When Fist Meets Palm

3rd Sunday in Lent (B)

Readings: Exodus 20: 1-17; Psalm 18 (19): 8-11; 1 Corinthians 1: 22-25; John 2: 13-25

Picture: cc affinity on Flickr

My dear friends, what’s the difference between an open palm and a closed fist? Well, a palm is typically soft and relaxed, a fist hard and tense. It’s with a palm, not a fist, that we caress a child’s cheek. But a palm can be firm too. Such as when a traffic assistant at a school raises a hand to stop traffic, creating a path for students to walk safely. Or when a sculptor’s hands lovingly mould a lump of clay, forming a new work of art. Here we see another difference between fist and palm. A palm makes or opens up space. A fist knows only to occupy it. So what happens when a fist meets a palm? This is the question our scriptures invite us to ponder today.

In the first reading, after freeing Israel from the iron fist of slavery in Egypt, and leading her to Mount Sinai, God now gives her a new Law. Through the Ten Commandments, the tender yet firm hand of God opens up a safe space for Israel to live in the land. By teaching her the proper way to relate to God and to neighbour, God bestows on Israel the precious gift of a new identity. Moulding her into God’s own work of art. If only she follows God’s Law, Israel herself will become an open palm, a sacred and safe space, where the loving presence and action of God can be experienced in the world.

But it’s not easy to remain open, to keep relying on God alone, through the many ups and downs of life. By the time Jesus arrives on the scene, the trustingly open palm has become an anxiously closed fist. God’s space-providing freedom-promoting Law has been turned into a stress-inducing life-cluttering collection of obligations. Which is why Jesus does what he does in the gospel. By raising a firm palm to interrupt the routine flow of business activity in the Temple, Jesus is not just reclaiming real estate for his heavenly Father. He is also reminding Israel of her own God-given identity as a sanctuary of the Lord. A privileged space dedicated to the worship of God, and to the care of others.

Of course, the Lord’s actions in the Temple immediately place him in direct conflict with the religious leaders. Opening up for him a path to the Cross. A difficult path of suffering and death. But also a safe and sure path to New Life. The same secure path on which Lent is training us to walk. For as the second reading reminds us, though others may see the crucified Christ as an obstacle, or even as madness, he remains for us the power and wisdom of God. To walk his path is to extend a tender hand of support to those who suffer, as well as to raise a firm hand of protest to those who cause the suffering. As when parents rightly call for an investigation, when they suspect their child is being abused at a preschool. And yet, isn’t it true that the dangerous fist of abuse can also appear in less obvious, but no less damaging ways? Including the unrealistic expectations some of us may unwittingly place, not just on our children, but even on our own already heavily laden shoulders as well?

Sisters and brothers, how is God continuing to make life-giving spaces, for us and for others, by transforming closed fists into open palms this Lent?