Cleansing the Temple

It was all going
so horribly wrong.
We had had
such high hopes
when we first entered
Jerusalem.
All the shouting;
the praising;
the adulation.
Surely,
we had thought,
this was
His chance;
His time.
He had spoken so often
about going to
Jerusalem.
That had been
His goal
for so long
But it wasn’t working out
as we had expected.
If only
He hadn’t gone
to the Temple
that day.
If only
He hadn’t
got angry.

Yes,
I did say angry.
Surprise you, does it?
He didn’t often
get angry.
Well, never, really;
not like
losing his temper,
ranting and raving.
Certain things upset Him.
‘Righteous anger’
I suppose you could call it.
But this seemed to be
different.



We had been
quite excited
when He said
we were going to
the Temple
that day.
‘This is it,’ we thought,
‘the start.’
I don’t think
we were very clear on
what it was the start of
but it was going
to be good.
His time had come.
He had told us that much.
So we went,
anticipating fireworks.
And we certainly got them,
but not the way
we expected.

As soon as we entered
the Temple
He became
like a man possessed;
overturning the tables
of the money-changers;
overturning the benches
of the dove sellers;
driving out the buyers,
refusing admittance
to anyone with merchandise.
There was chaos;
money,
animals,
birds,
furniture,
everywhere.
And people
rushing about;
pushing,
shoving,
scrabbling on the floor.
Like I said,
chaos.
Any other time
I would have
enjoyed it;
laughed at it;
made it a talking point
with all my friends.
But today,
all I wanted
was to creep away
unseen;
to pretend I wasn’t
with Him.
I couldn’t understand it.
Why now
when it was all going
so well?

And then
He started shouting.
Perhaps we could still have
got away with it
but
any hope
of salvaging the situation
disappeared
when he called
the Temple
a den of robbers.
That was it.
The chief priests
had been summoned
by this time
and they heard Him..
I saw their faces.
Fury
just didn’t cover it.
Hatred
was nearer the mark.
To tell you the truth
it made my blood
run cold.

Maybe
this Passover
was not going to be good
after all.


© Kathleen Wilks