When he was in the house, he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?”

When I was interviewed for the position that I now hold as Dean of York, I was asked a question which rather surprised me. It was about misogyny – specifically, about what I would do if I were at a meeting or social event as the Dean of York, and someone were to make a manifestly misogynistic remark in front of me.

I think I must have raised my eyebrows when this was put to me (coming from a city like Chicago, it did feel a little surprising), because one of the panel, looking at me, added, “this is Yorkshire, you know…”

Well – I leave you to make up your own mind about whether or not the question identified a valid concern, but I will say that both Alison and I have occasionally been surprised by remarks that have been uttered either to us or in front of us that have reminded me of this moment in the interview. And it is particularly sad to note that sometimes such remarks have been about Dean Viv, who was, of course, the first woman to be the Dean of York, holding the post from 2012 to 2018.

All of which is to say that I realize that there may be some people around this great cathedral whose views on what roles are appropriate for women and what roles are appropriate for men might feel – shall we say – traditional. People, perhaps, who believe they understand exactly what the author of the Book of Proverbs was on about, when describing that figure that he calls a capable wife – the sort of wife who will be supportive of her (evidently more important and capable) husband – her husband who is busy being a mover and shaker at the city gates, taking his seat among the elders of the land.

But there will be others, I suspect, for whom this passage can feel a particularly blunt reminder of the patriarchal culture in which the books of the Bible were brought to birth, and who will be wondering why on earth, in today’s world, it can be a good or appropriate thing to legitimize these seemingly outdated words by reading them out loud and calling them ‘the Word of the Lord’?

Of course, we should take note that the words we heard translated as a ‘capable wife’ – the Hebrew phrase eshet Chayil – are also often rendered as ‘woman of valor’. And perhaps that helps a little – perhaps that enables us to give thanks that in today’s world most professions have seen women reach the very top ranks, even if society is still male-dominated.

Perhaps that enables us to give thanks that there are now 35 female bishops in the Church of England – even though I still regularly hear conversations in which people – well, men – mutter worriedly about whether we are ‘ready’ for a female archbishop, at the point when either of the current postholders might retire.

Perhaps it is good, though, to champion the idea of the ‘woman of valour’ and rejoice that we can, at least, uncouple such a notion from the distinctly ‘wifely’ feel of the translation which we heard read just now.

But actually even saying that is to miss the point, and, in my opinion, to fail to understand what the author of Proverbs is really pointing us to.

During the time we were living in Chicago, Alison and I were privileged to be invited to dinner one Friday evening at the home of a very distinguished orthodox rabbi. When we took our place at the table, I was surprised to discover that the weekly liturgy that heralds the arrival of the Jewish sabbath includes the recitation of those verses about the capable wife that we just heard from Proverbs.

Curious to know the relevance of this passage to the celebration of the arrival of the sabbath, I asked the rabbi why these particular words were read. And I suppose that – to my shame – I was anticipating a trite reply about the role of a good Jewish wife, and how she is there to support her husband and family. After all, my not very well-informed perception of orthodox Jews made me think that in a setting which seemed to traditional and conservative, it might be very natural to hear a remark or two along the lines of ‘a woman’s place is in the home’.

However, I was gently put in my place when the rabbi explained that this famous passage was read each sabbath in order to help Jews welcome the feminine presence of God into their home. For, as the rabbi reminded me, the attributes of the one God are both masculine and feminine, and neither should be ignored or prioritized at the expense of the other – rather, both should be welcomed into one’s home and one’s life.

Furthermore, he reminded me that this passage about the eshet Chayil is the last word – the climax of the book of Proverbs, and more than that, in the original Hebrew it is an acrostic, with each verse beginning with the next letter of the alphabet. A fact that suggests it might well have functioned as a liturgical or catechetical text – something which everyone in the community was encouraged to learn, to recite, to live by – women and men alike.

Certainly, in this early example of what we call Wisdom literature, after some thirty chapters of wise advice about how to live life – advice with something of a masculine feel to it – when, by way of climax, the author wants us to understand values and attributes that are exceptional, he presents us with a woman of such remarkable abilities and graces that we see in her nothing less than a feminine personification of the divine. A feminine personification of the divine to encourage us, to inspire us, and to challenge us.

And when we read today’s gospel passage, we are reminded, all too clearly, how much we need to be challenged – just as we need to be challenged when we find ourselves witnessing or hearing language or behaviour that is sexist, or racist, or ableist, or homophobic, of which in any other way disparages and denigrates some of God’s beloved children who are our siblings in Christ.

For throughout Mark, the depiction of the disciples cannot be said to be complimentary. Their almost constant failure to grasp even the most basic essentials of Jesus’ teaching permeates the entire gospel narrative, and this morning’s passage shows the Twelve as little more than grumpy and embarrassed teenagers caught out after an utterly inappropriate argument about greatness and importance.

An argument, moreover, set in the context of an even more awkward moment around a similar theme, which we heard one week ago as last Sunday’s gospel reading. For last Sunday, our gospel found Jesus and the disciples in Caesarea Philippi, where Jesus demands that his closest friends tell him who they think he really is. A moment which starts well – with Peter acknowledging that Jesus is the Messiah – but a moment which then ends badly, as Peter reacts negatively to Jesus predicting his Passion and death – which then ends so badly that Peter is addressed – and addressed very publicly – as Satan.

Well today, we are a little bit further on in Mark’s narrative, and we come to Jesus’ second prediction of his Passion and death… a prediction which proves to be a curtain-raiser for this egotistical dispute among the disciples. A dispute about – of all fatuous, ridiculous, and offensively irrelevant topics – a dispute about which of them was the greatest.

Jesus is attempting to show them that, despite being the Messiah, the Christ, his sense of ego is of such little relevance to him that he is prepared – that he is expecting to suffer and die to demonstrate the truth about God’s love to the wider world. But his closest friends and followers – they can only talk about their own egos – unaware (that at least for those of us who speak English), the word EGO should really be understood as an acronym for Edging God Out. And, of course, when Jesus demands to know what has been going on, they lapse into the sullen and embarrassed silence that is a particular gift of young men.

And the tragedy is that this was not what Jesus wanted of them. It was not what Jesus wanted of them and it was not what Jesus wanted for them. For Jesus wanted them and needed them to be the best versions of themselves that they possibly could be, for – strange to say – he needed them, truly, to become nothing less than what the author of Proverbs referred to as being a ‘capable wife’. For these men in whom Jesus – incredibly – believed so much, these men were to become the foundations of what you and I now call ‘the church’, that body which is also known as the bride of Christ.

Because, for the Christian, it is the Church of God that must, surely, be the real woman of valour. And that means, quite simply, that the virtues and attributes of which we heard read just now, those hallmarks of valour that are the very climax of this great book of Wisdom, they should be the aspiration of all God’s children that claim to be the church.

Because the capable wife is called to do her husband good and not harm, which is – or ought to be – the vocation of the Church. That capable wife is called to let her works praise her in the city gates. That is, or should, be the call of the Church of God – and therefore the call of each and every one of its members. It should not be worked out in the kind of petty arguments like the one where Jesus says to the embarrassed disciples, “What were you arguing about just now?”

Because whether male or female, young or old, gay or straight, our aspiration corporately and individually, needs to take us beyond the petty squabbles we just witnessed of Peter, James and John and all the rest of them. Jesus believed in them, nevertheless, and loved them, just as he believes in and loves each one of us, despite our own failings. And that is why Jesus calls us, as he called them, to be the best version of ourselves that we possibly can be. Because when we don’t then we end up – like the disciples in this morning’s gospel – we end up ‘arguing on the way’, and there is already, surely, too much argument in the world without us adding to it.

Just before the final blessing, as we are getting ready to be sent back out into that argumentative world, having been fed on the Body of Christ, and having been confirmed anew in the reality that our call is to be the Body of Christ, we’re going to sing the well-known words of the Victorian priest John Ernest Bode. Words he wrote to celebrate his three children being confirmed in 1869, when – doubtless – he hoped and prayed that his children would grow in the Christ-like vocation of being the best version of themselves that they could be.

I hope and pray that we, too, can lay aside the things over which we indulge in arguing about ‘on the way’, that we can hear again the call that we should all emulate the divine ‘woman of valour’, so that we can genuinely sing and pray:

O let me see thy footmarks,

and in them plant mine own;

my hope to follow duly

is in thy strength alone;

O guide me, call me, draw me,

uphold me to the end;

and then in heaven receive me,

my Saviour and my Friend. Amen.