Mondays already have a reputation for being tough days, but the Monday before Jesus’ death and resurrection takes the cake.
He’s just coming off of the Triumphal Entry (John 12) the day before, and I would imagine that he and his crew were probably feeling good. But that didn’t last long on this particular Monday. If you’re picturing Jesus just quietly teaching or peacefully strolling through olive groves, think again. This was not a chill, ordinary day. This was a day of confrontation, clarity, and calling stuff out for what it was.
Jesus wasn’t easing into His final week like someone dipping a toe in cold water. He cannonballed straight into the deep end and made waves. Big ones.
The Tree
It started early. Jesus and His disciples were walking back into Jerusalem from Bethany—He’d likely spent the night in Bethany at the home of his friends, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. On the way into town, He spots a fig tree off in the distance. It’s leafy, full of promise. But when He gets up close, there’s no fruit. Just leaves. And Jesus, hungry and probably annoyed at the false advertisement, curses the tree right there on the spot.
Now, at first glance, this feels kind of petty. I mean, who curses a tree for not having breakfast ready?
But Jesus wasn’t just annoyed. He was making a bold, prophetic point. The fig tree looked healthy. It looked like it should have something to offer. But it was empty. That’s a picture of what Jerusalem had become—especially the religious elite. All show. No substance. Leaves without fruit.
It’s like Jesus was holding up a spiritual mirror and asking, “You look alive, but are you actually bearing anything that matters?”
In the words of the great philosopher Harrison Ford, “Woof.”
the Temple
Jesus makes it into the city, walks into the Temple courts, and sees the whole corrupt circus going on. Merchants and money changers had turned the outer courts—the only place the Gentiles, or ALL people, could come to pray—into a marketplace. Loud, greedy, transactional chaos where worship was supposed to happen.
He must have been standing there thinking, “In just a few days I’m going to die for….these idiots?” Maybe he wasn’t thinking that. I think I probably would have been, but it’s a good thing Jesus is holier than me.
Regardless, Jesus loses it. He goes Old Testament on these corrupt merchants. Tables are flying. Coins clattering everywhere. Animals scatter. People run. And in the middle of it all, Jesus is standing there, voice echoing through the colonnades:
“My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations, but you have made it a den of thieves.”
This isn’t sweet, soft-spoken Jesus. This is Jesus with fire in His eyes and a mission on His mind. He’s not just cleaning up messes—He’s confronting a broken system that had hijacked worship and turned access to God into a commodity. The Temple was supposed to be holy ground. Instead, it had become a hypocritical hustle.
And here’s the kicker: this wasn’t just a spontaneous outburst. It was deliberate and calculated. Jesus knew this would stir up the religious leaders who were already more than uncomfortable with him – they had long been plotting how to eliminate him. This just poured gasoline on the fire of their fear and insecurity. They started plotting harder. Monday pushed things forward in a big way.
Even after flipping the tables, Jesus doesn’t head for the exit. He stays.
He starts healing people right there in the Temple courts. The blind. The lame. The hurting. He moves from confrontation to compassion without missing a beat. And while He’s doing this, kids start shouting out, “Hosanna to the Son of David!”
It’s the kind of innocent-but-prophetic chorus that drives the religious leaders crazy.
“Do you hear what they’re saying?” they sneer.
Jesus just shrugs and quotes Psalm 8, basically saying, “Yeah, I hear them. And they’re right. Even these little kids know what’s up.”
So… Why Does This Matter?
Holy Monday wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t calm. And it definitely wasn’t safe.
It was disruptive. Jesus confronted a Temple system that had drifted far from God’s heart. He exposed religious activity that looked good on the outside but was hollow and dead on the inside. He made space—literally and symbolically—for people who had been pushed to the margins. And He reminded everyone that God is after an authentic expression of worship, not false gestures.
If you’ve ever wondered what kind of faith Jesus really wants from us, this day pulls back the curtain. He’s not impressed by appearance. He’s not pacified by tradition. He’s not here to keep things comfortable.
He’s here to flip whatever tables need flipping in order to make room for truth, justice, worship, and healing.
And honestly, maybe we need that.
Maybe we need Jesus to come into the temples of our lives—our routines, our rhythms, our carefully constructed religious boxes—and start flipping some things over. Not to destroy, but to rebuild. Not to shame, but to wake us up.
Monday wasn’t just about what Jesus did back then. It’s about what He still wants to do right now.
Are there areas in your life that look alive but aren’t bearing fruit? Have you settled for performance over presence? Is there anything Jesus might be flipping over in your heart—and would you let Him?
This isn’t the Jesus of coffee mug quotes and Instagram devotionals. This isn’t a Jesus who walks around with a lamb slung over his shoulders, humming “Amazing Grace” and handing out caramel candies to kids at church. This Jesus was not a pacifist. This is the real Jesus, who came to shake things up all the way to the foundation.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to follow a Jesus who plays it safe. I want the real thing.
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