Last year I was more intentional about writing through each day of Holy Week. This year, I don’t see that happening. But I couldn’t let this Monday pass.

Holy Monday is easy to overlook. It sits quietly between the celebration of Palm Sunday and everything that’s coming later in the week. But the more I sit with it, the more I think it might be one of the days we need most.

Because this is the day Jesus flips tables.

Not metaphorically. Not gently. He walks into the temple and disrupts what people had grown comfortable with. What had become normal. What had even been justified in the name of God.

And it raises an uncomfortable question.

We talk a lot about peace. We want peace. We pray for peace.
But not everything that feels like peace is actually peace.

Sometimes it’s avoidance.
Sometimes it’s comfort.
Sometimes it’s just something we’ve learned to tolerate.

A false peace.

And Jesus doesn’t protect that kind of peace. He confronts it.

As Tim Keller put it, “Jesus is not just meek and mild. He is also a disruptor of false religion.”

That line corrects something in me. Because if I’m honest, I often prefer a version of Jesus who keeps things calm, predictable, and manageable. But that’s not who we see here.

This moment in the temple isn’t impulsive or out of control either. It’s not a lapse in composure.

As D. A. Carson writes, “The cleansing of the temple is not an act of uncontrolled anger but of calculated, prophetic judgment.”

In other words, this is intentional.

It’s striking to think about the timing. The day before, He’s welcomed with praise. People laying down coats, shouting Hosanna. The kind of moment most of us would ride for as long as possible.

But Jesus doesn’t settle into that.

He goes straight to the place where things are off and says, in effect, this doesn’t belong.

If I’m honest, that’s the part I don’t naturally lean toward. I’d rather keep things smooth. Manageable. Comfortable. Especially in a season where life already feels full, where there’s travel, family, work, conversations about what’s ahead, and a general sense that everyone is carrying more than they can hold.

But that’s exactly why this matters.

Because if transformation is going to happen, if anything is actually going to change, it doesn’t start out there. It starts here.

In me.

So before talking about culture, systems, or anything else, I’m asking the same question I asked last year:

What table in my life needs to be overturned?

What have I made peace with that isn’t actually good?
What have I tolerated that’s quietly shaping me?
Where have I grown comfortable in ways that are pulling me away from what’s true?

Not everything needs to be preserved.

Some things need to be disrupted so something better can take their place.  I know I have lived this on more than one occasion.  

Not chaos for the sake of chaos.
But disruption that makes room for real peace.

So I’m asking again this year…

What needs flipping?