Bloomsbury
Central Baptist Church
12 February 2023, 11.00am
Alice Nutter, Pendle Witch
12 February 2023, 11.00am
Alice Nutter, Pendle Witch
Matthew 13.24-30, 36-43
Revelation 14.2-5, 14-16
A few years ago, Liz and I
went on the trail of the Pendle witches.
It was a story I knew I’d heard of,
but I didn’t know the details.
On
the Witch Trial trail (which is harder to say than you might think),
we discovered a fascinating tale of
murder and dark deeds in deepest Lancashire.
In
brief, 400 years ago, in the shadow of Pendle Hill,
amid the pretty villages and sleepy
fields,
suspicion
started to grow that something wasn’t right
with some of the people who lived
there.
Some
women, probably medicine-women with skills in herbal healing,
were accused of witchcraft.
It’s
possible that these women had actually come to believe
that they had the power to curse
people,
and to access strange powers,
so there may at one level have been
some truth in the accusation.
However,
others got caught up in the accusations,
and in the end, twelve people were
charged
with using witchcraft to commit
multiple murder.
After
a trial at Lancaster Castle, ten people were led outside and hanged.
The
Pendle witches weren’t the only people charged with witchcraft in this period,
and the best estimate is that during
the middle ages
approximately 500 people were
executed for witchcraft.
This
context of suspicion, which led to the ‘rooting out’ of the witches,
gives us the phrase ‘witch-hunt’,
which
we continue to use to describe any such attempt to rid society
of those who represent a specific
and feared practice or ideology.
From
the Spanish Inquisition, which apparently no-one expected;
to the Salem Witch Trials of
Massachusetts;
to
the omniscient thought control of George Orwell’s fictional ‘Big Brother’;
to the McCarthyite ‘reds under the
bed’ fears of the Cold War period;
to
ongoing discrimination
against people from other countries,
and
violence against those with black or brown skin;
- the tendency seems to be for us to reinvent
the witch-hunt for each new generation.
Today
is Racial Justice Sunday,
and this year marks the 30th
anniversary of the murder of Stephen Lawrence,
who was killed because he was black.
His
mother, Baroness Doreen Lawrence, tells the story:
Racial Justice
Sunday began in 1995,
two years after my son Stephen
Lawrence
was murdered
by a group of racist men
at a bus stop in London on 22 April
1993.
While much has
changed in the 30 years since Stephen’s death,
too many things have not.
Too many young
people still struggle to succeed
because they are disadvantaged by
factors beyond their control,
and too many
of the institutions upon which they should be able to rely,
are still infected with
institutional racism
and the structures of bias and
discrimination that uphold it.
She
goes on…
The most profound social justice issues of our time
demand a collective response.
We must come together in coalition with brothers and sisters
from across the
Christian community and beyond,
to ensure that the church itself is reflective
of the society we hope
to build for future generations,
working together to end racism and discrimination in all its forms.
In
Pendle in Lancashire, 400 years ago,
a largely rural culture took its
worst fears, paranoia, and guilt,
and focused these on targeted
individuals who were declared guilty
of a crime that they had
not committed.
The
structures of racism in our own world follow a similar pattern,
as people declare the minority
guilty without cause
even
as they declare themselves innocent
of demonstrable collusion in
structures of oppression.
I
found it particularly interesting that one of the guide books to the Pendle
witch trials
says that "The evidence against
them
was based on memories, hearsay
and superstition."
In
other words, whilst it appears to be important that the rule of law is
followed,
actually the most important thing is
to make the so-called guilty pay.
The
role of the legal process becomes less about
establishing truth beyond reasonable
doubt,
and
more about allowing society to believe
that the witch-hunt has not taken it
beyond the bounds of normal process.
This
is why we end up with institutionalised racism
in those very structures in our society
that should be there to protect the vulnerable.
One
of the characteristics of legal processes in a witch-hunt scenario
is that once accused, someone is
popularly presumed guilty until proven innocent,
rather than the other way around.
The
philosopher Rene Girard suggests that what we encounter
in situations such as the Pendle
Witch Trials
is an example of a social phenomenon
known as scape-goating.
The
term scape-goat has its origins in the Old Testament,
in the book of Leviticus (16.21-22),
where we find a ritual described which
has as its purpose the purification of society.
In
this special ritual, the sins of the people
were symbolically laden on the head
of a goat,
which was then driven away into the
wilderness. [1]
This
goat has become known as the ‘scape-goat’,
because it is sacrificed to atone
for the sins of the whole population.
In
modern language, we still speak of a scape-goat,
usually as a human victim, who is
identified as an easy target
on which to discharge the
accumulated hatreds of a community. [2]
Rene
Girard says that the act of scape-goating isn’t simply a religious ritual,
but that it is rather an example of
a universal human tendency.
Girard
argues that at the base of human society is a drive, or instinct,
to imitate, to copy, to want to be
like another person,
or to have what another person has.
This
desire to imitate creates rivalries between people
that then have to be contained,
and
Girard suggests that the rules of society
are attempts to contain the
rivalries that would otherwise lead to violence.
Think
of the child who has not yet learned to say ‘please’
– if they want something, they will
attempt to just take it.
Eventually,
and hopefully before they are strong enough to take it by force,
they will learn to say ‘please’,
and they will learn the
rules of sharing,
and that sometimes you don’t always
get what the other person has,
no matter how much you
want it.
In
other words, they learn the rules of society.
However,
the rules just contain the desire, they don’t make it go away.
This is why capitalism is such an
addictive ideology – but I digress.
The
rules of society don’t banish the capacity for acquisitive violence
that lies within each
human soul,
they just contain it,
and allow it to be
exercised at a societal rather than individual level.
If
I kill you because I want your stuff, society judges me guilty.
But if we all agree, as a nation,
that we want the land currently
occupied by another group,
we justify together our military
action to take it.
Which
is why Palestine and Ukraine remain in our newspapers,
but again, I digress.
By
this way of looking at things,
violence between two people
–
me using violence to take what I want from you –
is contained.
But
violence exercised on behalf of the many against the individual is sanctioned,
and even necessitated, as the legal
system asserts its communal rule of law.
By
the same token, violence exercised by the many
against another societal grouping is
also justified.
In
other words, if enough of us agree that it’s OK to go to war, then it’s OK.
And also, interestingly, if we do go
to war,
there is then huge propaganda
pressure to conform to that decision,
to cheer on and support
‘our boys at the front’.
But again, I digress.
Girard
goes on, and takes his argument one stage further,
and this is where he starts to shed
light on the language of the scape-goat,
on the practice of the witch-hunt.
Sometimes,
he says, the conflicts within a society
cannot be contained by the
civilising rules
that the community has developed.
An
atmosphere develops of fear, suspicion, and distrust
between members of the society.
Mob
rule threatens, and riot is just below the surface.
Eventually
two or more individuals converge on the same adversary,
and then others mimic
them in this,
so that in the end everybody gets
drawn into a united hatred
of the targeted
adversary.
As
Stephen Finamore puts it,
‘The undifferentiated and unified
mob converges
on one arbitrarily selected
individual.’ [3]
Violence
against the one, or possibly the few,
acts as a catharsis for the wider
society,
expelling hostile and
violent emotions from the group,
and producing a sense of calm,
harmony, and peace.
The
group agrees that the scape-goat must die,
the group enacts the sacrifice,
and the group feels
better as a result.
By
this understanding, the scapegoating of the few
serves a wider sociological
function,
by assuaging the guilt of the many.
And
so there is an inbuilt human tendency to scapegoat,
to witch-hunt, to name certain
people as ‘other’, as ‘evil’,
and to take collective
action against them.
Because if we all unite in hating them,
maybe we won’t hate each
other as much, at least today.
And
so we love to root out the evil,
to leave no stone unturned in our
efforts to rid society
of the ones we have
deemed unrighteous.
We
embark on a crusade, we condemn them to hell,
because by doing so we rid ourselves
of that which makes us most afraid.
There
is a certain type of religious person
who longs to root out evil in all
its forms,
and to establish the rule and reign
of the righteous on the earth.
They
have always existed, and they probably always will.
And the current zealous campaigning
against the full inclusion of LGBTQ+ people in church life
is the latest damaging incarnation of an ancient tendency
to vilify and exclude the minority
by declaring them guilty of sin in such a way
that the majority can then declare themselves not guilty of their sins.
And the current zealous campaigning
against the full inclusion of LGBTQ+ people in church life
is the latest damaging incarnation of an ancient tendency
to vilify and exclude the minority
by declaring them guilty of sin in such a way
that the majority can then declare themselves not guilty of their sins.
The
parable of the wheat and the weeds,
or the wheat and the
tares as it is more traditionally known,
has its origin in a society that
knew all about such religious extremism.
From
the Zealots, eager to rid the land of the polluting and corrupting Romans;
to the Pharisees, eager to fight
against pagans on the one hand,
and against compromised
Jews on the other,
there were plenty of people around
in Jesus’ day
who were desperate to
rid society of evil.
In
the parable of the wheat and the weeds,
Jesus offers a direct challenge to
the mindset of scapegoating,
to the practice of the
witch-hunt.
There’s
no point, says Jesus, in trying to root out all evil from within human society,
because it can’t be done.
All
you will do is damage the good that is growing there alongside the evil,
and the whole harvest will be lost.
So
at one level, this is a parable that urges patience, forbearance, and
perseverance.
However frustrating it may feel
to have to continue
living alongside the unrighteous,
it’s not our job as
humans to purify society.
But
at another level, the parable offers a deep insight
into the nature of the human soul:
the
reason we cannot root out evil from our midst
is because the evil is not actually ‘out
there’ at all.
It
is within each one of us.
It’s
not just society that’s a mixed field of wheat and weeds;
it’s me, and you,
and each and every complex person on
this complex planet.
As Aleksandr
Solzhenitsyn put it,
‘the line dividing good and evil
cuts through the heart of every human.’
The
task of the religious extremist
is shown by Jesus to be an
impossible task,
because
one cannot ultimately purify the human soul
through the exercising of violence,
however apparently well
intentioned,
and however legally mandated,
that violence might be.
People
keep trying, of course, because it seems so enticing;
when we scape-goat the ‘other’, when
we embark on a witch-hunt,
we feel so righteous;
we know we are right and innocent,
and they, whoever they are, are guilty and deserve their fate.
And
yet, of course, none of us are innocent.
All of us desire that which belongs
to the other,
all of us want what it
not ours to have,
all of us long to reach
out and take, by force if necessary,
that which
will make us complete.
And
so the crusade doesn’t work.
The inquisition doesn’t work.
The holy war doesn’t
work.
There
must be another way.
Well,
says Jesus, there is.
Let the wheat and the weeds grow
side by side.
Don’t
spoil the harvest by rooting it all out too early.
Let God be the judge of what is of
value and what has no value.
The
thing about weeds and wheat is that,
until the harvest is mature,
it is very hard to tell the one from
the other.
You
get some wheat the looks like weeds,
and you get some weeds that look
like wheat.
So
don’t judge others, lest you yourself be judged,
as Jesus puts it earlier in the
gospel (Matt. 7.1).
Each
of us is a mixed bag of wheat and weeds.
There are things in my life that
have no eternal value,
and which need to be
consigned to the flames for all eternity.
There are things in my life that are
pleasing to God,
and which he will hold
safe in his eternal storehouse for evermore.
I am weeds, and I am wheat.
As are we all.
The
only purification of the human soul that carries eternal value
is the judgment of God.
The
only purification of the societies we construct
that carries eternal value is the
judgment of God.
And
all human attempts to enact that judgment on God’s behalf
become scapegoating and
witch-hunting:
temporary
fixes to assuage our guilt, that ultimately damage us all,
as the weeding out of the few
destroys the harvest of the many.
The
only scapegoat that has the capacity to take the sins of us all,
and remove them from us for all
eternity,
is
the sinless one who was sacrificed on the cross
for the forgiveness of the many
(Heb. 13.11-12).
And
yet, still human society attempts to purify itself,
to scapegoat the hated and feared
‘other’
in a desire to unite against the
common foe for the good of us all.
Some
seek to purify humanity by planting bombs on planes and trains.
Some by naming and shaming.
Some by manipulation.
Certain
quarters of the press and media take great delight, it seems,
in dwelling upon the sins of others;
all
in the public interest, of course,
for the good of the many.
Sometimes
those who are scapegoated are entirely innocent.
They have done nothing to deserve
their denigration,
and they are simply
declared guilty
in
the absence of evidence of innocence.
The language of ‘illegal migrants’ is often used
to describe those who have come to
the UK as refugees to seek asylum.
And this designation of them as ‘illegal’ offers a justification for their incarceration,
and for their inhumane or sub-human
treatment
through forced destitution,
detention, and deportation. [4]
Similarly, the attempts to turn public opinion
against those who are striking for fairer wages,
is another example of how blame can quickly become focussed
on the very people who we ought to be valuing and protecting.
Similarly, the attempts to turn public opinion
against those who are striking for fairer wages,
is another example of how blame can quickly become focussed
on the very people who we ought to be valuing and protecting.
But
as Paul puts it in his letter to the Romans,
‘all have sinned and fall short of
the glory of God’ (Rom. 3:23).
Each
of us is wheat and weeds.
Each of us wants that which it is
not ours to take.
Each of us is in need of
mercy, and forgiveness, and grace.
Each
of us has the capacity to join the mob,
to assuage our guilt through the scapegoating
of the few.
Yet
each of us also receives forgiveness
from the one who went to the cross
for the sins of the many.
Each
of us receives forgiveness
from the only one who is in a
position to judge us.
Each
of us is touched by the grace of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus,
who has set us free from the law of
sin and of death. (Rom. 8.2).
[1]
Eerdman’s Commentary on the Bible, p. 114
[2]
Eerdman’s Commentary on the Bible, p. 115
[3]
Finamore, God, Order and Chaos, p. 72
[4]
http://www.newstatesman.com/uk-politics/2013/09/uk-media-needs-stop-referring-refugees-illegal-immigrants
Thanks Simon, very thought provoking and well written.
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