The Revd Dr Tom Wilson gives an overview of his recent book, reflecting on one of the most complex sentences in Matthew’s Gospel, exploring the link between the words of Matthew 27.25 and anti-semitism.

Tom is the Director of the St Philips Centre and Interfaith Advisor to the Bishop of Leicester.

Writing the book provided me with an opportunity to reflect at length on one of the most complex sentences in Matthew’s Gospel, the cry of “all the [Jewish] people” that “His blood be on us and on our children” (27:25).

How do we respond to both the long history of Christian persecution of Jewish people as well as the rise in contemporary antisemitism? Are there any plausible links between the “blood cry” of Matthew 27:25 and the so-called “blood libel” that began in 1150, and still resurfaces today?

When Levine was seven, she was accused of deicide: A friend on the school bus said to me, “You killed our Lord.” “I did not,” I responded with some indignation. Deicide would be the sort of thing I would have recalled. “Yes, you did,” the girl insisted. “Our priest said so.” Apparently, she had been taught that “the Jews” were responsible for the death of Jesus. Since I was the only one she knew, I must be guilty (2006, 2).

Whilst we may not go around accusing Jewish people of killing Jesus, how confident are we that we are not perpetuating antisemitism? When we presume Christianity is a religion of grace, but Judaism is one of legalism and pointless works, we are guilty of stereotyping and misinformation. Taking the polemic of Matthew 23 as if it were an objective description of all Pharisees for all time is another mistake preachers might make.

At the conclusion to her discussion of Jesus as “the misunderstood Jew,” Levine tells the story of Rebbe Moshe Leib of Sassov (1745-1807), who told his disciples that he had overheard a conversation between two villagers which taught him what it meant to love his neighbour. The first said, “Tell me, my friend, do you love me?” and the second replied that he loved his fellow deeply. The first responded, “Do you know what causes me pain?” and the second said that he did not. The answer came, “If you do not know what causes me pain, how can you say that you truly love me?” The rebbe’s point was that to truly know what causes another pain is to truly love him (Levine 2006, 116-17). As a Christian, if I am to truly love my Jewish sisters and brothers, I must endeavour to understand how the faith I follow has caused them pain. That is my real purpose in writing this book.

The Matthew within Judaism school of interpretation provides a helpful correction to the lazy stereotype of Jewish legalism that is all too often deployed within Christian teaching for people of all ages and stages of maturity in faith. For the Matthew within Judaism school, the Sermon on the Mount generally, and especially Matthew 5:17-20, establish Jesus’ credentials as an orthodox teacher of the Jewish faith who advocates orthopraxy.

Chapter three discusses the nature of first-century polemic, The key point is that polemic is connotative, not denotative, that is to say, it tells you there are opponents, but doesn’t necessarily tell you anything about them.

The purpose of the discussion of polemic is to outline the context for the discussion of Matthew 23. The main conclusion is that for the Matthew within Judaism school, the polemic is interpreted as the beleaguered Matthean community defending itself by any means possible. For the evangelical Christian scholars any modern application of the polemic should be internally focused, that is, directed against oneself and one’s fellow Christians.

The “blood cry” of Matthew 27:25, one of the most challenging verses of the New Testament, that is at the root of the charge of deicide which has impacted Jewish people terribly down the centuries. The best way of interpreting 27:25 is to limit the potential scope of application; whilst in a theological sense, Christians may want to argue that all bear responsibility for the death of Christ, the cry of blood guilt must be restricted to those in the crowd and their immediate descendants. Any possibility of a more general application must be rejected out of hand.

Chapter six explores whether there is a connection between the blood cry and subsequent blood libels against Jewish people. Does an anti-Jewish reading of Matthew’s Gospel, especially 27:25, provided the foundations on which subsequent Christian antisemitism was built? In essence, the proposal is that if it was believed the Jews killed Jesus, then Christians expected Jews to try and kill them also. This appears to be the perspective of Thomas of Monmouth, the monk at Norwich Cathedral who first popularised and spread the blood libel. After discussing the Norwich case, there follows a brief history of blood libels down the ages, exploring incidents in Damascus, Kiev and Massena, New York, noting the culpability of Christians in spreading these lies. The conclusion notes the blood libel is still spread today, even in Jerusalem.

We cannot claim the blood libel is merely an aberration of history. It is a real and present issue which preachers and teachers, of Christian and of other faiths, have a duty to respond to. Teter’s final words are an apt challenge to Christian leaders:

What the history of the blood libel also tells us is that political leadership matters, as do words and official statements. They might not always be effective nor prevent violence and hatred, but they provide a tangible trail of voices for those who want to turn into action and need moral support. For all the work behind the scenes to help Jews, the lack of an explicit public condemnation came to be read as a tacit approval. Silences are heard too (2020, 384).

This is a profound challenge. It is not enough to be silently horrified. We must act. Christian teachers and preachers have a duty to confront false teaching, in whatever form it takes. This would include repudiating and rejecting misleading and inaccurate portraits of first century and contemporary Jews and Judaism. The blood libel is an extreme form of antisemitic prejudice that is unlikely to recur in a contemporary Christian setting. Nevertheless, I have heard Christians repeat the charge of deicide, or presume that all first-century Jews were racist legalists. These problems stem, at least in part, from inaccurate and unthought through teaching about Matthew’s Gospel.

The central question this book asks is, who is responsible for the death of Jesus? In the preface I argued that Matthew’s Gospel teaches us that Jesus takes responsibility for his own death, setting his face towards Jerusalem, and accepting what happened there because he believed that in doing so, healing and hope might enter the world. For Christians, who believes that Jesus died for them, it is also important to own personal responsibility for Jesus’ death. We believe that Jesus, through his death, dealt with all our shame and shortcomings. One of the great failures of Christians down the centuries has been to inaccurately hold all Jewish people for all time culpable for Jesus’ death. Of this, and much else, we have cause to repent, to turn away from. I hope this book can play its own small part in encouraging Christians to preach and teach the Christian Gospel in such a way that it is heard as bringing good news. And whether it is accepted or rejected, to love those they encounter as they love themselves.

His Blood be Upon Us: Completion and Condemnation in Matthews Gospel is available from the publishers here, but Tom also recommends a slightly more accessible and affordable book by Amy-Jill Levine, Jewish New Testament Professor.