A House of Prayer: Making Sacred Space Together

Gospel: Mark 11:15-18

Then they came to Jerusalem. And he entered the temple and began to drive out those who were selling and those who were buying in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold doves; and he would not allow anyone to carry anything through the temple. He was teaching and saying, ‘Is it not written,

“My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations”?

But you have made it a den of robbers.’

And when the chief priests and the scribes heard it, they kept looking for a way to kill him; for they were afraid of him, because the whole crowd was spellbound by his teaching.

Sermon: The Rev. Dr. Maryann Amor

When I went to India for the first time at age 10, I remember seeing a small rectangular box hanging outside my Aunty Shahi’s door. My aunt was Jewish, and that was her mezuzah. As a child, all I knew was that she touched it whenever she entered or left her home.

Now, I understand more. In Judaism, the home is sanctified. “This is achieved through a very concrete ritual, through the mitzvah of mezuzah.” The mezuzah contains a small kosher scroll inscribed with the words of Deuteronomy, including the Shema: Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One. It is not a magical protection amulet but a sign and reminder of the Covenant—of the Jewish people’s love, commitment, and their intention to create a Jewish household. It marks the home as a sacred space where faith is lived and practiced.

Today, our theme is the church as a house of prayer, and to fully grasp what this means, we need to consider a Jewish understanding of the home. Jesus was a Jew in every sense of the word. He did not come to abolish Judaism but to call people to live it deeply and authentically. In his childhood home, Jesus would have learned from his parents how to be Jewish—how to read Torah, follow the mitzvot (commandments), and observe the rituals of his faith. His home was a place of holiness because it was where his faith was nurtured.

As an adult, Jesus extends this concept to the Temple. Witnessing the corruption of the moneychangers, he overturns their tables, sending coins all over the floor. Quoting the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah, he declares: “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all nations, but you have made it a den of robbers.” By referring to the Temple as a house, Jesus transforms how people were to relate to it. It was not meant to be a marketplace for ritual transactions but a sacred place where people encounter God, experience holiness, and worship together as a family of faith.

This perspective challenges us today. At the beginning of Lent, I preached about our church building, how its very presence blesses this neighborhood. Caring for it matters, because it’s a legacy, for the future of this congregation and for those beyond these walls. Our time capsule reflects this, being a gift we’re leaving for those who will come after us.

Today’s message builds on this theme. If we see our church not just as a building but as a home, where we gather for prayer and worship…then our entire approach to being here shifts. Like our own homes, this space deserves our care and attention. We tend to it as we do the places where we live, because it holds our stories and our sacred moments.

It’s also why, when someone proposes changes without conversation, I feel a deep sense of responsibility to protect this space. Just as we wouldn't want someone coming into our homes and moving everything around without asking, we’re called to treat this shared space with mutual respect and thoughtful care.

As a home, we do not gather here as individuals, but as a family. Like Jewish families for millennia, we learn, pray, and grow together, navigating the struggles and mysteries of our God.

This means that faith is not just a personal pursuit between “me and God.” Many Christian traditions emphasize this sort of individualism, believing that the Gospel is about God’s personal plan for me, about securing my salvation. But as one writer puts it, “God’s concerns have always been about a people. The metanarrative into which I am placed in Christ is the story of God and God’s people.”

In Genesis, God calls one man, Abraham, but soon Abraham’s descendants become as numerous as the stars. Jesus did not walk alone in Galilee—he called others to follow him.

The story of God’s people is a story of togetherness. We are brothers, sisters, parents, children, grandparents—gathered in this home, with doors open wide, inviting others into this shared journey of faith. And like any family, we cannot choose those who sit with us. We are in this together, for better or for worse.

Our church, our house of prayer, is where we claim our identity as God’s family. Following last week’s theme, we sacrifice our egos and personal desires so others can find their place in ministry. We remember that it is not about me and what I want—it is about all of us, together. Thus, our prayers shift from being self-focused to outward-focused. This is why we have the Prayers of the People—we pray together, looking beyond ourselves.

Even at the Eucharist, you may have noticed that I don’t perform what we called in seminary “the magic hands”—waving, bowing, and making grand gestures around the table. Instead, I treat the Eucharist as a prayer offered on behalf of all of us. It is our prayer—not a performance, but an act of communal worship.

Just as a Jewish home with a mezuzah is marked as a sacred space, a house of prayer, so our church is our sacred space—where we pray together, worship together, and learn what it means to be God’s people. As we stand on the cusp of Palm Sunday, with Lent drawing to an end, let us look to the future. May we cherish this house of prayer, and may we worship God as God’s holy family.

Amen.