Unusual Business

“Unusual Business”

John 2:13-25

Preacher: Rev. Mark Bartsch

Kobe Union Church

27 July 2025

It is easier to imagine Jesus starting his ministry off making wine for a couple in need than it is to see him turning over tables.  But that is how Jesus starts his ministry. In seminary, they told me as a new pastor not to start off with guns blazing but to ease myself into the life of the church. But that is not what Jesus did.

In John’s Gospel, we see Him go up to His Father’s house for Passover and find the temple being desecrated. Desecration means treating something holy with disrespect—using what is sacred in a way that makes it unclean or profane. This wasn’t a new problem. In the Old Testament, the prophet Ezekiel confronts the priests in chapter 8 after they had brought idols into the temple. God says to Ezekiel:

“Son of man, do you see what they are doing—the utterly detestable things the Israelites are doing here, things that will drive me far from my sanctuary?” (Ez 8:6)

Desecration isn’t just spiritual; it can also be deeply personal. We can desecrate our marriages, our callings, even our very lives when we allow idols—anything that takes God’s place and makes something else sacred.

So Jesus enters the temple with zeal—the passion of a Son who cannot tolerate seeing His Father’s house defiled or the most vulnerable people, (who in this case are the God fearers or Gentile worshipers). With righteous anger, He flips the tables and drives out the corruption.

This dramatic act—much like His first sign of turning water into wine—is loaded with meaning. It points to a deeper cleansing, one Jesus would accomplish through his ministry and finally through His death and resurrection.

The people that day had no idea what He meant when He said, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” We understand now that He was speaking about His body—His death and resurrection (The sign of Jonah). But they were confused. How could He rebuild a temple that had taken forty-six years to construct? (And it still wasn’t finished!) Why didn’t they get it?

Because they were busy doing business as usual. And we do the same.

It was just another day at the temple. Business was booming. The pews (courts) were full. Coins were being exchanged. Everyone was in their place. Everything was functioning the way it always had—and the way they thought it should. There was a system. There were traditions. It was all very predictable. But let me tell you a secret: faith is never predictable.

And then Jesus walked in and flipped the whole thing upside down. I’ll be bold and say this: if the Word of God doesn’t flip your tables from time to time, maybe you’re not catching what Jesus is throwing.

This story—this moment—I think we need to slow down with it. Set aside the usual interpretations. Let go of what we think it’s about so we can really hear it. Because this isn’t just a story about Jesus getting mad.

Yes, He got angry. But if that’s all we take from it, we’ve missed the point. And yes, believers are allowed to get angry when we see injustice. Anger is a natural (God-given) emotional response to threats, injustices, or frustrations. It’s part of being human in a fallen world. The problem isn’t getting angry, it’s what we do with it. I will say that again. The problem isn’t getting angry. It is what we do with it.

Paul puts it this way in Ephesians 4:26–27: “In your anger do not sin": Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold (in your life).” Key word: foothold. That’s the danger zone—when anger moves from righteousness to recklessness.

I’ve gotten angry in my life (too many times). Anger can be intoxicating. It’s easy to get carried away—from righteous anger to sinful anger in the blink of an eye—because anger energizes us. And when energy spikes, we lose our ability to think clearly.

Let me tell you a story. This goes back 30 years. I was leaving Yokohama to follow my call to seminary in the States. I worked in my neighborhood, so I didn’t ride the train much, especially not with my students—I taught at a girls' school. But that day, I had to go into town, and sure enough,  my students were on the train. We saw each other, but I got out my book and minded my own business.

In that train car there was a mentally handicapped young man—maybe around 20, he was listening to his Walkman (this was 30 years ago), singing along. He wasn’t bothering anyone. At the next stop, a group of boys from another high school got on the train. They were all in the judo club—one of the best in Japan. I even knew some teachers from that school.

Of course, the boys noticed the girls from my school and started showing off. Typical. Not a very good anger story yet, is it?

But then one of the biggest boys—my size—went over to the mentally handicapped young man and began mocking him, imitating his singing. His friends laughed. I started getting angry, but I held back. 

Then suddenly, the young man screamed. The judo boy had ripped his headphones off and put them on his own head, still mocking and started singing loudly. His friends roared with laughter. The other boy started crying.

Before I knew it I was on my feet without thinking I, slapped the judo kid with an open palm on the back of his neck, swept his legs out from under him, and drove him face first to the floor. I handed the headphones back to the crying young man, held the judo kid down, and screamed, “If you want to fight or make fun of someone, do it to me.” Then I looked up—all my students’ faces were white.

At the next stop, the judo boys ran off the train. I had let go of the boy—but I didn’t want to. It was only by God’s grace that I stopped because I wanted to hurt this kid. I sat down we just got to next stop Yokohama station and I walked off the train thinking what did I do. (If you want to hear the rest of the story, come to Sunday School.)

Jesus, full of both judgment and grace, always knew when to stop. But we don’t always know that line. How many of us have crossed it? We start out with righteous anger—but if we’re not careful, we give the devil a foothold, and suddenly we’re acting out of sin, not righteousness.

I’ve got a few other stories—one on an airplane. Thank God I am not as hot-headed as I used to be.

But like I said, if all you get from this passage is “Jesus got mad, so I can too,” you’ve missed the point.

Jesus had been going to the temple His whole life. He knew what was there. The animals and money changers hadn’t snuck in overnight. They’d been there ever since He was a boy, staying behind in the temple in Luke 2, asking questions. That’s how the system worked. And still—He came in that day, and He said: No more.

And that’s exactly why He went that day: to disrupt the system. To say, “Enough. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” Jesus came to interrupt business as usual. And He comes to interrupt our busyness, too.

Just a technical biblical point. In the Gospel of John, Jesus clears the temple at the beginning of His ministry, and in the Synoptic Gospels Jesus clears the temple at the end, just before He is betrayed and crucified. I do not think these two events are the same. I think Jesus did this twice—bracketing His ministry with His passion for worship.

In Luke 10, Jesus visits Mary and Martha’s house. The crowds come, and Martha is busy using her spiritual gift of hospitality. She notices her sister just sitting there, listening to Jesus—and it makes her angry. Not righteous anger, like Jesus had at the temple, but the anger of resentment and feeling overlooked. Have you ever felt that way? Of course you have.

So she goes to Jesus and tries to shame her sister into helping. But Jesus gently responds, “You are anxious and troubled about many things.” Then He says Mary has chosen the better part. Why? Not because listening to Jesus is inherently better than serving—Jesus calls us not to be served but to serve (Mark10:45). But the better part is that Mary was using her gift without comparison. Martha started comparing. And once that happened, she stopped truly offering her gift with joy. Jesus upsets Martha’s “tables”—not to humiliate her, but to get her back on track.

And for her, and for me, and for you—getting back on track means using our spiritual gifts with joy. Are you on track? If you’re not, maybe you need to pray: “God, I know I have this carefully manicured life, but I want You to get me back on track. I want my joy back. And if You have to, upset my tables.” But be careful. That’s a dangerous prayer. Because God will do it.

And we all know what that feels like, don’t we? Have you ever felt like you were just... going through the motions? Like you’re there, but not really there?

You smile and say you’re fine, but deep down there's a kind of hollowness you can’t quite explain.

You wake up tired and stay tired. You eat, sleep, work, repeat. No wonder. No joy. Just survival. That’s business as usual. That’s not a life of calling.

Or maybe you’ve been in a season where your relationships felt dry. Mechanical. Conversations are surface-level: “How are you?” “I’m fine. You?” “It’s hot.” “Yeah. It is.” No substance.

My grandmother on my father’s side was a spiritual giant. She lived a life that actually invited Jesus to overturn her tables. She prayed for it. She wanted what Jesus had for her. If you live that kind of life, you aren’t satisfied with small talk. And she wasn’t. When she greeted you, she didn’t ask, “How’s it going?” She hoped you were well, sure—but what she really asked was: “How is your soul?” And she wanted to know the truth—good, bad, or indifferent. It freaked me out as a kid. But I knew she was different. Different in a good way.

Let’s be honest—even church can become business as usual. Sing the songs, say the words, listen to the sermon, check the box. We come in one way and leave the same. But that’s not what God wants. As we talked about turning water into wine two weeks ago—God doesn’t want to tweak your life. He wants to transform it. Not by my sermon. Not even by the music. But by the Holy Spirit.

We’re not to leave here like the unmerciful servant—who was forgiven a debt he could never repay, yet responded to others with un-forgiveness. Richard Rohr—someone who always makes me think—says: “Most of us were taught that God would love us if and when we change. In fact, God loves you so that you can change. What empowers change... is the experience of his love.”

It’s that experience of love that becomes the engine of change, of disruption, of transformation.It’s not about earning it. It’s about receiving it and letting it work on you—even if it means God flips your tables and spills your coins on the floor.

Here’s the thing: the problem isn’t just surface-level stuff. The tiredness, the boredom, the stuck-ness—those are just symptoms. They’re the animals and money changers. But the deeper issue? That’s inside. It’s in the heart. Sometimes we stay with business as usual because we’re afraid. Afraid of change. Afraid of uncertainty. Afraid to let go.

Sometimes it’s grief. We hold on to what’s familiar because it makes us feel safe—even if it’s lifeless. And sometimes we’re just tired. Life becomes a to-do list. A calendar. A chore. But maybe the biggest reason business as usual sneaks in? We forget who we are. “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own.” (1 Cor 6:19)

We forget that God doesn’t just show up in churches—but in us. When we forget that, life becomes transactional instead of relational. We stop seeing each other. We stop seeing ourselves. Life becomes a marketplace instead of a meeting place with the holy.

That’s what Jesus was challenging in the temple that day. Not just the money tables—but the way people had forgotten the sacred. Forgotten each other. Forgotten themselves. Forgotten God.

And it wasn’t just that one day in Jerusalem. All through John’s Gospel, Jesus keeps interrupting business as usual. We know about the woman at the well.  She wasn’t just a scandal. She was stuck in a system that told her she needed a man to survive. So she had five. And now a sixth. But Jesus meets her, sees her not as a problem—but as a temple. And He offers her living water. He upends her table.

Or the man on the mat—38 years stuck in the same place. Jesus says, “Get up.” Not just healing. A new way of being. Jesus is the one who turns over tables—from Nicodemus to the woman caught in adultery.

So let me ask you: What tables in your life need to be overturned? What beasts need to be driven out? Where have you settled for business as usual, when Jesus is calling you to an unusual life?

Maybe you’re the one at the well. Maybe you’re the one stuck on the mat. Maybe you feel dead inside and need Jesus to call you to be born again. Maybe you’re hungry—for purpose, for connection, for forgiveness.

Whatever it is, hear this: You are the temple of the Holy Spirit. You are called to be a house of prayer. Jesus doesn’t show up to shame us. He shows up to wake us up. To remind us. To call us back. To clear out what clutters and distracts, so we can make room again for the holy. For joy. For presence. He was speaking of the temple of His body—but He was also speaking of ours. 

So may you have the courage to let Him come close. To let Him turn over what needs to be turned over. To let Him cleanse what needs cleansing. To let Him restore what’s been lost.

Because the tables He flips? They make space for something better. And when Jesus cleans house, He fills it—with grace, with joy, and with Himself. Let’s pray

Questions

1. What are some examples of “business as usual” in your own life—habits, routines, or attitudes—that may be keeping you from truly encountering God?

How do you think Jesus might be inviting you to disrupt that routine?

2. Righteous anger and sinful anger can look very similar at first—how can we tell the difference between the two in our own hearts?

Can you think of a time when your anger started out righteous but became sinful? 

3. Jesus flipped tables in the temple to make space for what was truly sacred. What "tables" in your heart or life might He need to flip today?

Are there areas where you’ve allowed idols—good things made ultimate—to take God's rightful place?

4. When was the last time someone asked you, “How is your soul?” How would you answer that question honestly today?

How can we move from shallow spiritual habits to deeper, more transformative encounters with Jesus?