the love of Christ really is. It is overwhelming because Jesus was willing, is willing, to make himself vulnerable to love. That means that he was willing, is willing, to place himself in a position where we can accept or reject him, embrace him or exclude him, receive him or dismiss him.
In the first chapter, we discovered how the sound of weeping gives us an indication of how Christ feels when we reject him, exclude him, dismiss him from our lives - when we refuse his offer of life. It is not a sound of anger or disgust or resentment, but rather the weeping of a broken heart. There is another distinctive sound of the Passion, a sound that will be forever associated with those events that took place during the last week of Jesus' earthly life. It is the sound of clanking coins. Listen. Hear what it may say to us.
The sound of clanking coins can either be grating or pleasant, depending on where and for what reason it is being made. During that last week we hear it three times.
The first time Jesus is sitting in the Temple of Jerusalem beside the treasury. The treasury consisted of thirteen trumpet-shaped receptacles into which worshipers put their offerings. As those temple coins clanked into the receptacles, the size and worth of the offering was inevitably revealed.
Jesus, sitting there watching and listening, noted a widow as she threw in two tiny coins. The coins made very little noise as they struck the receptacle, so he could easily tell that they were insignificant. Something about the widow, however, told Jesus that her giving was an expression of her thankfulness and her love. He realized that those two coins were all that she had. She must have felt so grateful that she could only express her feeling by giving all she had, even though it was such a small amount. Her action and her attitude surely gladdened Jesus, and helped to lift his depression, to restore his faith in human nature. The sounds of those coins were sounds of care and response, for they had found their proper place. It was the sound of what money can do.
There was another sound of clanking coins that week also in the Temple. It was the sound made by coins that had gotten out of their proper place.
Pilgrims came to Jerusalem from all over the Mediterranean area for the annual celebration of the Jewish Passover. They felt that if they could get to the Jerusalem Temple, they could experience the presence of God as they could no where else on earth. Many of them saved to finance this trip at least once during a lifetime.
When the pilgrims entered the Temple, each had to pay a tax that could be paid only with temple currency. This meant they had to exchange the various currencies of the lands from which they came for that temple money. The money changers sat at their tables to help with this exchange, at a percentage all out of proportion to the service rendered.
Making a sacrifice, which was at the very heart of their religion, would seem essential to the worshipers. Unless they had to travel too far, they brought lambs or other animals for this sacrifice. The animals had to be inspected to make sure they were without blemish, and so acceptable to God. The inspector made a point of finding some blemish, and the pilgrims then had to pay "the inside price" for an acceptable animal. The whole affair was a huge racket, yet no one could do anything to stop it.
Into this situation came Jesus of Nazareth. He was angry that worshipers were being exploited, taken advantage of. He unfastened the cages and freed the animals, then turned over the tables of the exchangers, loudly scattering the money in all directions. "You have made this House of Prayer a den of thieves." (Luke 19:46)
Here was the sound of money that had gotten out of its proper place. Here was money exploiting a person's deep need for God, turning sacred rituals into gimmicks for personal gain, cashing in on the faith of the seekers.
There was another sound of clanking coins during that last week. Again it was in the Temple, where coins sealed the worst bargain ever made. It was the clanking of thirty pieces of silver.
This grating sound is a familiar part of the Passion narrative, but never so familiar that the terrible enigma of Judas fails to haunt us every time we read it. There are five different accounts of Judas and his tragic action, but none quite answers our question of why he betrayed his Master. How could Judas bring himself to go through with it?
Was it his greed? It could have been, although thirty pieces of silver was a small sum. The high priest and the other leaders were desperate to arrest Jesus and would have paid any price Judas asked. Why didn't he hold out for more? Perhaps the thirty pieces were meant only to seal the bargain, to commit both Judas and the officials. It was like taking an option, making a deposit on the purchase of a piece of property. The thirty pieces assured Judas that he was now part of the inner circle, the power group, the decision makers.
Did Judas betray Jesus because he was disappointed, disillusioned, disenchanted with the Master? Like all of his fellow Jews, Judas had some expectations about the Messiah, this long-expected deliverer of the Israelite nation. Since Jesus was not living up to Judas' expectations, he may have decided to force his hand.
"Get on with it, Jesus!" Judas may have muttered under his breath. "I expect a solution to problems. I expect you to ease my pain. I expect protection and favoritism. If I sell you to the priests, then surely you will call down the armies of God and invade the planet earth."
A lot of us make down payments on more than just land and houses and furniture. We make payments of a little dishonesty, a bit of deception, a few lies. We do so in order to be part of some group, or win some favor, or be awarded some promotion. We don't measure greed in quantities. The thirty pieces do represent self-seeking on Judas' part and our part. He did give in to greed, and so do we. We give up our integrity, our chastity, our sincerity, our uprightness, our truthfulness, in order to get something that will give us immediate gratification, quick satisfaction.
The sound of clanking coins may remind us of our greed, however hidden that greed may be.
Often God does not come up to our expectations by giving us what we want, or feel we deserve. Knowing we cannot force his hand, we take matters into our own hands and assume that his way is our own.
Our whole society is built around the philosophy that we can get what we want so long as we have the money to pay for it. We do not need to defend that statement or back up that philosophy, for it is obvious when we measure our homes, automobiles, clothing, vacations, social standing, and on and on.
The Christian faith tells me, and I believe it, that there are a host of things that money cannot buy. Peace of mind, assurance about life, friendship, love, understanding, are just a few.
Years ago there was an ambitious couple who both felt that a high income, a large house, and social prominence would put them on top. They worked at it, using every available opportunity, resource, and friendship to obtain their common goal. His profession blossomed because he was a good lawyer. Her status in the community rose, for she was gregarious. They built the house, and it was large, spacious and elegant. They had no financial difficulties; their income matched their ambition. The one thing they had neglected to pursue was their marriage, their own relationship. Money had brought them both what they wanted, but in the process, they lost their marriage.
This story could be multiplied a hundred times - yea, hundreds of times. Money can buy us what we want, provided we can live with what we want. It can never buy us what we need. Judas sold Jesus for thirty pieces of silver in order to get what he thought he wanted. The coins represent his misplaced priority.
I often wonder how Judas spent the rest of that Thursday night and the early hours of that Friday morning. Was he alone, counting his money, congratulating himself that he was forcing Jesus to act like his kind of Messiah? Perhaps it was later that Good Friday morning, hovering on the fringes of the crowd, listening to the trial before Pilate and watching the governor fight for the life of the prisoner, that Judas suddenly saw what he had done. Perhaps then he realized that he had followed his greed and misplaced priorities to crucify Jesus.
He hurried once again to the Temple. With a desperate sense of urgency, Judas wanted to give the money back to the priests, go back on his bargain, cancel the contract, undo the whole sorry business. It was too late. The priests told him it was none of their affair and refused to take over for him in any way. The thirty pieces of silver could not buy Jesus back. There are also some things that money can never bring back.
A minister writes about a friend with whom he attended high school and college. The friend left
college before graduation and started a business. It flourished and within a few years he was wealthy. He bought a yacht on which to travel the Canadian lakes. On the maiden voyage, with his family aboard, he touched the starter. There was a short circuit, a blinding explosion, and the boat was immediately enveloped in flames. He managed to push his wife and one of his sons overboard to safety and then jump himself, but his other son was burned to death.
Months later, the minister and this friend were playing golf. Standing on the tee waiting for a foursome in front to get out of range, the bereaved father retold the story of the fire. He also told how some well-meaning person, trying to cheer him, had said: "Well, there's one thing you can be grateful for. Your boat was insured, so you didn't lose your money."
The minister writes that he will never forget the expression on his friend's face as he relived that moment. Drained of blood, his skin was gray. Tears ran down his cheeks. His voice broke as he said, "My money! What did I care about my money - all my money? My boy was dead!"
There are some things in life that money cannot replace. There are some experiences that money cannot undo.
Judas tried to undo what he had done. The priests would not take the coins back, so he flung them on the floor of the Temple. Can you hear the coins clanking on the marble? Was there ever a more tragic outward expression of what money cannot buy, or buy back? Was there ever a more tragic outward expression of what money cannot do and all that it cannot undo?
"Then Judas went out and hanged himself." (Matthew 27:5)
Out of the strange silence which comes when the clanking of those thirty notorious coins is stilled, we seem to hear a voice. It asks, as we ponder the enigma of Judas, "What does it profit you, if you gain the whole world and lose your own soul?"
