5 December 2021. Advent 2.
Today I’d like to do something
different, and mildly transgressive. I do mean mildly transgressive. So
please moderate your expectations of fun. I’d like us to reflect on a hymn we
will sing. (You see why I say mildly transgressive? It can be done. But if it
happened week in, week out, with no reflections on the readings, more would be
lost than would be gained.)
The hymn is the great Advent anthem, Lo
He Comes. Perhaps some of you are mentally singing it. It is Charles Wesley
at its finest. Great melody. It might also be said to be Advent at its purest.
I mean it is entirely about the Second Coming of Jesus at the end of time.
There is not even a passing reference to Christmas. Surely, then, there’s a
strong case for filling Advent with Lo He Comes.
And yet.
And yet. Let’s look at the second
verse. These are the original words:
Every eye shall now behold him
Robed in dreadful majesty;
Those who set at nought and sold him
Pierced and nailed him to the tree,
Deeply wailing (deeply wailing,
deeply wailing)
Shall the true Messiah see.
Who are those upon whom Wesley wishes wailing?
My contention is that Christian
tradition points to the answer… “the Jews”.
The case is cumulative. First, I’d
say that “Messiah” is itself not Christian language. Yes, I know, Handel! But,
outside of Handel’s Messiah, Christians tend use words based on the
Greek Christos, rather than the Hebrew, Mashiach. (Both mean the
same: “Anointed”.) We are Christians, after all, and not Messiahists.[1]
The references to selling the Messiah, and piercing him and seeing the one
pierced, also have strong Jewish resonances. And, while we know it was the
Romans, not the Jews, who actually crucified Jesus in history, the Romans had
no concept of the Messiah. So the image of remorseful wailing, on seeing the
true Messiah unveiled, works less well (if at all) if we have the Romans in
mind.
I probably haven’t convinced you. So
let me take you back to that Christian “tradition”. I am obliged to tell you
that from very early days Christians, including the great theologians,
including not a few of the great saints, had a tradition of saying “the Jews
killed Christ”. And by “the Jews” they meant not just a bunch of people in 1st-century
Jerusalem, but all Jews, throughout space, throughout time. The liturgist Melito
may have been the first, towards the end of the second century (c 16—170 CE).
He’s been called the “first poet of deicide”. In his liturgy, he accused the
Jews - collectively, all Jews - of “killing God”. If he was the first, he was
only the first.
St John Chrysostom (the
golden-mouthed) wrote a series of sermons in the late fourth century (386/7 CE)
called “Against the Jews”. He accuses the Jews of being disobedient, carnal,
demon-possessed. The tradition continues through Augustine, all the way down
the Martin Luther. And our great saint-theologians have said that because “the
Jews killed Christ” they are punished, damned and demeaned (descriptive). And
they have meant that because “the Jews killed Christ” they should be punished,
damned and demeaned (prescriptive).
Is this what you think of, if you
sing the traditional words of this verse of this hymn?
Is this what modern worshippers think
of?
Is this what Charles Wesley intended
to convey?
I doubt it. Let me be clear: I doubt
it.
But!
But the tradition of saying “the Jews
killed Christ” has been so wide and so deep. It infected even theologians and
saints. And it infected mobs and gangs throughout Christendom. It was so
infectious that – again, I am obliged to tell you – over centuries, it was
dangerous to be a Jew in Christian Holy Week. You were in danger of being
attacked, by baptised, church-going Christians, because of that charge of
“deicide”. Though the charge was never formally taught, it was strongly implied
by the shape and the details of the liturgy of Holy Week. The tradition is so wide
and so deep that – I say – it places a burden on us, today. We bear the burden
of making sure we do away with – eradicate, destroy - all such implications,
whenever they bubble up.
You may now be thinking: “If what you
say about Christian history is correct, I can see how this verse, using these
words, is risky, is suspicious. But! But, honestly, Patrick, you’re taking all
of this much too seriously! I really don’t think that hard about what I sing.”
Well, I’m afraid I don’t stand down. On the contrary, I will say: it is
precisely what we say or sing without thinking about it that shows what we
really believe. Let me give another example: “There is a green hill far away,
without a city wall, where…”. You will have added mentally: “the dear Lord was
crucified, who died to save us all”. And I even dare to suggest that those
words you have supplied tell you important things about what you believe (or
think Christians believe) about Jesus and his death, precisely because you didn’t
think about them.
What we are not sure about, we have
to think about. What we know in our bones, we don’t have to think about. They
flow through us. They trip off the tongue. Those who don’t think about these
words in this verse of Lo He Comes, then, often at least, “know“ things
(presume things) that they may struggle to articulate.
I am sorry. Not so much a
transgressive sermon as a harsh one. But there is good news. The good news is
that we can sing the hymn with full gusto, relishing all its Wesleyan wonders.
And! And we don’t have to change a word. We don’t have to – because the
hymn-book editors have done it for us. (You see: it really isn’t just me who
has found the verse difficult.) They have changed “Those who set at
nought” to “We who set at nought”.
And let’s be clear here too. That is
better theology. To stress: the change hasn’t been made to avoid giving offence
to Jews (or anybody). The change has been because the notion that “the Jews
killed Christ” has always been plain wrong. Disgustingly wrong. Sinfully wrong.
On purely Christian terms. Historically (as I have said), it was powerful players
in the Roman Empire who killed Jesus. Theologically, it is the sins of all of
us who killed Jesus (our own murderous instincts, our own willingness to stand
by). The sins of all of us, starting, as always with the household of faith.
We. We who set at nought and sold him.
Still not exactly good news, I admit.
In truth, why our sins killed Christ is an important theme, but one for another
place. But I will say, most assuredly, that it does lead to good news. Good
news, happily summarised in the very next verse of the hymn:
Those dear tokens of his passion
Still his dazzling body bears
Cause of endless exultation
To his ransomed worshippers
With what rapture
(with what rapture,
with what rapture)
Gaze we on those glorious scars.
Amen.
[1] I
am aware that the Semitic languages do use words related to the Hebrew, Mashiach,
but this is definitely a hymn of the Western, Latin tradition.
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