The Wedding at Cana | Rev. Neville Jones

Purity in Leviticus finds its opposite most starkly in death itself, and leprosy is the disease most closely resembling death and decay. For this, stringent laws are given on how to handle leprosy, and to receive miraculous healing of it is exceptionally meaningful. This makes Naaman's healing in 2 Kings 5 all the more potent, as his turning from the gods of Rimmon to rather worship the LORD is just as much a life-saving act.

Holiness, for all its many benefits and credits, can be deadly. The sons of Aaron, Abihu and Nadab, would learn this firsthand after offering strange fire to the LORD. So would King David, seeing Uzzah die for reaching out to steady the Ark of the Covenant. This week, we review the importance of holiness in both extreme and (seemingly) mundane examples.

What is the purpose of sacrifice in the Bible? Leviticus makes it clear that there are actually very many purposes behind sacrifice, and understanding them is equally as important as giving them.

Readers and hearers of Leviticus will often come away confused about purity. On its face, purity seems to be a prerequisite for communion with God, one that we accomplish on our part before attempting to worship Him. But chapter 8 tells us something counterintuitive: purity itself is also a gift of God, given to us in anticipation of our communion with Him. Ezekiel 36 makes this quite clear, as God informs His people in exile that He Himself will purify them and bless them–not solely out of concern for them, but out of concern for His holy name that had been profaned among them. If God chooses to purify us before we even *want* to meet with Him, how might this change our response to His good grace? For Ezekiel, it ought to convict us of sin and exhort us to turn from it.

What do a colt and palm branches have to do with a King? The cries of Hosanna heard around the world today started, not on Palm Sunday, but long before–from Israel’s oppression in Egypt and on through the Psalms and Prophets. The colt of a donkey and palm branches tell the story of a ruler who is both righteous and victorious. The expectations of Israel and the expectations of the church and the world are not to be disdained, particularly when we turn to God and worship Him–calling out for His salvation. However, our expectations might not always match what God has planned. Jesus, the son of David and ruler of the nations; Jesus, the Son of God and Son of Man, given authority and power; Jesus, the very form (the same nature) of God and our saviour and Lord… Jesus who humbled Himself (knowing the reality of what He was about to do) and became obedient, accomplished exactly what the people had asked for–“Hosanna”, save us! Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29; Philippians 2:5-11; Mark 11:1-11

Does God merely acknowledge holy spaces, or does He consecrate them Himself? Whether Sinai, Shiloh, Zion, or Moriah, holiness seems to be imprinted on these places based on God's dealings with His people at each of them. Between the end of Exodus's description of the Tabernacle and 1 Kings 7-8's description of the Temple we find a key similarity: God consecrates both with His own glory, manifest in both light and darkness. This week's discussion focuses on those parallel accounts.

In Jeremiah 31, God promises to establish a covenant with the people of Israel AND Judah, reconciling them both to each other as much as to Himself. This promise would find itself fulfilled in the person of Yeshua, the Messiah of Israel and High Priest after the Order of Melchizedek (Hebrews 5). And not only would His saving work reconcile His fellow Israelites, it would include God-fearing Greeks (John 12) who sought to practice the way of life He taught. In this Lenten season, may our practices be rooted in the promise of God, modeled after the person of Yeshua. READINGS: Jeremiah 31:31-34; Hebrews 5:1-10; John 12:20-36

Paul's letter to the Ephesians bears a number of striking resemblances to John's Gospel: stark contrasts of light and dark, life and death, children whose works reveal which family they belong to. Themes like these help us understand the gospel message for all its severity: we were not merely sick, but dead in our transgressions–and likewise now made alive in Christ. How did we come to this new standing? By looking upon Him, lifted up, like the bronze snake in the wilderness. And not only lifted up in His crucifixion, but also in His glory, where we too will be raised to dwell with him forever.

Why is money so difficult to talk about in churches? With no shortage of financial scandals in the Church, plus a history of global inflation, the modern world feels split between loud charlatans who raise too much and timid ministers who raise too little. Add to this our instinct to give toward a vision–sometimes rather than toward a need–and it's no wonder that articulating a "theology of money" feels like navigating a minefield. But we have biblical precedents–both good and bad examples–to help us better learn to relate to money in more healthy and charitable ways.

When Jesus cleanses the Temple, he utters a confusing prophecy: "Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in 3 days" (John 2:19). This saying made little sense to his hearers at the time; but after his death, burial and resurrection, his disciples remembered it in light of his body. What lessons can we learn today from this prophetic act? The early Church would go on to see itself as embodying a Temple for the Lord (Eph 2:21–22), but have we perhaps taken that honor too lightly? If Jesus cleansed his Father's house for the sake of its holiness, how much more must He make us a fitting space for God to dwell? This Lenten season, may we seek holiness through remembrance of our Messiah's passion–both for his Father's house, and for his Body.