The Scottish leg of my priestly career started in Elgin. The parish priest and I covered a huge area between Lossiemouth in the north, on the Moray Coast and Tomintoul in the south, deep in the Cairngorms. To those unfamiliar with the area, it took an hour to drive between Elgin and Tomintoul along mostly winding roads. I was particularly fascinated by the existence of three churches in the Glenlivet area, literally in the middle of nowhere. To make matters more intriguing, those churches weren’t just functional buildings; they were quite exquisite, especially so considering their location. I quickly learned that that area used to be one of the very few Catholic strongholds in Scotland after the Reformation. Those churches were still in use, and we celebrated regular Sunday Masses, in a different church each Sunday. The reason for such an arrangement was simple: the congregation was small, occasionally reaching the grand number of 30 during summer holidays. So, the congregation travelled to one of the three churches each Sunday. One day, an elderly parishioner reminisced on his childhood, when the church had been so fully packed each Sunday that not everyone could have entered. They had to split the congregation and those who attended came on alternate Sundays. Several decades later the parish church was just clinging on to life thanks to a small number of elderly people. Since I left the area two of the three churches have been closed down due to unsafe conditions.
I imagine the pride and sheer joy of local people who, having survived religious persecution, could openly build those exquisite places of worship, the visible and tangible expression of their Catholic identity. They must have felt like some disciples in today’s gospel who “were talking about the Temple, remarking how it was adorned with fine stonework and votive offerings.” The Temple in Jerusalem had been recently refurbished completely and the original structure was totally overhauled into large edifices and façades. It was a view to behold and in the eyes of most contemporary Jews, it adequately reflected their spiritual, religious and moral superiority over the Gentiles. It’s impossible to overestimate the Temple’s importance to the Jewish sense of identity. It was at its heart and soul and to many Jews it remains so, occasionally sparking hostilities and violence in modern Jerusalem. In this context, Jesus’ response to their remarks of admiration must have left them stunned and speechless: “All these things you are staring at now – the time will come when not a single stone will be left on another: everything will be destroyed.” Jesus’ apparent irreverence for the Temple must have really ruffled feathers and got under the skin of many. One of the formal accusations leading to Jesus’ sentence and execution was a false claim that he was going to destroy the Temple. While hanging on the cross, he was derided by passers-by: “You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself!” (Matthew 27:40) Yet, if they lived long enough, those triumphant scorners would see the total destruction of the Temple in the year 70 AD. Jesus’ prophetic words were fulfilled to the letter.
I’m not sure about the last sentence. Did Jesus foresee the actual event? Perhaps. But his remark was of a rather general nature: “the time will come when not a single stone will be left on another: everything will be destroyed.” Perhaps it could be read as a broad observation that everything is passing. In His times the pyramids of Egypt had already been dead relics of long past glory; many ancient “wonders of the universe” had already existed only in memory or were heaps of ruins. The Temple’s own tragic past should have been an uncomfortable reminder of the impermanence of human endeavours. Perhaps that memory played a particular role in the minds of Jesus’ audience who – having recovered from their shock – asked him a resolute question: “when will this happen, then, and what sign will there be that this is about to take place?” Prior to the ransacking and demolition of the first temple in the 6th century BC by the Babylonians, the prophet Jeremiah called for spiritual, religious and moral reforms. His fellow residents of Jerusalem didn’t heed him despite ominous harbingers of political unrest, followed by a direct military siege of the city. In their mind, the presence of God’s temple would prevent the fast-approaching disaster. Jeremiah warned them against such an idolatrous attitude: “Do not trust in these deceptive words: “This is the temple of the Lord. […] Here you are, trusting in deceptive words to no avail. Will you steal, murder, commit adultery, swear falsely, […] and then come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say, “We are safe!” – only to go on doing all these abominations?” (Jeremiah 7:4.8-9) Instead of being heeded by them, Jeremiah was put in stocks and avoided execution by the narrowest of margins. Semi-idolatrous attachment to religious effigies has always been much easier than a change of heart and subsequent change of life. It was true in Jeremiah’s time, in Jesus’ time and remains true these days too.
In the broader context of Jesus’ teachings and actions, we can be sure that His remarks weren’t aimed at the Temple but at religious over-reliance on it. After His renowned cleansing of that place of worship Jesus defended His actions by saying: “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” St John explained quickly: “he was speaking of the temple of his body.” (John 2:19.21) The primal Church understood that building up the living community of believers was far more important than building brick-and-mortar churches – in many places the latter was near impossible for a couple of centuries or so. When a church was erected, it was a tangible, physical expression of the living church community that pre-existed the building. It was true across the Mediterranean two millennia ago as it was true in the Glenlivet area 200 years ago. Here, thankfully, we are fortunate to have a church. Nevertheless, we have to make constant efforts to build the community, the living church, the body of Christ. There are essentially two approaches to our presence here: either we have come to this church, or we have come together as the church. Which of these two is yours?
Image by Tad Turski; Church of the Incarnation, Tombae