“By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” Reasonable questions. Another way of phrasing it may be one you have heard personally or perhaps have uttered yourself, “Who the hell do you think you are?!”

It's a question that Jesus might have expected, under the circumstances. The exchange we're looking at in this Sunday's gospel is taking place when he entered the Temple. He hadn't been away from the Temple long, though -- he was there just the day before. It was an eventful day, to say the least -- Jesus entered Jerusalem surrounded by crowds who proclaimed him as king. He went into the Temple courts, overturned the tables and seats of those who exchanged money (which, by the way, is a necessary service, unless you wanted people carrying the emperor's image into the temple on coins, which was clearly inappropriate) and sold doves (again, a service necessary to continuing the Temple's sacrificial system as the priestly writings in scripture command) while quoting from, among other things Jeremiah, who prophesied the destruction of the Temple.

That was what happened on his’ last visit to the Temple. So on this his next visit, the question the Temple authorities ask him was a natural one: just who do you think you are? What gives you the right to come barreling in to cause something that looks an awful lot like a civil disturbance -- and at Passover, when the Roman authorities are jumpiest as they watch pilgrims streaming into Jerusalem to celebrate God's liberation of Israel from foreign oppressors? By what authority do you prophesy against the very things -- money changers and dove sellers -- that allow poor people to offer sacrifices in the Temple?

It’s not enough that Jesus was a popular figuring challenging the religious establishment. When that establishment questioned his bona fides, his own credentials, he brings the hugely popular figure of John the Baptist into the discussion.

Now, on a very human level, don’t you have to admit that you love it when this happens? Don’t most of us love to see a “Gotcha?” With this one question about John, Jesus has entirely hamstrung his opposition. For them it is a lose-lose no-win. And you gotta love it!

And then the coup de grace. In his parable Jesus links the scribes and Pharisees to prostitutes and tax collectors -- who get the better of it. You can see clouds of steam pouring forth from their ears. Bam! Done! Don’t you love it!

Let’s look closer. Why do the tax collector and prostitutes get the better of it? Because they believe and act upon the good news that John and Jesus bring. They don’t just act on it – they are changed by it – they bet their lives on it – they transform their lives because of it – they believe it possible that God is doing a new thing, a wonderful thing, and they want to be part of this new world God is building. They want to be part of the plan; they want to cooperate with the plan.

The scribes and Pharisees? What do they want? What do they do? They want what they have and what they know. They protect what they know. They do not allow the possibility that God may be doing a new thing – especially a new thing that challenges the old, established ways that have become so comfortable and such a base of power for them. And the result is that by protection of themselves, their institutions, and even protecting God, they will lose out on what God is doing because they have shut off any possibility of it happening.

Let me give this a contemporary context: In her 1964 short story “Revelation,” Flannery O’Connor paints a vivid portrait of Mrs. Turpin, a self-righteous southern woman who despises all blacks and all “white trash.” Her life centers not only in what she believes is her righteousness before God but in the preservation of a way of life.

As she is cleaning out the pig pen one day she has a vision. There in the sky is a long line of souls moving toward heaven. But at the front of the line are the despised; the white trash followed by black folks in white robes. Next come the mentally deranged – the crazies of the community. At the very end of the procession, she sees people like herself, and their faces are full of shock and horror about where they find themselves – being the last to enter heaven.

It would be good to remember that Jesus is speaking to believers. It would be good to remember that Matthew is writing to the faithful, those who already know Jesus.

Are there places where we have become blind and cannot see? Are we attempting to do the impossible – to protect God or the church or ourselves from the assaults of those ideas, people, or concerns we distrust. Would we protect God or the institutions of God from the new thing that God would do? Does the fullness of God’s kingdom look like this? Or does it look like what Jesus tells us? So, where are you living? According to the form of the church of the here and now? Or according to the world that God began in Jesus Christ?

The apostle Paul writes to the Christians at Philippi, “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” This is the response to faith in Jesus Christ that Matthew is looking for. It could simply mean: be like Jesus! But it is probably saying more; something like “let the mindset of Christ be yours as you draw your life from him or live in him.”

Patrick D. Miller, Jr. of Princeton Theological School wrote in Theology Today "In a world that assumes the status is quo, that things have to be the way they are and that we must not assume too much about improving them, the doxologies of God's people are fundamental indicators that wonders have not ceased, that possibilities not yet dreamt of will happen, and that hope is an authentic stance."

Perhaps the gospel and the epistle ask each of us to let what we see change us – change us in ways that bring us closer, more aligned to what we see of God’s way in Jesus – and to give God thanks and praise – Doxology – that it be so.

This is the response Jesus is looking for in Matthew.

I have heard it said that 80% of people, of us, are caught between extremely high ideals and a somewhat compromised self-esteem. I understand that to mean that we value the highest and best, that which God would have us value, but we know ourselves so well that we seriously doubt our ability to follow it through, to bring it off. We know that we are but “mortal flesh”, doomed to corruptibility, unable to realize the grand plan of our creator.

Can we let what we see change us? Can we empty the self that attempts to protect, to hold back and let God fill us as he filled Jesus. Not to be exalted, but to enable us to be fully faithful to the good news that we have received and are called to share.

We pray in Eucharistric Prayer C, Open our eyes to see your hand at work in the world about us. Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal. Let the grace of this Holy Communion make us one body, one spirit in Christ, that we may worthily serve the world in his name.

If we empty the self of what gets in the way, we will be filled and empowered in ways that go far beyond our selves.

Paul says to those who believe, “Therefore, my beloved… work out your own salvation… for it is God working in you, enabling you both to work and to will for his good pleasure.”

I would add, and ultimately for ours, too.

Amen.