York Minster

Hebrews Chapter 12 v 18 to 29 & Luke Chapter 13 v 10 to 17

Date: 26th August 2007
Preacher: The Revd Canon Robert Paterson

It’s good to be able to celebrate Canon Glyn Webster’s return to the Minster.  A story is told – from long ago, of course, of a Canon Chancellor was ill and the Archbishop’s Chaplain was invited to preach.  From the pulpit, he noticed a piece of plywood filling a gap in a beautiful stained glass window across from the pulpit.  "You know," he said, "as I stand here in place of your Canon Chancellor today, I feel like the piece of plywood in that window - a poor substitute."  After the service, the Canon Precentor thanked him kindly and added: "I want you to know that you weren't a piece of plywood today, you were a real pane."

As Canon Glyn lay on his sickbed I wonder if he thought of the incident when Walter de la Mare, during a severe (though not fatal) illness, was visited by his younger daughter.  As she left, she asked: “Is there nothing I could get for you: fruit or flowers?”  Her father answered, weakly, “No, no, my dear; too late for fruit, too soon for flowers.”

If you go to Venice or Prague or many of the other ancient cities of Europe, you will find a Jewish Quarter, often astonishingly distinct from other areas of the city.  Although Jewish people never deserted this city, a scar on its story is the pogrom of 1190 led by the ‘evil beast’ Richard Malebysse of Acaster Malbis, as I am sure most people here know well.  Confusion and nervous insecurity on all sides, hasty over-reaction, fuelled by pure greed, mob rule and religious antagonism, led to the deaths of many Jews by suicide, fire and sword in and around the place we call Clifford’s Tower, and to the subsequent burning of credit documents in this cathedral.  Some say that a Jewish curse was laid on the city and that Jews should not spend time here or stay overnight; others say there was no curse.  Whether or not, the stigma was removed by a special ceremony performed by the ten Chief Rabbi and Archbishop on the 800th anniversary.  A close friend of mine who has experience of yesterday’s neighbours turning into today’s machete-wielding assassins, assures me that gang culture and mob rule are closer to the surface of human society than we dare admit.  And all of us will have been moved by the brave parents of Rhys Jones, shot on his way back from football practice and just 11 years old.  There are clearly some deeply important questions to be asked about British society today in the 21st century.

Let’s go back to the 12th century York pogrom of March 1190.  Why do deans, archbishops and councillors still get letters and emails about this?  Is there anything we can learn from this stain on our story?  Surely the Christians of 12th century York – our ancestors, whether we’re directly descended from them or not – were just following examples from the Old Testament?  Why was it and is it so appalling a crime?  The question behind the questions is ‘What justification – or excuse in this case – can be made for such an action?’  And behind that question lies another: ‘On what authority do we as Christians set our standards?’  What were the standards in the 12th century which should have been followed?  Where did those standards come from?  And what might we learn from that?

The simple answer is that the supreme authority under God for faith and action is the Bible: “Holy Scripture containeth all things necessary to salvation”, as Article VI says.  But that submission to the authority of the Scriptures needs to be understood.  Let’s think about the way our ancestors in York may have handled this.

First, we’d say that they had the Old Testament: very few of them could have read it but some of the stories would have been taken in.  So the first approach to standards and authority is to take the Old Testament as a direct word from the Lord today – as though the ink is still wet on the page.  “If it says it in the Bible, just do it!” 

In the Old Testament massacres of the enemies of Israel and Judah appear in several places; these are part of the common history of Christians and Jews because the history of Israel is the history of the family of Abraham of which Christians are a part – “Abraham and his seed for ever”.  The difficulty with these stories is that God himself usually orders the massacres.  So by these standards, attempting to annihilate another religion might be thought acceptable – that’s what a number of texts say: for instance, Samuel is told by the Lord to tell King Saul, “Go now, fall upon the Amalekites, destroy them, and put their property under ban.  Spare no one; put them all to death, men and women, children and babes in arms, herds and flocks, camels and donkeys.” (1 Samuel 15. 3)  In the event, Saul’s fate is sealed because he spared the best of his enemies and their livestock.  What are we to make of that?  “Not applicable,” you might say.  Whatever authority these stories possess, we know that God doesn’t want us to imitate them.  Perhaps some of the people in York eight centuries ago thought that way; but we, of course, wouldn’t have.  Or would we?  It’s remarkable how easy it is for us to uproot biblical texts from their context and to say, “This applies now exactly as it did 3,000 years ago.”  How, for instance, do we handle texts about sex although we know that their writers knew nothing of psychology?  How do we handle stories about the created order whose writers knew nothing of Galileo or Darwin?

Option one, then – the one the people of 1190 seem to have adopted – is follow the Old Testament as if it had been written today.  That’s not sustainable.

So, let’s move to a second option.  What if our 12th century ancestors judged themselves by the highest aspirations of the Old Testament?  They may have heard prophecies of broken hearts healed (Isaiah 61), of lions eating straw like cattle (Isaiah 11 & 65), of swords refashioned into ploughshares (Micah 4), and Psalms which speak of God as my shepherd and as loving father (23, 103).  At its highest points, the Old Testament presents a vision of humanity restored in its relations with itself, with creation and with the Creator: people and nations characterised by mercy, love and truth, and demonstrating a desire to obey God’s law; having his law “within their hearts” (Jeremiah 31).  Judged by these standards – common to Jew and Christian - our 12th century ancestors have a lot to answer for: their murderous rampage does not even get close to the highest ideals of the Old Testament.  But what of 21st century Christians in York?  How do we match up to these standards of harmony with God? ... to my being known not so much as a cleric but rather as someone whose life is improved by my relationship with God? (I wish!) ... to my choosing what car I drive (or how many, if any, cars my family needs) by the impact I am making on God’s creation? ... to the issues I consider when I vote?  Our ancestors would know (if they were here) that history can be the fiercest of judges: I fear that history will judge the church of our time for its culpable lack of action on protecting God’s creation and its embarrassment about the gospel.  The lion has lamb for dinner and the ploughshares are recast into swords.

So, we need at least to nuance our reading of the Old Testament, and to listen more carefully to its highest ideals.  But surely we must go one stage further: to the revelation of God in Christ and his saving death and resurrection – to the gospel.

In 1190, the Christians of York were heirs to 11 centuries of Christian tradition and for about six of those centuries the Faith was well-established in York.  Where was the gospel in their actions?  This is the particular question for Christians; this is the point at which the gospel becomes the standard.  The good news tells of God’s love, not for the Church, but for the world, love that found expression in God “giving his only Son so that everyone who believes may have eternal life.”  (John 3. 16)  That’s the unique drawing-back of the curtain on God which, among other things, changed for ever the way we read the Old Testament.  Jesus gives scale to the whole biblical picture and helps us understand the nature of authority.  It’s like the difference between a child’s painting where mummy and daddy and house and tree and dog are all the same size, and a painting with perspective.  The gospel of Christ brings perspective to our judgements; the gospel is the good news that mercy, reconciliation and peace are within everyone’s reach.  The gospel is the final arbiter for Christian standards.

So what has all this to do with the price of fish – or with today’s readings?  In chapter 12, the anonymous writer of the Letter (or sermon) to the Hebrews – to Jewish Christians – has reached a point where he’s dealing with the consequences of living a Christian life; he’s encouraging these Christians to “keep walking in straight paths ... to be at peace with everyone, and to try to live a holy life.”  (Hebrews 12. 13, 14) He’s writing about setting standards for your life and exploring where these standards come from.  Do you revert to old, literal ways of law and retribution?  Do you set your standards by the higher ideals of reconciliation and harmony?  Or – and this is the heart of his case - do you allow your character to be formed by gospel of God’s love in Christ?

The writer sets out two pictures.  The first is terrifying – something so tangible that it makes you tremble: “Mount Sinai with its blazing fire, the darkness and the gloom [KJV ‘the blackness’], the storm, the blast of a trumpet, and the sound of a voice.  When the people heard the voice, they begged not to hear another word. … The sight was so terrifying that Moses said, ‘I am trembling and afraid!’ ”  (Hebrews 12. 18, 19, 21)  The giving of the holy law of God is surrounded with all the sights and sounds of prohibition and fear: even the voice of God was so awe-inspiring the people begged for silence and Moses trembled.  The Ten Commandments which were given on that occasion we still honour today with all our hearts and minds.  But law is not everything, for law defines law-breaking and compels judgement on the guilty (which, in one way or another, is every one of us).

This, coincidentally, is where today’s reading from Luke’s Gospel comes in (Luke 13. 10-17): the healing on a Sabbath day of a woman who had been crippled for eighteen years.  There is no question of Jesus’ love for the law but he works from the higher ideals of the Scriptures into the broader principles of the good news he has come to bring.  He asks his critics, ‘Don’t you all let loose your donkeys for a drink on the Sabbath?  So was it not right to loose this woman on the Sabbath?’

Of course we need law, and God’s law most of all, but the gospel speaks of something more: of grace and of forgiveness.  Thus the second picture from Hebrews: ‘Mount Sinai is not your mountain,’ the writer says.  No, ‘Yours is a kingdom that cannot be shaken ... you have come to Jesus Christ.’  “You have come to Mount Zion [the place where God is worshipped] and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem [the place of God’s presence], with its thousands of angels.  You have come to the joyful gathering of God’s first-born sons, whose names are written in heaven.  You have come to God, who is the judge of all mankind”(Hebrews 12. 28, 24)  The difference between the highest ideals of the Old Testament and the gospel is that in the gospel there is what the Prayer Book calls “perfect remission and forgiveness” through the Lord Jesus Christ.  Obedience to the law and aspiring to the highest ideals can take us just so far and no further: for a completely new start, we turn to the gospel.  That was a lesson our forebears needed to learn and it’s a lesson for British society today, a lesson the members of the Church alone can teach.

To keep walking the straight path we need to know how to handle the standards by which we live and the authority which supports our standards.  We have to handle the Bible, warts and all, read in the light of its law and of its highest ideals, but, supremely, in the light of the gospel and in fellowship with our only mediator and advocate, Jesus Christ.  Amen.