The State Visit of Pope Benedict has provoked much debate in the media about the place of religion in our society. If we are an essentially secular society, as many would claim on the basis of declining attendance at churches as well as mosques and synagogues, why should we accord the honour of a State Visit to the ruler of a tiny principality within the city of Rome? If on the other hand we have welcomed the Pope as leader of the world-wide Catholic church with a significant presence in this country, how are we to deal with the Papacy’s pretensions to spiritual authority in matters which go beyond the narrow sphere of religious practice – especially when many of us believe that the attitudes of the Roman Catholic church to certain social issues including the role of women in both church and society, or the responsible use of family planning, is fundamentally misguided?
Our Scripture readings come from a three-year cycle based on considerations which have nothing whatsoever to do with current events, and yet they turn out to have things to say to us which are very much to the point. In particular, our Gospel reading this evening goes to the heart of what constitutes religious authority. Jesus is a true radical, in the sense that his teaching goes to the root of things, rather than focussing on the performance or infringement of rules, which are at best of secondary importance.
First Jesus challenges certain rules of conduct based on an excessively narrow interpretation of Scripture, in this case the Torah, the body of detailed religious law based on the law-giving of Moses, as set out in the first five books of the Bible. He had been criticised for healing a man on the Sabbath day. The act of healing broke the Torah-based rules about not working on the Sabbath. These rules are inspired by the creation story at the beginning of Genesis, in which God creates the world in six days and rests on the seventh day. As Jesus points out, the practice of circumcision goes back to the patriarchs, long before the time of Moses, who had in fact allowed the practice of circumcision to lapse during the long trek through the wilderness. The practice was revived by Joshua, who organised a mass circumcision of the Israelites, after they had crossed the Jordan, as an act of dedication and renewal, symbolising the spiritual healing and the fresh start which the exodus and 40 years of wandering in the wilderness had given to the formerly enslaved people of Israel. More recently it had become customary for circumcision to take place on the Sabbath, the day when normally no work should be done. Healing a man on the Sabbath day was an infringement of the law. But Jesus points out that his act of healing is even more profound in its effect than the symbolic healing of the act of circumcision, so why should he be criticised for doing it on the Sabbath? On the contrary, one might reasonably argue that there was no better day for healing a man.
This relatively narrow dispute about obedience to the requirements of Torah law is set within a wider context. Who is this young man? Where does he come from? By whose authority does he preach and teach? The religious authorities are quite put out. The Jewish nation has had no truly independent focus of secular authority since the last king of Judah was defeated by the Babylonians, and his people carried away into exile some 600 years ago. In all that time, ultimate authority had rested with one great power after another – Babylon, Persia, Greece, and now Rome. As we were reminded in our first reading, the Persian kings – first Cyrus, then Darius and Artaxerxes, had adopted an enlightened policy of devolution, which allowed the Jews to rebuild their temple, and eventually the walls of the city of Jerusalem itself. From the time of Ezra onwards, deprived of any secular authority, without king or army, the focus of Jewish power had developed around the oversight of religious law – the Torah and its interpretation – which the Sanhedrin was allowed to administer.
In these circumstances it is hardly surprising that Jesus’ attitude to the law, and with it to their authority, causes such consternation. He hasn’t been properly trained, yet he speaks with an attractive, quiet authority, and the people hang on his words. His radical teaching is dangerous. He does not seem to regard the Torah as the authoritative source of guidance on how to behave. If he did, he would have to pay more attention to them as the guardians of Torah law interpretation. No, he appeals over their heads to an authority which derives, as he puts it, ‘from him who sent me’. He won’t be drawn into saying publicly what he means by that, but it is at the very least deeply subversive, and it could imply a claim to be the Messiah. But he does make the very reasonable point that whilst it is right to be deeply suspicious of those who try to draw attention to themselves, you can trust one who points beyond himself to the one who sent him.
Which brings me back to the topic of our distinguished visitor. The great leaders of the Church are those true saints that point beyond themselves, and beyond the authority vested in their office, to Jesus, who is Lord of the Church, just as Jesus points beyond himself to the one who sent him. Was John Henry Newman such a saint? – I believe he was, and I don’t need any proofs of miraculous healing to reach that conclusion. Is Pope Benedict such a saint? We shall have to wait and see what direction his leadership takes over the coming years. For my part, I am much more concerned about what these readings have to say to us here in Hampstead. I am proud of the Anglican tradition, which continually tests the way we express our faith on the basis of Tradition, Scripture and Reason. We are not free to believe or to preach anything we like – we are committed to the great ancient formularies of the Christian Church – the Creeds and our own 39 Articles of Religion – but it is our task to explore and rediscover in every generation what these statements of our faith mean in to-day’s world and today’s language. As we wrestle with these considerations we are guided by our changing understanding of the text as well as the meaning of Scripture, and led by as much of the light of reason as any of us can bring to bear from our own hearts and minds as well as the hearts and minds of respected theologians – priests, bishops and laity alike – all seeking the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Fr Jim will be sadly missed from this pulpit, but it’s up to the rest of us now to continue to wrestle in this Anglican way with the many important issues that arise in our own lives, as well as in the life of our community and our nation. That’s what we owe to you as an intelligent congregation of thoughtful Christian people. If, as we respond to that challenge we focus attention not on ourselves, but on Jesus our Lord, who has called us to this service, then at least we shall be pointing in the right direction.
There is just one more thing I should like to say about the task and privilege of preaching. Anyone who has stood at the door of the church, and been thanked for some point which they are supposed to have made, will know that the listener often hears something which the preacher did not say. This could be evidence of my own failure to get my message across, or to hold your attention; but I prefer to put it down to the work of the Holy Spirit. You see, the sermon is not my work, but our work. The preacher may appear to be the one who shapes the message, but much depends on how we open our hearts as listeners to the word which the Holy Spirit wants to sow in our hearts. That’s why I prefer to begin my sermons with a form of prayer which recognises our reflection on the meaning of God’s word as a joint enterprise, in which you have an equal part with me. My teaching is not mine, but his who sent me. If sometimes I am an inadequate mouthpiece for that teaching, I am relieved by the thought that with your help the Holy Spirit can plant his word in your hearts with or without my help.