In human terms death is the last thing of all, and in human terms hope exists only so long as their life;
But to Christian eyes death is by no means the last thing of all,
Just another minor event in that which is all, an eternal life.
Soren Kierkegaard
There are precious few moments when head and heart collide- when one is fully immersed in the present so infinitely that the cosmic dance takes place on dirt. And to put words to such a moment is even more remote. Yet we try with our heads bowed and our hearts open to find ourselves fully immersed in God’s future as we take the celebratory march to get drunk on blood.
The grapes are ripe this time of year. If not picked this morning, they were yesterday. It’s my first afternoon in Jerusalem, and I’m walking through the Old City, getting lost only to find where I am. Shops on either side of the road, I brush shoulders with Jews, Christians, and Muslims. The sun already burning on my neck, I look around to catch landmarks for the return trip to my hostel. Via Dolorosa. MFA1 Assault Rifle.
The sign marking the Way of Suffering juxtaposed revoltingly with the two Israeli soldiers standing directly underneath. They couldn’t be any more than nineteen, just boys with the responsibility of life and death. A child no more than six passed with a plastic gun, pointing it at random people and pretending to shoot. But for these soldiers, playtime had ended. The guns were real and the bullets pierced flesh. I’m not used to guns. I see them back home on police officers, but even in the patron state of shootin’ stuff, you don’t see assault rifles casually slung over shoulders. It would become a sight I would abhorrently become used to over the next few weeks. A few times pointed in my direction.
I continued through the stone alleyways, noting the difference in architecture as the city was built and rebuilt through the centuries. Up ahead, what looks like a short walk is the Mount of Olives rising over East and West Jerusalem, the cemetery quietly passing judgment as its inhabitants await the Messiah. My group passes Mary’s tomb, and walk into the Garden of Gethsemane. The olive trees, centuries old twist and contort toward the sky, providing shade and food for any who whish to lay underneath. How beautiful a picture to think about each having their own tree. This is supposedly the place where Jesus prayed such a prayer on the night he was betrayed, arrested, nailed to a tree.
Betrayal. Deception. Violence- these are the reasons some have more trees than others.
The walk up the hill is steep. Passing Christian landmarks on either side, we pass Dominus Flevit- a small Franciscan chapel shaped as a tear drop. Overlooking the city, one sees the Wailing Wall to the left and to the right the Dome of the Rock penetrating the skyline.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing! Look your house is left to you desolate.
Grief and lament give way to tears and sacrifice. The death meant to expose the ridiculousness of violence- killing the innocent One- has given way to even more desolation. Here, where the land seems to drink an endless amount of blood and tears, the Via Dolorosa remains the status quo. Jesus continues the slow march through the city, walks the hills surrounding the City of David, through the streets of Hebron, and the along the borders of Gaza. We find him in the homes of Jewish parents who have received their sons and daughters in bloody pieces, and we find him in the bedroom of the traumatized Palestinian boy whose father ‘disappeared.’
His back scourged by the onslaught of US made missiles, he begs for us to follow. Such foolishness. Such stupidity. Only death awaits those who follow the insane man from Nazareth. Who, in this world, refuses self-defense? Who, in this world, chooses the irrationality of love over the concreteness of a bullet? Who can have faith in the absurd thought of peace?
This is my body broken for you. This is my blood poured out for you. My body and blood show a new way of living in this world. Just as you have received forgiveness, so forgive one another. Love your enemies, and pray for those that persecute you. It will not be easy, as they persecute me so shall they persecute you. But do not lose hope for I will return to you. And there will be a new heaven and a new earth- behold, even now I make all things new!
Maranatha.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Keeping God at a Distance: Turning Into Christ and Toward the Poor
Ryan Fasani and Eric Paul-
Repent, for the Kingdom of God is near.
“Now I’m a church going woman, but we have a problem here in Antioch, and it’s the homeless. I work in a service station and these people steal ice…Nashville has a bad reputation for being soft on the homeless. This community is in danger. We don’t want them here.” I (Eric) sat and listened to her demonize God’s children, responding to her new homeless neighbors more in anger and fear than thoughtfulness and love. This woman spoke in one breath of her Christian faith and in the other breath her dissatisfaction toward the temporary relocation of Tent City.
Tent City, under the Hermitage Avenue Bridge, was the home to nearly 150 homeless neighbors until The Flood in May of this year. With most of their assets awash in the rising Cumberland, many found shelter with the Red Cross at Lipscomb University. But emergency shelter is only temporary, and in just a week, these homeless brothers and sisters relocated—this time to a privately owned field in Antioch leased to them by the owner.
A Town Hall Meeting was called to address this ‘problem’ that had now invaded Antioch. A cacophony of voices formed a unified front against those who had nowhere else to go. The same phrase repeated throughout the night: “We love the homeless, but…” We can all finish the sentence, because we all feel the tension. If we’re honest, our Christian faith and our actions toward those that are without home are at odds.
We believe in the value of all of God’s children (Psalm 139:14), but when we pass a man or woman on the street, we pretend they are not there. We believe that status and prestige are turned over in Jesus’ ministry (Luke 14:12-13), but when we sit by them on the bus we turn our noses. We believe scripture calls us to model God’s hospitality (Rom 12:10-13), but when they approach our churches we lock the doors for fear that they might steal, or worse, unsettle our public image.
I (Eric) once met with a pastor of a downtown church who told me that they lock the doors on a Sunday morning because the homeless make the worshippers nervous. What makes these people such a threat? Sometimes I think the church needs a third work of grace, another conversion.
Mark’s Gospel begins with John the Baptist preaching a message of repentance, a call for conversion. Jesus then proclaims this same message once John is in prison (Mark 1:15). To repent, literally means a slow turn. It is not a coincidence then that John’s message came with a call for baptism. Baptism, as the church carries the tradition, is the ritual that dramatizes one’s turning away from the powers and systems that bring death and turning toward new life and hope in Christ’s resurrection (Romans 6). In the early church, this was literally demonstrated when the catechumen (an individual being baptized or confirmed) would turn from facing the West to the East, in anticipation of Christ’s return. After baptism, the catechumen would then join the fellowship of believers for worship in Holy Communion. The whole process narrates a turn (conversion) from isolation toward fellowship in the body of Christ.
In other words, baptism turns us toward and ties us to one another and to Christ. To be converted to Christ also means that we are converted to one another. John puts it this way, “Since God so loved us, so we ought to love one another” (1 John 4:15). Baptism, then, in the words of NT Wright, “is more than merely an image of unity-in-diversity; it’s a way of saying the church is called to do the work of Christ, to be the means of his action in the world.” Baptism teaches that to be Christian is not to think one is Christian. It is not a cognitive assent to predetermined doctrine. To be Christian is to be grafted into the practices that form one as a Christian.
But, what happens when the church neglects certain people based on economic status? It appears that the church as Christ’s body and our actions toward the poor are at odds. In short, we don’t embody Christ well in the world. “The church loves the homeless, but…” The church is in need of a slow turn from practices that are destructive and toward ones that serve life.
If our presupposition from earlier articles stands—namely, that God’s actions in the world generate the mission of the church—neglect of the poor is incongruent with God’s revelation. This is a clear accusation of our unfaithfulness. The church, then, must always be repenting. As we encounter those with little means and without permanent residence, we must perpetually repent of our neglect in loving them well, and turn toward a more hospitable future, God’s future as open to all people.
This type of turning is difficult. We don’t like to be confronted with the reality of poverty. Like the woman in Antioch, we just don’t want to have to deal with it. “We love the homeless, but…”
So we give five dollars to assuage our guilt. But, giving is not necessarily turning. Giving in the form of charity too easily becomes a device to avoid our baptismal call out of isolation and into fellowship. Charity keeps the poor at a distance. In this way, the poor have taught us that the church has not learned how to love as Christ has loved. The poor have become for the church a perpetual reminder of our inability to be a faithful, baptized people—to be God’s presence in the world. In the meantime, we are missing out of the gift of grace that can be found through true relationship with these loved ones. Perhaps the church is due for a conversion.
Repent, for the Kingdom of God is near.
“Now I’m a church going woman, but we have a problem here in Antioch, and it’s the homeless. I work in a service station and these people steal ice…Nashville has a bad reputation for being soft on the homeless. This community is in danger. We don’t want them here.” I (Eric) sat and listened to her demonize God’s children, responding to her new homeless neighbors more in anger and fear than thoughtfulness and love. This woman spoke in one breath of her Christian faith and in the other breath her dissatisfaction toward the temporary relocation of Tent City.
Tent City, under the Hermitage Avenue Bridge, was the home to nearly 150 homeless neighbors until The Flood in May of this year. With most of their assets awash in the rising Cumberland, many found shelter with the Red Cross at Lipscomb University. But emergency shelter is only temporary, and in just a week, these homeless brothers and sisters relocated—this time to a privately owned field in Antioch leased to them by the owner.
A Town Hall Meeting was called to address this ‘problem’ that had now invaded Antioch. A cacophony of voices formed a unified front against those who had nowhere else to go. The same phrase repeated throughout the night: “We love the homeless, but…” We can all finish the sentence, because we all feel the tension. If we’re honest, our Christian faith and our actions toward those that are without home are at odds.
We believe in the value of all of God’s children (Psalm 139:14), but when we pass a man or woman on the street, we pretend they are not there. We believe that status and prestige are turned over in Jesus’ ministry (Luke 14:12-13), but when we sit by them on the bus we turn our noses. We believe scripture calls us to model God’s hospitality (Rom 12:10-13), but when they approach our churches we lock the doors for fear that they might steal, or worse, unsettle our public image.
I (Eric) once met with a pastor of a downtown church who told me that they lock the doors on a Sunday morning because the homeless make the worshippers nervous. What makes these people such a threat? Sometimes I think the church needs a third work of grace, another conversion.
Mark’s Gospel begins with John the Baptist preaching a message of repentance, a call for conversion. Jesus then proclaims this same message once John is in prison (Mark 1:15). To repent, literally means a slow turn. It is not a coincidence then that John’s message came with a call for baptism. Baptism, as the church carries the tradition, is the ritual that dramatizes one’s turning away from the powers and systems that bring death and turning toward new life and hope in Christ’s resurrection (Romans 6). In the early church, this was literally demonstrated when the catechumen (an individual being baptized or confirmed) would turn from facing the West to the East, in anticipation of Christ’s return. After baptism, the catechumen would then join the fellowship of believers for worship in Holy Communion. The whole process narrates a turn (conversion) from isolation toward fellowship in the body of Christ.
In other words, baptism turns us toward and ties us to one another and to Christ. To be converted to Christ also means that we are converted to one another. John puts it this way, “Since God so loved us, so we ought to love one another” (1 John 4:15). Baptism, then, in the words of NT Wright, “is more than merely an image of unity-in-diversity; it’s a way of saying the church is called to do the work of Christ, to be the means of his action in the world.” Baptism teaches that to be Christian is not to think one is Christian. It is not a cognitive assent to predetermined doctrine. To be Christian is to be grafted into the practices that form one as a Christian.
But, what happens when the church neglects certain people based on economic status? It appears that the church as Christ’s body and our actions toward the poor are at odds. In short, we don’t embody Christ well in the world. “The church loves the homeless, but…” The church is in need of a slow turn from practices that are destructive and toward ones that serve life.
If our presupposition from earlier articles stands—namely, that God’s actions in the world generate the mission of the church—neglect of the poor is incongruent with God’s revelation. This is a clear accusation of our unfaithfulness. The church, then, must always be repenting. As we encounter those with little means and without permanent residence, we must perpetually repent of our neglect in loving them well, and turn toward a more hospitable future, God’s future as open to all people.
This type of turning is difficult. We don’t like to be confronted with the reality of poverty. Like the woman in Antioch, we just don’t want to have to deal with it. “We love the homeless, but…”
So we give five dollars to assuage our guilt. But, giving is not necessarily turning. Giving in the form of charity too easily becomes a device to avoid our baptismal call out of isolation and into fellowship. Charity keeps the poor at a distance. In this way, the poor have taught us that the church has not learned how to love as Christ has loved. The poor have become for the church a perpetual reminder of our inability to be a faithful, baptized people—to be God’s presence in the world. In the meantime, we are missing out of the gift of grace that can be found through true relationship with these loved ones. Perhaps the church is due for a conversion.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Keeping God at a Distance: Taking Seriously (Our 'Un-Belief of) Matthew 25
Ryan Fasani and Eric Paul-
‘For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.’ -Matthew 25:34-40 (ESV)
Let me just say it: Christians don’t like Matthew 25. And as the scriptures Christians don’t like go, so goes Matthew 25. It is relegated to the catalogue of biblical obscurity, and ultimately pushed right out of many Christians’ mental back doors, never to be heard again in bible study or from the pulpit. In other words, Christians systematically “un-believe” it. The result is a tragedy—a tragedy we need to take seriously if we are to live faithfully in urban America.
We (the authors) think Matthew 25 is actually quite clear. Given the array of possible interpretations of, say, the beast rising out of the sea with ten horns and seven heads in Revelation 13, or the “woes” to the rich, the well fed, the laughers, and those spoken well of in Luke 6, Matthew 25 only has two possible interpretations. The first possibility: serving food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, being hospitable to the stranger, clothing the naked, and caring for the sick is just like (similar to) serving Jesus. The second possibility: serving those in need and being with the suffering is actually (literally) serving Jesus.
My (Ryan) mom ran a “tight ship” when I was young. She had to; she was juggling five boys, no girls. We didn’t have a lot of rules, but the ones we did have were non-negotiable. The one that comes to mind is that despite where we were or who we were with, if an adult was present, they deserved our unwavering respect. This meant we annunciated our Pleases and Thank Yous, we made eye contact when we were spoken to, and we listened and obeyed immediately. She required that we show the same respect to other adults as we did her. I remember when mom would drop us off at friends’ houses, her farewell injunction was, “Behave just as you would if I were there.” My friends’ parents were astonished by our manners. Of course they were; we were behaving as if we were at home, as if mom was calling us in for supper, just like mom was asking us to take a shower.
There are many opinions on the technicalities of translating Matthew 25:40 from the Greek. Every English translation does it differently. It seems to be something like a simile, with an “as” or “like.” Should we emphasize this verse of the passage—treating the hurting and disenfranchised just like or as if they are Jesus—the implicit injunction is something like this: “Behave just as you would if I, Jesus, were there.” There is, however, consensus on the preceding verses (35ff). Jesus says quite clearly, “I was hungry, thirsty, naked, and in prison.” If Christians fight back the inclination to avoid the obvious because it’s difficult, Christians are forced to understand that the poor, oppressed, and hurting are actually Jesus. Consequently, the implicit injunction is more piercing: “Show compassion to ones that bear pain because it is my pain!”
Either the poor and suffering of the world are to be treated like Jesus because it is as if he is there, or they are to be treated like Jesus because he is there. Is the moral upshot different? In other words, does it change how we treat, engage, serve, or advocate for the suffering whether we understand our hurting neighbor to be like Jesus or actually to be Jesus? The Church of the Nazarene’s Manual implies that the previous questions elicit inadequate answers—ethical technicalities according to hypothetical scenarios. Instead, the Manual suggests that a better question is: How do I make the plight of the poor and the suffering of sick my own? Because God is empathetic (in-suffering) with those that suffer, Christians should do likewise, “identify[ing] with and [entering] into solidarity with the poor and not simply to offer charity from a position of comfort” (Appendix 903.4). Whether it is like Jesus is there or Jesus actually is there, Jesus takes on the pain of those suffering by entering into it. Christians too should enter this pain and share it with our neighbor, fighting for its resolution.
My (Ryan) mom taught me good manners, but in terms of teaching me Christian compassion (to suffering with), her stern rules and persistent injunctions reinforced our tendency to keep God at a distance. To her credit, it’s difficult to teach the value of compassionate solidarity. But as Christian disciples, difficulty does not relieve necessity. We believe that God identifies with those that suffer. Just as God moved into the plight of human existence, God continues right on past the gated community and pricey restaurants, Victorian homes and office buildings, and associates (identifies) with those struggling to make it (perhaps those in the subsidized housing “projects”). This is not just an injunction on how to behave (as if God is around) but where to be (where God is)! It’s a matter of location—emotional presence and physical proximity. Matthew 25 is a call to Christians to move themselves into the lives of those hurting in our communities; not a call simply to act polite as if God is watching over our shoulders, but to act with a God who is already there in solidarity.
The Manual calls this life of solidarity a “struggle.” And it is! We (Christians) want to do without this “essential aspect” of Christian discipleship because life is easier (Appendix 903.4). We’ve systematically purged ourselves and our worshipping communities of the truth that God is with and for the poor. But the clear absence of this struggle has wounded our church; we’ve been forced to suture this gaping wound by moving emotionally and physically further and further from any semblance of poverty. Charitable giving (i.e. sending money from afar) has become our mode of service, and unfortunately, we now experience the worst of tragedies: God is distant.
We don’t like Matthew 25. We pose questions about it in an effort to convince ourselves of its obscurity. Is Jesus psychologically or mystically present in the person suffering? Does Jesus understand them, is he with them, or is he in them? Meanwhile, God has hung up a sign that reads: “You know where to find me.”
‘For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.’ -Matthew 25:34-40 (ESV)
Let me just say it: Christians don’t like Matthew 25. And as the scriptures Christians don’t like go, so goes Matthew 25. It is relegated to the catalogue of biblical obscurity, and ultimately pushed right out of many Christians’ mental back doors, never to be heard again in bible study or from the pulpit. In other words, Christians systematically “un-believe” it. The result is a tragedy—a tragedy we need to take seriously if we are to live faithfully in urban America.
We (the authors) think Matthew 25 is actually quite clear. Given the array of possible interpretations of, say, the beast rising out of the sea with ten horns and seven heads in Revelation 13, or the “woes” to the rich, the well fed, the laughers, and those spoken well of in Luke 6, Matthew 25 only has two possible interpretations. The first possibility: serving food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, being hospitable to the stranger, clothing the naked, and caring for the sick is just like (similar to) serving Jesus. The second possibility: serving those in need and being with the suffering is actually (literally) serving Jesus.
My (Ryan) mom ran a “tight ship” when I was young. She had to; she was juggling five boys, no girls. We didn’t have a lot of rules, but the ones we did have were non-negotiable. The one that comes to mind is that despite where we were or who we were with, if an adult was present, they deserved our unwavering respect. This meant we annunciated our Pleases and Thank Yous, we made eye contact when we were spoken to, and we listened and obeyed immediately. She required that we show the same respect to other adults as we did her. I remember when mom would drop us off at friends’ houses, her farewell injunction was, “Behave just as you would if I were there.” My friends’ parents were astonished by our manners. Of course they were; we were behaving as if we were at home, as if mom was calling us in for supper, just like mom was asking us to take a shower.
There are many opinions on the technicalities of translating Matthew 25:40 from the Greek. Every English translation does it differently. It seems to be something like a simile, with an “as” or “like.” Should we emphasize this verse of the passage—treating the hurting and disenfranchised just like or as if they are Jesus—the implicit injunction is something like this: “Behave just as you would if I, Jesus, were there.” There is, however, consensus on the preceding verses (35ff). Jesus says quite clearly, “I was hungry, thirsty, naked, and in prison.” If Christians fight back the inclination to avoid the obvious because it’s difficult, Christians are forced to understand that the poor, oppressed, and hurting are actually Jesus. Consequently, the implicit injunction is more piercing: “Show compassion to ones that bear pain because it is my pain!”
Either the poor and suffering of the world are to be treated like Jesus because it is as if he is there, or they are to be treated like Jesus because he is there. Is the moral upshot different? In other words, does it change how we treat, engage, serve, or advocate for the suffering whether we understand our hurting neighbor to be like Jesus or actually to be Jesus? The Church of the Nazarene’s Manual implies that the previous questions elicit inadequate answers—ethical technicalities according to hypothetical scenarios. Instead, the Manual suggests that a better question is: How do I make the plight of the poor and the suffering of sick my own? Because God is empathetic (in-suffering) with those that suffer, Christians should do likewise, “identify[ing] with and [entering] into solidarity with the poor and not simply to offer charity from a position of comfort” (Appendix 903.4). Whether it is like Jesus is there or Jesus actually is there, Jesus takes on the pain of those suffering by entering into it. Christians too should enter this pain and share it with our neighbor, fighting for its resolution.
My (Ryan) mom taught me good manners, but in terms of teaching me Christian compassion (to suffering with), her stern rules and persistent injunctions reinforced our tendency to keep God at a distance. To her credit, it’s difficult to teach the value of compassionate solidarity. But as Christian disciples, difficulty does not relieve necessity. We believe that God identifies with those that suffer. Just as God moved into the plight of human existence, God continues right on past the gated community and pricey restaurants, Victorian homes and office buildings, and associates (identifies) with those struggling to make it (perhaps those in the subsidized housing “projects”). This is not just an injunction on how to behave (as if God is around) but where to be (where God is)! It’s a matter of location—emotional presence and physical proximity. Matthew 25 is a call to Christians to move themselves into the lives of those hurting in our communities; not a call simply to act polite as if God is watching over our shoulders, but to act with a God who is already there in solidarity.
The Manual calls this life of solidarity a “struggle.” And it is! We (Christians) want to do without this “essential aspect” of Christian discipleship because life is easier (Appendix 903.4). We’ve systematically purged ourselves and our worshipping communities of the truth that God is with and for the poor. But the clear absence of this struggle has wounded our church; we’ve been forced to suture this gaping wound by moving emotionally and physically further and further from any semblance of poverty. Charitable giving (i.e. sending money from afar) has become our mode of service, and unfortunately, we now experience the worst of tragedies: God is distant.
We don’t like Matthew 25. We pose questions about it in an effort to convince ourselves of its obscurity. Is Jesus psychologically or mystically present in the person suffering? Does Jesus understand them, is he with them, or is he in them? Meanwhile, God has hung up a sign that reads: “You know where to find me.”
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Keeping God at a Distance: Introduction to a Journey
As Found at MicahMandate.com
Ryan Fasani and Eric Paul-
“The gospel does not merely bring the kingdom of God to the poor; it also discovers the kingdom of the poor, which is God’s kingdom. The gospel does not merely call to conversion and faith. It also shows that the poor are God’s fellow citizens, like the children to whom the kingdom of God already belongs.” - Jurgen Moltmann
God associates with the poor. In the Exodus narrative, God liberated God’s own poor and oppressed people. Likewise, God became poor and homeless through the Incarnation (Matt 8:20) and his call to ministry (Luke 4:18ff), and God even pronounces blessing upon the poor—for they will inherit the earth (Matt. 5:3).
Does this indict the rich? Not necessarily. Does it disrupt Christian notions of financial security and upward mobility? Certainly. The mere utterance of the phrase “God associates with the poor” makes us middle-class Americans rather uncomfortable. What kind of a God chooses the poor to be blessed, and what exactly does that blessing look like? Honestly, we don’t know! Perhaps, even more than disrupting our notions of financial security, this is an indictment of the way we do church. Fundamentally, the mission of the church must find its purpose and vision as it relates to the Missio Dei, the Mission of God. In short, where God chooses to be and with whom God chooses to associate, the church ought to follow.
We’ve already covered some ground without a word about our project. We’re heading on a journey and you’re welcome to follow. We’re exploring the distance between God and the church—God and so many of God’s disciples. More substantively, we’re exploring the distance between the church and the poor and looking closely at the shortcomings of the church’s predominant method of missio: charity. We share common experience in our attempts at serving faithfully in East Nashville and we deeply desire to see the Missio Dei in our midst, guiding our vision of service.We shall begin with our presuppositions, namely, revelation. Resting on the belief that God reveals God’s self in particularities (i.e. acts in history), we know God’s association with the poor because of stories that have been passed down to us through scripture. While numerous references abound, we will only expound upon two narratives that help shape the Christian tradition: The Exodus and the Incarnation. Both narratives provide insight into God’s way of being in the world through relationships with those in the shadows of power.
Certainly the children of Israel were a destitute, oppressed, enslaved, and poor community when God appeared to Moses at the burning bush and said, “I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering” (Ex. 3:7). God bound God’s self to this powerless people group and led them to freedom. The God who loathes suffering and oppression redeemed their spirits and their bodies from enslavement. Indeed, the Egyptians had wealth, land, and weapons, without parallel in their day. But God did not choose to dwell (associate) among them. Rather, God’s choice was for the weak and forgotten. God demonstrated God’s power not through the might of the powerful but through the weakness of the powerless.
Likewise, Jesus was born to a lowly, unwedded, poor couple from the outskirts of the Roman Empire. Their existence threatened by occupation, Mary and Joseph found themselves giving birth in a cave with the animals. Quite an entrance for the Messiah, the Jews hoped for a liberator, maybe a hybrid between Moses and King David! Instead, they got Jesus, a poor carpenter from the no-good town of Nazareth.
His first sermon came from the book of Isaiah as recorded by Luke, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” As he continued his ministry, he chose the B-team for his disciples: zealots, tax collectors, and fishermen. Jesus came preaching that the Kingdom of God is near. In Jesus, the one who announces God’s reign of love and justice actually brings love and justice. The tangible signs of the Kingdom, the restoration of the created order, became apparent throughout Jesus’ life: the sick were healed, the lame walk, evil spirits were cast out, and the poor have the good news preached to them (Luke 7:22-23). Jurgen Moltmann summarizes, “The gospel does not merely bring the kingdom of God to the poor; it also discovers the kingdom of the poor, which is God’s kingdom. The gospel does not merely call to conversion and faith. It also shows that the poor are God’s fellow citizens, like the children to whom the kingdom of God already belongs” (The Way of Jesus Christ, 100).
The revelations of God in the Exodus narrative and the Incarnation remind the church that we are to continue God’s pattern of healing presence with the poor. In fact, the Nazarene Manual explains this special relationship, “Throughout the Bible and in the life and example of Jesus, God identifies with and assists the poor, the oppressed, and those in society who cannot speak for themselves. In the same way, we, too, are called to identify with and to enter into solidarity with the poor and not simply to offer charity from positions of comfort” (903.4). Yet, we contend that most churches keep the poor at a distance. If the kingdom of God is a kingdom of the poor, then the church more often than not keeps God at a distance.
Over the next few weeks we will be using this space to discuss ways in which the church is both faithful and unfaithful to God’s association with the poor. Our project is an effort to take seriously the homeless Rabbi that says, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock,” (Rev 3:20). Through the lens of two Christians working in East Nashville, we will use the tool of theological reflection to report on our experience with God’s church living out God’s mission.
Ryan Fasani and Eric Paul-
“The gospel does not merely bring the kingdom of God to the poor; it also discovers the kingdom of the poor, which is God’s kingdom. The gospel does not merely call to conversion and faith. It also shows that the poor are God’s fellow citizens, like the children to whom the kingdom of God already belongs.” - Jurgen Moltmann
God associates with the poor. In the Exodus narrative, God liberated God’s own poor and oppressed people. Likewise, God became poor and homeless through the Incarnation (Matt 8:20) and his call to ministry (Luke 4:18ff), and God even pronounces blessing upon the poor—for they will inherit the earth (Matt. 5:3).
Does this indict the rich? Not necessarily. Does it disrupt Christian notions of financial security and upward mobility? Certainly. The mere utterance of the phrase “God associates with the poor” makes us middle-class Americans rather uncomfortable. What kind of a God chooses the poor to be blessed, and what exactly does that blessing look like? Honestly, we don’t know! Perhaps, even more than disrupting our notions of financial security, this is an indictment of the way we do church. Fundamentally, the mission of the church must find its purpose and vision as it relates to the Missio Dei, the Mission of God. In short, where God chooses to be and with whom God chooses to associate, the church ought to follow.
We’ve already covered some ground without a word about our project. We’re heading on a journey and you’re welcome to follow. We’re exploring the distance between God and the church—God and so many of God’s disciples. More substantively, we’re exploring the distance between the church and the poor and looking closely at the shortcomings of the church’s predominant method of missio: charity. We share common experience in our attempts at serving faithfully in East Nashville and we deeply desire to see the Missio Dei in our midst, guiding our vision of service.We shall begin with our presuppositions, namely, revelation. Resting on the belief that God reveals God’s self in particularities (i.e. acts in history), we know God’s association with the poor because of stories that have been passed down to us through scripture. While numerous references abound, we will only expound upon two narratives that help shape the Christian tradition: The Exodus and the Incarnation. Both narratives provide insight into God’s way of being in the world through relationships with those in the shadows of power.
Certainly the children of Israel were a destitute, oppressed, enslaved, and poor community when God appeared to Moses at the burning bush and said, “I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering” (Ex. 3:7). God bound God’s self to this powerless people group and led them to freedom. The God who loathes suffering and oppression redeemed their spirits and their bodies from enslavement. Indeed, the Egyptians had wealth, land, and weapons, without parallel in their day. But God did not choose to dwell (associate) among them. Rather, God’s choice was for the weak and forgotten. God demonstrated God’s power not through the might of the powerful but through the weakness of the powerless.
Likewise, Jesus was born to a lowly, unwedded, poor couple from the outskirts of the Roman Empire. Their existence threatened by occupation, Mary and Joseph found themselves giving birth in a cave with the animals. Quite an entrance for the Messiah, the Jews hoped for a liberator, maybe a hybrid between Moses and King David! Instead, they got Jesus, a poor carpenter from the no-good town of Nazareth.
His first sermon came from the book of Isaiah as recorded by Luke, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” As he continued his ministry, he chose the B-team for his disciples: zealots, tax collectors, and fishermen. Jesus came preaching that the Kingdom of God is near. In Jesus, the one who announces God’s reign of love and justice actually brings love and justice. The tangible signs of the Kingdom, the restoration of the created order, became apparent throughout Jesus’ life: the sick were healed, the lame walk, evil spirits were cast out, and the poor have the good news preached to them (Luke 7:22-23). Jurgen Moltmann summarizes, “The gospel does not merely bring the kingdom of God to the poor; it also discovers the kingdom of the poor, which is God’s kingdom. The gospel does not merely call to conversion and faith. It also shows that the poor are God’s fellow citizens, like the children to whom the kingdom of God already belongs” (The Way of Jesus Christ, 100).
The revelations of God in the Exodus narrative and the Incarnation remind the church that we are to continue God’s pattern of healing presence with the poor. In fact, the Nazarene Manual explains this special relationship, “Throughout the Bible and in the life and example of Jesus, God identifies with and assists the poor, the oppressed, and those in society who cannot speak for themselves. In the same way, we, too, are called to identify with and to enter into solidarity with the poor and not simply to offer charity from positions of comfort” (903.4). Yet, we contend that most churches keep the poor at a distance. If the kingdom of God is a kingdom of the poor, then the church more often than not keeps God at a distance.
Over the next few weeks we will be using this space to discuss ways in which the church is both faithful and unfaithful to God’s association with the poor. Our project is an effort to take seriously the homeless Rabbi that says, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock,” (Rev 3:20). Through the lens of two Christians working in East Nashville, we will use the tool of theological reflection to report on our experience with God’s church living out God’s mission.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Moving to At-Tuwani
I wanted to write a quick update. I'm tired. It's not just the sun every day, or the long days of meeting with peace organizations and activists- I have had one good night sleep since being in Israel/Palestine. I'm not really sure why I'm not sleeping. I wish I could. I try. At first it was the roosters. The roosters crow every two minutes. I didn't grow up on a farm. I figured that there was some ingrained timing mechanism that all roosters have that make a rooster crow at dawn and never before. Well these rooster crow from 2-7 in the morning, right outside every window. (Not to mention the snorers- I'm really bad at sleeping with those who snore. I can never beat them to sleep, and then I'm stuck). Anyway, this post isn't anything magnificent. I just wanted to share that we're leaving Hebron in the morning to travel to small village called At-Tuwani. They have around 250 residents in a more desert like area. A settlement is built on the adjacent hill and the community has had problems with Israeli Settler attacks. CPT has a full time team in Tuwani to help curb some of the violence and harassment. We'll tour the village tomorrow, walk the kids to summer camp around the Settlement, and stay with one of the Palestinian families for dinner and hopefully a good night sleep. The next day we'll come back to Hebron for another day and half before going to Jerusalem.
I will leave with a few quotes from a reconciliation organization working in Bethlehem, Wi'Am. Zoughbi Zoughbi is the director and founder: "I am a Christian, but of a different sort from the Christians of the West. I am a Christian who believes in the resurrection but I see Jesus still on the cross. He is still on the cross because our political, economical, and social circumstances have been resurrected. This is our hope. We are thankful you are here (talking to CPT). It is important for the psyche of the oppressed to know other nations care for them."
"We have chosen hope, but hope has yet to choose us. In this way, we have chosen the nonviolent struggle. The land where the wall now protrudes into Bethlehem was the best place. Over 800 businesses have been lost to the construction of the wall in this section of Bethlehem. We are trying to maintain a shift away from guilt or victimhood toward communal responsibility. Blaming others is toxic, paralyzes us. I am on who would like to deny Israel an enemy. For me, nonviolence is a way of life and a strategy."
I will leave with a few quotes from a reconciliation organization working in Bethlehem, Wi'Am. Zoughbi Zoughbi is the director and founder: "I am a Christian, but of a different sort from the Christians of the West. I am a Christian who believes in the resurrection but I see Jesus still on the cross. He is still on the cross because our political, economical, and social circumstances have been resurrected. This is our hope. We are thankful you are here (talking to CPT). It is important for the psyche of the oppressed to know other nations care for them."
"We have chosen hope, but hope has yet to choose us. In this way, we have chosen the nonviolent struggle. The land where the wall now protrudes into Bethlehem was the best place. Over 800 businesses have been lost to the construction of the wall in this section of Bethlehem. We are trying to maintain a shift away from guilt or victimhood toward communal responsibility. Blaming others is toxic, paralyzes us. I am on who would like to deny Israel an enemy. For me, nonviolence is a way of life and a strategy."
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Bedouin Update and New Encounters
As we concluded our stay in Bethlehem, we visited both Holy Land Trust and Tent of Nations. (As an aside, I went to the Church of the Nativity yesterday and had a beautiful night with new friends at manger square a local Italian (Franciscan) cafe). I have many things that I would like to say and not enough time to write it. First, during the middle of our tour of Tent of Nations, we received a phone call from a Bedouin activist. We had met with her last Saturday as we visited with three Bedouin communities in the Negev. The last community, Al-Arakib, welcomed us into their home. They shared with us their stories, how they had been on the land for hundreds of years (as evidenced by the cemetery with hundreds of graves on the adjacent hill) and their legal land acquisition from the Ottoman Turks. Before Israel was Israel, they knew the land, lived off the land. I met with Aziz as he introduced me to his wife and five children. He asked me to take his picture with his family in front of his house. He told me, "All I want is to be free. I want to live on the same land as my father and his father. If I move to a town, our way of life is ruined. The land is our home. Take our picture and share it with your friends in the West." So I did, but today his house no longer stands. These Israeli citizens had their home demolished this morning. The Israeli govt. said that they could not prove that the land was theirs, and it was legally owned by the state. 1500 soldiers, 2 helicopters, and 5 bulldozers leveled their homes. It is an extreme act of injustice in toward a peaceful people.
Now for something completely different...We met with the Tent of Nations this afternoon. I was extremely impressed with this organization. Due to some very smart manuevering during the Ottoman Empire, the Nassar family purchased and received legal documentation for the ownership of 100 acres 9 kilometers from Bethlehem. Today, this 100 acres still belongs within the Nassar family despite Israeli attempts at trying to confiscate the land. Tent of Nation is on a hill overlooking a palestinian village in the valley and surrounded by 3 illegal Israeli Settlements. In 1991, the govt. claimed all of the land as state property. Legal battles have continued ever since. At this moment, their are demolition orders on 8 buildings. The govt. demolished any building that isn't built under a 'proper' permit. For Palestinians, these permits are rarely given and are very expensive. In the meantime, the Settlers have uprooted over 250 Olive Trees, damaged their water cisterns, and harassed the family with guns. Yet, they do not respond in violence. The Tent of Nations was formed on this land in order to channel pain and frustration into productive means. Their farm is a place of encounter to build bridges of peace and reconciliation from all nations. They are not dependent upon city municipalities. They have made water cisterns to collect rain water. They have built caves to both live and hold classes. They just received electricity for the first time through German donated solar panels. Their farm provides dates, apricots, grapes, figs, olives, tomatoes, cucumbers, apples, and host of other foods grown on the property. In the meantime, they have become a place of hope. There motto, "We refuse to be enemies," encapsulates their longing for reconciliation. They host children's camps and school field trips. They give the children an avenue in which to begin to tap into their creative spirit by bringing them together in new encounters with the other. They also host groups to both teach and act out reconciliation. They invite Israelis, Palestinians, and internationals to visit and begin talking to each other. Together, they have planted over 1000 trees this year. The military is always looking for provocation, so they keep things calm. The director said to us, "Do not resist evil with evil, but resist with good. This is the nonviolent way." Their determination to continue to live in the midst of struggle gave me immense hope. If these Palestinian Christians can live sustainable lives in the middle of govt. oppression to bring Israeli's and Palestinians together, certainly I have something to learn from them. Perhaps our differences in the states are not so insurmountable.
Now for something completely different...We met with the Tent of Nations this afternoon. I was extremely impressed with this organization. Due to some very smart manuevering during the Ottoman Empire, the Nassar family purchased and received legal documentation for the ownership of 100 acres 9 kilometers from Bethlehem. Today, this 100 acres still belongs within the Nassar family despite Israeli attempts at trying to confiscate the land. Tent of Nation is on a hill overlooking a palestinian village in the valley and surrounded by 3 illegal Israeli Settlements. In 1991, the govt. claimed all of the land as state property. Legal battles have continued ever since. At this moment, their are demolition orders on 8 buildings. The govt. demolished any building that isn't built under a 'proper' permit. For Palestinians, these permits are rarely given and are very expensive. In the meantime, the Settlers have uprooted over 250 Olive Trees, damaged their water cisterns, and harassed the family with guns. Yet, they do not respond in violence. The Tent of Nations was formed on this land in order to channel pain and frustration into productive means. Their farm is a place of encounter to build bridges of peace and reconciliation from all nations. They are not dependent upon city municipalities. They have made water cisterns to collect rain water. They have built caves to both live and hold classes. They just received electricity for the first time through German donated solar panels. Their farm provides dates, apricots, grapes, figs, olives, tomatoes, cucumbers, apples, and host of other foods grown on the property. In the meantime, they have become a place of hope. There motto, "We refuse to be enemies," encapsulates their longing for reconciliation. They host children's camps and school field trips. They give the children an avenue in which to begin to tap into their creative spirit by bringing them together in new encounters with the other. They also host groups to both teach and act out reconciliation. They invite Israelis, Palestinians, and internationals to visit and begin talking to each other. Together, they have planted over 1000 trees this year. The military is always looking for provocation, so they keep things calm. The director said to us, "Do not resist evil with evil, but resist with good. This is the nonviolent way." Their determination to continue to live in the midst of struggle gave me immense hope. If these Palestinian Christians can live sustainable lives in the middle of govt. oppression to bring Israeli's and Palestinians together, certainly I have something to learn from them. Perhaps our differences in the states are not so insurmountable.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Meeting with the Bedouins
So, I haven't posted in a few days. A quick update- yesterday was a busy day. We spent the morning on an alternative tour with ICAHD (Israeli Committee against home demolitions), in which we drove through West Jerusalem (the majority are Israelis) and East Jerusalem (with the majority being Palestinians with the exception of several Israeli Settlements in once inhabited Palestinian homes). Quick Stats about East Jerusalem- 78% of the children are growing up underneath the poverty line. 50% failure rate for education. The schools that are fortunate to exist have no air or heat. The municipality spends 480 NIS per Palestinian child on education and 2850 NIS per Israeli student. Settlements are built in less than a year, while one school has taken 6 years to build and is still not open. Also, joined a protest with the Women in Black in West Jerusalem. They have been doing this protest to end the occupation every friday since 1988. We then joined a larger protest in Sheikh Jarah against recent and planned evictions and Israeli Settlements. Those present included Orthodox Jews, Rabbis for Human Rights, CPT, and The world Council of Churches. Heard the owner of the house talk of his eviction. He had a contract to live in the house between Jordan and Israel. He had been living there since 1962. An Isreali family now lives where his children used to sleep. They did not recognize his legal right to his home.
Today we drove south to The Negev. We visited and ate with three bedouin communities. After 1948, the Arab Bedouins (who had been on the land for hundreds of years) were forced to either leave or been restricted to an area called the Siak (?). The siak is an area of the Negev that is tremendously smaller than what is needed to maintain there lifestyle. The Israeli govt. has given them Israeli citizenship but refuses to recognize any Bedouin that lives in a village rather than a town. A town is much smaller and condensed with little access to the land. It would mean an entire cultural change that has lasted over centuries. Rather than discussing the blatant injustice (like destroying a man's house two days before his wedding- no new structures are allowed to be built), I want to talk about their hospitality. At each village, we were welcomed into their home. We sat down with them as they told us their story. As we talked, we were served water, tea, and fruit (dates, cactus fruit). Three times today I sat down and received their offer of friendship and hospitality. In return, they asked that I tell their story. The Bedouins are often not talked about. The last village we met with has just received a demolition order. Some time in the next two weeks, bulldozers will come and destroy their homes. I talked with Aziz. His grandfather purchased their land back when the Ottoman Turks were still ruling. The British respected their rights, but Israel will not recognize their deed. They say it unable to be authenticated. He has five children and shared his desire to live peacefully with and on the land of his family. The land is their home. It is where they have history and memory. The land is part of who they are. It could be gone next week.
Tomorrow, I head to Bethlehem. We may get a call later this week to help the Bedouins in nonviolent resistance. For now, we're going to continue with the itenerary. To Bethlehem.
Today we drove south to The Negev. We visited and ate with three bedouin communities. After 1948, the Arab Bedouins (who had been on the land for hundreds of years) were forced to either leave or been restricted to an area called the Siak (?). The siak is an area of the Negev that is tremendously smaller than what is needed to maintain there lifestyle. The Israeli govt. has given them Israeli citizenship but refuses to recognize any Bedouin that lives in a village rather than a town. A town is much smaller and condensed with little access to the land. It would mean an entire cultural change that has lasted over centuries. Rather than discussing the blatant injustice (like destroying a man's house two days before his wedding- no new structures are allowed to be built), I want to talk about their hospitality. At each village, we were welcomed into their home. We sat down with them as they told us their story. As we talked, we were served water, tea, and fruit (dates, cactus fruit). Three times today I sat down and received their offer of friendship and hospitality. In return, they asked that I tell their story. The Bedouins are often not talked about. The last village we met with has just received a demolition order. Some time in the next two weeks, bulldozers will come and destroy their homes. I talked with Aziz. His grandfather purchased their land back when the Ottoman Turks were still ruling. The British respected their rights, but Israel will not recognize their deed. They say it unable to be authenticated. He has five children and shared his desire to live peacefully with and on the land of his family. The land is their home. It is where they have history and memory. The land is part of who they are. It could be gone next week.
Tomorrow, I head to Bethlehem. We may get a call later this week to help the Bedouins in nonviolent resistance. For now, we're going to continue with the itenerary. To Bethlehem.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
First Day
I want to write about two things.
First, riding into Jerusalem, I allowed myself to drift to thoughts about the land. What is it about this land? It looks similar to places in the United States. The shrubbery seems to grow out of the rocks. the dry arid soil exposes itself. It's a contradiction in ways: it feels more alive then first impressions. Unlike the US, this soil speaks to us. The past been preserved in the memory of its inhabitants. There are memories in these hills. Some are not so pleasant. Memories of pain and suffering, violence and death abound. The cries of the dead rise from the earth, looking for redemption, hoping against hope. The pattern across the years has been firmly established; violence is the norm. Listening to these hills, these people, is now my primary task. Can we learn from these memories, or will the dead go unheard?
Second, I was able to meet with the founders and directors or Sabeel, a Christian Palestinian organization looking at ways to build peace here in Jerusalem, Israel, and the rest of the world. I was able to celebrate the Eucharist with Naim Ateek, a Palestinian Liberation Theologian and Episcopal Priest. I sat next to a woman during the service. I asked her her name (Yattas), and we talked for a bit. When she heard that I was American she scowled: "We do not need anymore US Policy's here. We need Christians to live the truth." The truth she was talking about regarded the truth of the Way of Jesus as nonviolent justice oriented. I like her.
Quick aside: I just got back from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the Western Wall- two amazing experiences.
First, riding into Jerusalem, I allowed myself to drift to thoughts about the land. What is it about this land? It looks similar to places in the United States. The shrubbery seems to grow out of the rocks. the dry arid soil exposes itself. It's a contradiction in ways: it feels more alive then first impressions. Unlike the US, this soil speaks to us. The past been preserved in the memory of its inhabitants. There are memories in these hills. Some are not so pleasant. Memories of pain and suffering, violence and death abound. The cries of the dead rise from the earth, looking for redemption, hoping against hope. The pattern across the years has been firmly established; violence is the norm. Listening to these hills, these people, is now my primary task. Can we learn from these memories, or will the dead go unheard?
Second, I was able to meet with the founders and directors or Sabeel, a Christian Palestinian organization looking at ways to build peace here in Jerusalem, Israel, and the rest of the world. I was able to celebrate the Eucharist with Naim Ateek, a Palestinian Liberation Theologian and Episcopal Priest. I sat next to a woman during the service. I asked her her name (Yattas), and we talked for a bit. When she heard that I was American she scowled: "We do not need anymore US Policy's here. We need Christians to live the truth." The truth she was talking about regarded the truth of the Way of Jesus as nonviolent justice oriented. I like her.
Quick aside: I just got back from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the Western Wall- two amazing experiences.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
I have Arrived
This is going to be a quick post. I'm borrowing my Team Leader's computer. Thought I'd share that I have arrived safely. I slept about 2-3 hours sporadically on the plane. I'm currently sitting on a roof patio in the Old City of Jerusalem after an afternoon hike up the Mount of Olives. We're about to have a curry veggie dinner with pita bread and fresh fruit. Very excited about this. Wanted to post something on the relationship between memory and history...but I don't have time to fully think and write it out. perhaps I will journal about anamnesis later this evening. Peace.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Reflections on Being Safe
More so than any other time in the United States, we are obsessed with our own safety. Perhaps the attacks on 9/11 had something to do with the increasing awareness of our perceived state of vulnerability. Perhaps the 24 hour news service that has invaded our home has created an alternative consciousness of fear. Maybe the fact that we have now been involved in the longest lasting war in our nation’s history has perpetuated an overwhelming sense of our own mortality. Naturally, our reaction is to put up our defenses, bunker down, and ‘be safe.’ I often times wonder if ‘safety’ is really what we are to seek as ones who proclaim Jesus as Lord.
This question has bumped around in my head for a while now for several reasons. First, my wife and I just moved to an area of Nashville called Antioch. We are really excited about living here and getting to know those around us. It is an extremely diverse area. For example, Joy will be working at the local elementary school in which over 20 languages are spoken. Several immigrant populations are also trying to find the resources to live- not an easy task when first arriving to new home. At the same time, Antioch does not have the best reputation. We knew that Antioch has had issues with violence, crime, and home invasions. In the past few days, we have been told by several people to ‘be safe’ in our new residence.
Likewise, I am about to embark on a trip to the Middle East with Christian Peacemaker Teams. My conversations with others have varied tremendously. I have met and talked with Pro-Israel Christian Zionists who warn me about all Muslims trying to kill the ‘infidel.’ And, I have heard from the more liberal leaning Pro-Palestinian side of the danger of meeting the Israeli Defense Forces. Whatever image comes to mind when I mention my trip, I am always told to be careful- to be safe. At what point do we as Christians who are to live a life faithful to the calling of the Crucified One draw a line between safety and recklessness?
My mind easily wanders to the martyr accounts of the first few centuries of Christian living. One in particular, The Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas, has caught my attention. This is a remarkable text, not only for its historical value as one of the earliest Christian accounts written by a woman, but also for its astounding theological value and insight. Perpetua was executed in Carthage in 203 CE; after being mulled by wild beasts, her life finally ended at the end of a gladiator’s sword. Having been arrested for her profession of Christ as Lord, the text weaves in an out of visions, prison, and the family relationships. One such relationship rests between Perpetua and her father: “My father returned from the city spent with weariness; and he came up to me to cast down my faith saying: Have pity, daughter, on my grey hairs; have pity on your father, if I am worthy to be, called father by you; if with these hands I have brought you unto this flower of youth- and I-have preferred you before all your brothers; give me not over to the reproach of men…This he said fatherly in his love, kissing my hands and grovelling at my feet; and with tears he named me, not daughter, but lady. And I was grieved for my father's case because he would not rejoice at my passion out of all my kin; and I comforted him, saying: That shall be done at this tribunal, whatsoever God shall please; for know that we are not established in our own power, but in God's. And he went from me very sorrowful.”
This is actually the second interaction between father and daughter. The first account has the Father leaving the jail cell “with the arguments of the devil.” I in no way wish to compare any of my experiences with martyrdom. Martyrdom is never sought out, but in a world that continues to exist in violence and oppression, martyrdom sometimes occurs. I only wish to point out the embodiment of a hope far greater than earthly safety. In this account, the Father is wishing for the continuance of his daughter’s life. This is easily understood as a type of ‘parental love’ that always seeks out the best for those we love. But in this case, it was a temptation to Perpetua to deny her following in the footsteps of the cross. Christianity for the early Christians wasn’t ‘safe.’ But it did leave to an everlasting rejoicing in the knowledge of Christ and the sharing of his sufferings. In summing up three cases of modern martyrdom (Paul Schneider, Oscar Romero, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer) Jurgen Moltmann explains: "This tells us that the martyrs anticipate in their own bodies the sufferings of the end-time, which come upon the whole creation; and dying, they witness to the creation which is new. Anyone who participates in 'Christ's sufferings' participates in the end-time sufferings of the world. The martyrs anticipate this end for their own time, and in so doing they become the apocalyptic witnesses (martyria) to the coming truth against the ruling lie, to coming justice and righteousness against the prevailing injustice, and to coming life against the tyranny of death."
I only recount this narrative to draw back to the current obsession with our safety. I do not think this mentality is worthy of the gospel. Rather, a disciple of Jesus recognizes the pattern of self-giving love to both neighbor and enemy and gives of himself/herself in the same fashion. Whether it be moving to a neighborhood that has higher rates of crime and poverty, or a traveling half way around the world to protest the world’s constant reliance on violence as a way of life, the appropriate response is not ‘Be safe,’ but rather ‘Be faithful.’ Or as a friend of mine put it last night, ‘be peaceful,’ which when we read the narrative of Jesus may be a road fraught with violence.
This question has bumped around in my head for a while now for several reasons. First, my wife and I just moved to an area of Nashville called Antioch. We are really excited about living here and getting to know those around us. It is an extremely diverse area. For example, Joy will be working at the local elementary school in which over 20 languages are spoken. Several immigrant populations are also trying to find the resources to live- not an easy task when first arriving to new home. At the same time, Antioch does not have the best reputation. We knew that Antioch has had issues with violence, crime, and home invasions. In the past few days, we have been told by several people to ‘be safe’ in our new residence.
Likewise, I am about to embark on a trip to the Middle East with Christian Peacemaker Teams. My conversations with others have varied tremendously. I have met and talked with Pro-Israel Christian Zionists who warn me about all Muslims trying to kill the ‘infidel.’ And, I have heard from the more liberal leaning Pro-Palestinian side of the danger of meeting the Israeli Defense Forces. Whatever image comes to mind when I mention my trip, I am always told to be careful- to be safe. At what point do we as Christians who are to live a life faithful to the calling of the Crucified One draw a line between safety and recklessness?
My mind easily wanders to the martyr accounts of the first few centuries of Christian living. One in particular, The Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas, has caught my attention. This is a remarkable text, not only for its historical value as one of the earliest Christian accounts written by a woman, but also for its astounding theological value and insight. Perpetua was executed in Carthage in 203 CE; after being mulled by wild beasts, her life finally ended at the end of a gladiator’s sword. Having been arrested for her profession of Christ as Lord, the text weaves in an out of visions, prison, and the family relationships. One such relationship rests between Perpetua and her father: “My father returned from the city spent with weariness; and he came up to me to cast down my faith saying: Have pity, daughter, on my grey hairs; have pity on your father, if I am worthy to be, called father by you; if with these hands I have brought you unto this flower of youth- and I-have preferred you before all your brothers; give me not over to the reproach of men…This he said fatherly in his love, kissing my hands and grovelling at my feet; and with tears he named me, not daughter, but lady. And I was grieved for my father's case because he would not rejoice at my passion out of all my kin; and I comforted him, saying: That shall be done at this tribunal, whatsoever God shall please; for know that we are not established in our own power, but in God's. And he went from me very sorrowful.”
This is actually the second interaction between father and daughter. The first account has the Father leaving the jail cell “with the arguments of the devil.” I in no way wish to compare any of my experiences with martyrdom. Martyrdom is never sought out, but in a world that continues to exist in violence and oppression, martyrdom sometimes occurs. I only wish to point out the embodiment of a hope far greater than earthly safety. In this account, the Father is wishing for the continuance of his daughter’s life. This is easily understood as a type of ‘parental love’ that always seeks out the best for those we love. But in this case, it was a temptation to Perpetua to deny her following in the footsteps of the cross. Christianity for the early Christians wasn’t ‘safe.’ But it did leave to an everlasting rejoicing in the knowledge of Christ and the sharing of his sufferings. In summing up three cases of modern martyrdom (Paul Schneider, Oscar Romero, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer) Jurgen Moltmann explains: "This tells us that the martyrs anticipate in their own bodies the sufferings of the end-time, which come upon the whole creation; and dying, they witness to the creation which is new. Anyone who participates in 'Christ's sufferings' participates in the end-time sufferings of the world. The martyrs anticipate this end for their own time, and in so doing they become the apocalyptic witnesses (martyria) to the coming truth against the ruling lie, to coming justice and righteousness against the prevailing injustice, and to coming life against the tyranny of death."
I only recount this narrative to draw back to the current obsession with our safety. I do not think this mentality is worthy of the gospel. Rather, a disciple of Jesus recognizes the pattern of self-giving love to both neighbor and enemy and gives of himself/herself in the same fashion. Whether it be moving to a neighborhood that has higher rates of crime and poverty, or a traveling half way around the world to protest the world’s constant reliance on violence as a way of life, the appropriate response is not ‘Be safe,’ but rather ‘Be faithful.’ Or as a friend of mine put it last night, ‘be peaceful,’ which when we read the narrative of Jesus may be a road fraught with violence.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Christian/Muslim Relations
The past few months in Middle Tennessee exemplify contrasting personalities. On the one hand, the flood gave the opportunity for residence of Nashville to work together and share genuine hospitality with one another. One the other hand, disturbing news drifted across the pages of the Tennessean: http://www.tennessean.com/article/20100621/NEWS06/6210329. Due to the growing population of Muslims within the Nashville area, there have been several attempts to build new mosques and Islamic Centers in Brentwood, Antioch, and Murfreesboro. Some within these communities (and unfortunately, it seems like the loudest portions of these communities) have expressed their discontent with the new places of worship. Within many of their voices, fear manifests itself in hatred.
I believe one of the greatest hindrances to peace in the world is the perpetual misunderstanding of each other. To be forthright, most Americans do not know anything about cultural Islam, the Quran, or a Muslim’s way of life. And if we do not take the time to know these people who are also loved by God, how can we adequately love in return? Rather, we rely on news snippets about Muslim terrorists. These news organizations do a poor job of portraying the religious foundations of Islam, painting in broad strokes the racist sentiments that all Muslims are terrorists or religious extremists out to make war on the West. This is simply false. Allow me to use this analogy that I heard back in high school. Violent Muslim extremists are to Islam as the KKK is to Christianity. We certainly do not agree with the violence and racism that is propagated by the men in white hoods. Yet, what if the KKK was the only ‘Christian’ group being talked about in other places in the world? Would not their existence become synonymous with Christianity in the minds of those who hear the stories? The fact remains that the KKK was in the extreme minority. So it is with Islam. Violent Muslim extremists are in the minority, yet we paint a picture of all Muslims everywhere thinking the same. We are too quick to judge our new neighbors without learning to understand our new neighbors. One of my Muslim friends has shown me nothing but love, respect, and grace. His life is oriented around the Quran- which has taught him to follow a life of righteousness and justice for all people. I think this story is also worth hearing.
Within the next week, I am traveling to Israel/Palestine. I will be meeting with Jewish and Muslim peace activists who are legitimately proclaiming an end to violence so that a dialogue of peace and justice may resume. As a Christian pacifist, I do not condone violence of any kind- whether it is done by Jews, Christians, or Muslims. I believe Jesus’ death on the cross was God’s protest against the perpetual violence that humanity inflicts upon itself.
Finally, I cannot help but think about Jesus’ interaction with the Roman centurion (Luke 7). I believe this story could be a kind of guide for our interaction with people’s of varying faith traditions. The gospel account records a centurion who had a respected servant lying on his deathbed. The centurion, hearing about Jesus, went to him to ask for healing. Jesus, on seeing that he was not a Jew (obviously he was Roman), did not say to him, “First, convert to Judaism, receive circumcision, and then I will heal your servant.” No, Jesus was amazed by this man’s faith. Jesus had compassion on him, loved him, and healed the man’s servant. Essentially, Jesus shows us how to be good neighbors. I’m not so sure protesting the erection of a new Islamic Center is being a good neighbor. Surely Christians and Muslims disagree on a lot of things- so did Jesus and the centurion. But our differences are not so great that we cannot also show love. Many within the Middle Tennessee area have shown what has been pegged as ‘Islamaphobia.’ But Jesus preaches a different gospel. Jesus did not show fear, nor was he afraid of a living among those different than himself. Rather, he exemplified the Christian mantra that perfect love cast out all fear. This is where the rubber meets the road. Fear paralyzes us, and puts us on the defensive. When we fear, we do not think. Fear grips our hearts and we cannot love. Ultimately, it comes down to love- love your neighbor as yourself and in this way we love and honor God. I am disturbed by the recent outcry against our Muslim neighbors. I feel as if we ought to reach out in compassion and healing, and perhaps there might be a little reconciliation.
I believe one of the greatest hindrances to peace in the world is the perpetual misunderstanding of each other. To be forthright, most Americans do not know anything about cultural Islam, the Quran, or a Muslim’s way of life. And if we do not take the time to know these people who are also loved by God, how can we adequately love in return? Rather, we rely on news snippets about Muslim terrorists. These news organizations do a poor job of portraying the religious foundations of Islam, painting in broad strokes the racist sentiments that all Muslims are terrorists or religious extremists out to make war on the West. This is simply false. Allow me to use this analogy that I heard back in high school. Violent Muslim extremists are to Islam as the KKK is to Christianity. We certainly do not agree with the violence and racism that is propagated by the men in white hoods. Yet, what if the KKK was the only ‘Christian’ group being talked about in other places in the world? Would not their existence become synonymous with Christianity in the minds of those who hear the stories? The fact remains that the KKK was in the extreme minority. So it is with Islam. Violent Muslim extremists are in the minority, yet we paint a picture of all Muslims everywhere thinking the same. We are too quick to judge our new neighbors without learning to understand our new neighbors. One of my Muslim friends has shown me nothing but love, respect, and grace. His life is oriented around the Quran- which has taught him to follow a life of righteousness and justice for all people. I think this story is also worth hearing.
Within the next week, I am traveling to Israel/Palestine. I will be meeting with Jewish and Muslim peace activists who are legitimately proclaiming an end to violence so that a dialogue of peace and justice may resume. As a Christian pacifist, I do not condone violence of any kind- whether it is done by Jews, Christians, or Muslims. I believe Jesus’ death on the cross was God’s protest against the perpetual violence that humanity inflicts upon itself.
Finally, I cannot help but think about Jesus’ interaction with the Roman centurion (Luke 7). I believe this story could be a kind of guide for our interaction with people’s of varying faith traditions. The gospel account records a centurion who had a respected servant lying on his deathbed. The centurion, hearing about Jesus, went to him to ask for healing. Jesus, on seeing that he was not a Jew (obviously he was Roman), did not say to him, “First, convert to Judaism, receive circumcision, and then I will heal your servant.” No, Jesus was amazed by this man’s faith. Jesus had compassion on him, loved him, and healed the man’s servant. Essentially, Jesus shows us how to be good neighbors. I’m not so sure protesting the erection of a new Islamic Center is being a good neighbor. Surely Christians and Muslims disagree on a lot of things- so did Jesus and the centurion. But our differences are not so great that we cannot also show love. Many within the Middle Tennessee area have shown what has been pegged as ‘Islamaphobia.’ But Jesus preaches a different gospel. Jesus did not show fear, nor was he afraid of a living among those different than himself. Rather, he exemplified the Christian mantra that perfect love cast out all fear. This is where the rubber meets the road. Fear paralyzes us, and puts us on the defensive. When we fear, we do not think. Fear grips our hearts and we cannot love. Ultimately, it comes down to love- love your neighbor as yourself and in this way we love and honor God. I am disturbed by the recent outcry against our Muslim neighbors. I feel as if we ought to reach out in compassion and healing, and perhaps there might be a little reconciliation.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Christian Peacemaker Teams- Two weeks and Counting
Over the past couple of years, I have been increasingly burdened by what Pope John Paul II has called our ‘culture of death.’ On average, the world witnesses 25-30 wars per year. In the last decade, 40 million political refugees have had to flee their countries to escape violent conflict. My work at Vanderbilt has revolved around this perennial question: What truth, if any, can the church proclaim in an age of destruction? Leaning on such theologians and practitioners as Jesus, Ireneaus of Lyons, Justin Martyr, John Howard Yoder, Jurgen Moltmann, and John Wesley, I have come to believe that the death and resurrection of Jesus is God’s divine ‘no’ to the patterns of violence and oppression in our current culture and God’s divine ‘yes’ to life and peace. Furthermore, the church must stand as a witness to God’s loving presence in the world. Next year, I will begin writing my senior project, “A Holiness Theology of Nonviolence.” In preparation for this culminating work, I have applied for and received a grant from Vanderbilt Divinity School to travel with a peacemaking delegation to the region of Palestine/Israel with Christian Peacemaker Teams (CPT).
CPT is rooted in the Mennonite, Brethren, and Quaker traditions, aiming toward participation from all denominations of the Church in seeking organized, nonviolent alternatives to war. CPT’s motto, ‘Getting in the Way,’ symbolizes both the physical aspect of nonviolent peacemaking and the spiritual foundation of the work as following ‘The Way’ (as early Christianity was called). They ask the question: What would happen if Christians devoted the same discipline and self-sacrifice to nonviolent peacemaking that armies devote to war? In this way, they train and deploy full-time and part-time peacemakers in areas of world conflict: Iraq, Palestine/Israel, Colombia, and Ontario, Canada. These teams have been invited to join with local peace and human rights workers in nonviolent direct action, working to reduce violence, documenting oppression, and undoing racism/sexism.
The following weeks will be devoted to this trip. I hope to be able to share with you my experiences as they happen. In the meantime, I plan to document my questions, thoughts, concerns, and theological inquiries prior to my July 20th departure on this blog. If you want, let the comment section be a place for open dialogue. I look forward to sharing this time with you. May the peace of Christ be with you always.
CPT is rooted in the Mennonite, Brethren, and Quaker traditions, aiming toward participation from all denominations of the Church in seeking organized, nonviolent alternatives to war. CPT’s motto, ‘Getting in the Way,’ symbolizes both the physical aspect of nonviolent peacemaking and the spiritual foundation of the work as following ‘The Way’ (as early Christianity was called). They ask the question: What would happen if Christians devoted the same discipline and self-sacrifice to nonviolent peacemaking that armies devote to war? In this way, they train and deploy full-time and part-time peacemakers in areas of world conflict: Iraq, Palestine/Israel, Colombia, and Ontario, Canada. These teams have been invited to join with local peace and human rights workers in nonviolent direct action, working to reduce violence, documenting oppression, and undoing racism/sexism.
The following weeks will be devoted to this trip. I hope to be able to share with you my experiences as they happen. In the meantime, I plan to document my questions, thoughts, concerns, and theological inquiries prior to my July 20th departure on this blog. If you want, let the comment section be a place for open dialogue. I look forward to sharing this time with you. May the peace of Christ be with you always.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
You have 30 Days...
The poor teach us who we are. A few weeks ago, a flood rocked Nashville, TN. Houses, roads, and businesses- all underwater- destroyed in the rising waters. In some cases, the flood claimed the lives of people we love. It continues to be a tragedy. As homes are still awaiting repair, businesses are slowly creeping back to life. Thousands of people lost the ability to make a paycheck. The first images of the flood were of I-24 ransacked by a swift moving current. It carried over 70 cars and a school trailer down the interstate. The next day, the images were of rising water in the Bellevue neighborhoods. Most of us living in Nashville are all too aware of the damage of the flood. The Cumberland filled to capacity and then flooded over, and while the news continued to show clips of rich country music artists losing their instruments, a small community of people gathered what few belongings they could carry and made for a Red Cross shelter at Lipscomb’s campus.
For these few 140 people, their place of residence by the Cumberland was destroyed. But unlike others who would receive insurance money, FEMA checks, and other assistance, these men and women would not be aloud to return to their tents. The residents of Tent City did not only begin the flood homeless, but they now had no place to return. The flood created unsanitary conditions; a new place would need to be found. While permanent housing has always been a priority for those working among the ones who have no place to lie their heads, there became a desperate need for temporary shelter- hotel vouchers, church gymnasiums, unoccupied land for tents, and affordable apartments all had to be sought before the closing of the Red Cross shelter. Unfortunately, the city of Nashville was less than accommodating. Of the 60 or so people who needed vouchers, they were only given 15 for a one-week period. After weeks in the Red Cross shelter and diminishing options, Doug Sanders at Otter Creek invited the once Tent City residents to sleep in his church for the time being. In the meantime, a 124-acre plot of land in the Antioch area was leased out as a temporary option. The residents would only need 2 acres on which to live. While this location was not ideal (too far from the downtown area), it would allow more time to find both temporary and permanent locations. The land was private property and leased for only 90 days.
The poor teach us who we are. Since last Friday, when the tents first appeared on that 2 acres, the residents of Antioch found common ground in their enmity against their new temporary neighbors. Residents called their councilman to complain. An inspector was called to try to find a land violation, and a Town Hall Meeting was set up to hear from the community of Antioch. I went to that meeting Thursday evening to listen to why they seemed to be so volatile. Here are a few quotes that I took down (more found at www.amoshouse.wordpress.com).
“You can’t just move them in on us like this. You have to crawl before you can walk. We love people- but we’re afraid of them.”
“We have a problem here in Antioch, and it’s the homeless. I work in a service station and these people steal ice. They don’t buy food; they buy junk and candy… Nashville has a bad reputation for being soft on the homeless. My community is in danger. We don’t want them here…if you want them, you take them!”
“Everyone here wants to help the homeless, but there is a proper process.” (Is this not the same argument white ministers had against Dr. King while he sat in a jail cell in Birmingham?)
“Antioch gets a bad rap, we need to care about Antioch; we ought to expect the best for Antioch. No more bringing anything to Antioch that is not positive! No more bringing anything to Antioch! The gates of Antioch’s charity are closed!” (Living Word Community Church, the Pastor).
“’The Bible says let your light shine before men that they may see your good deeds and glorify our Father in Heaven.’ We say, let your light shine in Brentwood, not Antioch.”
The poor teach us who we are. These are some of the visceral reactions of some of the residents of the Antioch community against those who have been displaced. I do not wish to write a blanket statement that encompasses all of Antioch. It is not my intention denigrate or belittle many who have shown support through words and actions on behalf of Nashville's poor. But this Town Hall meeting was disgusting. Almost all the statements were prefaced by some form of- ‘I’m a Christian,’ or ‘I’ve gone to church my whole life.’ I cannot help but think, if this is what our churches have been teaching then the church has failed. We have failed to love our neighbors. We have failed to clothe the naked, feed the hungry, house the homeless, and visit the sick and imprisoned.
The poor have taught us who we are. Antioch turned their back on those who need them most. The ones who deny the poor are the same ones who deny Christ in their every day existence. They are the ones who, while entertaining angels, have condemned themselves. They are the ones who are missing out on God’s future kingdom. Blessed are the poor for theirs is the Kingdom of God. It is not a coming blessing; it is already here. The poor are blessed. This tells me that I am missing a part of the kingdom. And until I interact, love, know, and befriend the world’s poor, then I am missing God’s kingdom. This goes further than charity. Charity is a useful device for keeping the poor at a distance. We can appease our guilt without interaction. But we miss the fact that when Jesus proclaims the gospel to the poor, he is explicitly condemning those who are rich. The road to riches is often fraught with violence, even if we don’t acknowledge or see it. The poor are blessed. God has opened God’s future to them.
The poor teach us who we are, so we often hide them. For those residents of Antioch, we displace them (once again). They have been served an eviction notice. While it remains unclear to me what violation has been found, one indeed was found. They have 30 days to clear the land. There is one more statement that stuck in my mind from Thursday night: “The heart of God is with the poor. You have 30 days to know the heart of God.”
For these few 140 people, their place of residence by the Cumberland was destroyed. But unlike others who would receive insurance money, FEMA checks, and other assistance, these men and women would not be aloud to return to their tents. The residents of Tent City did not only begin the flood homeless, but they now had no place to return. The flood created unsanitary conditions; a new place would need to be found. While permanent housing has always been a priority for those working among the ones who have no place to lie their heads, there became a desperate need for temporary shelter- hotel vouchers, church gymnasiums, unoccupied land for tents, and affordable apartments all had to be sought before the closing of the Red Cross shelter. Unfortunately, the city of Nashville was less than accommodating. Of the 60 or so people who needed vouchers, they were only given 15 for a one-week period. After weeks in the Red Cross shelter and diminishing options, Doug Sanders at Otter Creek invited the once Tent City residents to sleep in his church for the time being. In the meantime, a 124-acre plot of land in the Antioch area was leased out as a temporary option. The residents would only need 2 acres on which to live. While this location was not ideal (too far from the downtown area), it would allow more time to find both temporary and permanent locations. The land was private property and leased for only 90 days.
The poor teach us who we are. Since last Friday, when the tents first appeared on that 2 acres, the residents of Antioch found common ground in their enmity against their new temporary neighbors. Residents called their councilman to complain. An inspector was called to try to find a land violation, and a Town Hall Meeting was set up to hear from the community of Antioch. I went to that meeting Thursday evening to listen to why they seemed to be so volatile. Here are a few quotes that I took down (more found at www.amoshouse.wordpress.com).
“You can’t just move them in on us like this. You have to crawl before you can walk. We love people- but we’re afraid of them.”
“We have a problem here in Antioch, and it’s the homeless. I work in a service station and these people steal ice. They don’t buy food; they buy junk and candy… Nashville has a bad reputation for being soft on the homeless. My community is in danger. We don’t want them here…if you want them, you take them!”
“Everyone here wants to help the homeless, but there is a proper process.” (Is this not the same argument white ministers had against Dr. King while he sat in a jail cell in Birmingham?)
“Antioch gets a bad rap, we need to care about Antioch; we ought to expect the best for Antioch. No more bringing anything to Antioch that is not positive! No more bringing anything to Antioch! The gates of Antioch’s charity are closed!” (Living Word Community Church, the Pastor).
“’The Bible says let your light shine before men that they may see your good deeds and glorify our Father in Heaven.’ We say, let your light shine in Brentwood, not Antioch.”
The poor teach us who we are. These are some of the visceral reactions of some of the residents of the Antioch community against those who have been displaced. I do not wish to write a blanket statement that encompasses all of Antioch. It is not my intention denigrate or belittle many who have shown support through words and actions on behalf of Nashville's poor. But this Town Hall meeting was disgusting. Almost all the statements were prefaced by some form of- ‘I’m a Christian,’ or ‘I’ve gone to church my whole life.’ I cannot help but think, if this is what our churches have been teaching then the church has failed. We have failed to love our neighbors. We have failed to clothe the naked, feed the hungry, house the homeless, and visit the sick and imprisoned.
The poor have taught us who we are. Antioch turned their back on those who need them most. The ones who deny the poor are the same ones who deny Christ in their every day existence. They are the ones who, while entertaining angels, have condemned themselves. They are the ones who are missing out on God’s future kingdom. Blessed are the poor for theirs is the Kingdom of God. It is not a coming blessing; it is already here. The poor are blessed. This tells me that I am missing a part of the kingdom. And until I interact, love, know, and befriend the world’s poor, then I am missing God’s kingdom. This goes further than charity. Charity is a useful device for keeping the poor at a distance. We can appease our guilt without interaction. But we miss the fact that when Jesus proclaims the gospel to the poor, he is explicitly condemning those who are rich. The road to riches is often fraught with violence, even if we don’t acknowledge or see it. The poor are blessed. God has opened God’s future to them.
The poor teach us who we are, so we often hide them. For those residents of Antioch, we displace them (once again). They have been served an eviction notice. While it remains unclear to me what violation has been found, one indeed was found. They have 30 days to clear the land. There is one more statement that stuck in my mind from Thursday night: “The heart of God is with the poor. You have 30 days to know the heart of God.”
Monday, March 22, 2010
Good Friday Reflections
“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” These words pierce the suffering agony of crucifixion and in turn carry its own peculiar suffering of abandonment. The Christ, the one we call Lord, is dead. All of our concepts of who we think God was and is are nailed to that cross. We can no longer assume we know God apart from the cross. When we look at the Cross we are perplexed, confused, lost. We may find ourselves much like the disciples- fleeing from the death of the one whom they once followed. They cannot face the utter failure of Christ’s message. Jesus, the one who preached liberation to the oppressed and a new Kingdom of love, met utter failure as one killed by oppressors. The experience of the cross for Jesus was met with a total discontinuity from the message that he preached. The Kingdom of God is near, and yet on the cross Jesus experienced a hellish abandonment. Can we come to any other conclusion? The unique event of the cross is that the Powers of politics and religion combined in a very common way to put to death the social threat that was Jesus.
We try, rather unsuccessfully, to explain away Jesus’ cross. We don’t like it. The cross rightfully makes us uncomfortable. We are embarrassed that God has allowed the Powers of this world to kill God’s chosen One. So we think it necessary to protect God- we have devised systems of who God is for us that look past the cross to the resurrection. We talk of the cross as our justification before God, and don’t ask whether we are merely trying to justify God’s non-action on the cross. The resurrection is joy and hope; the cross is death and abandonment. We prefer to see God in the resurrection and see the cross only as a necessary step in the process. We like the God who raised Jesus from the dead and don’t know what to do with the God who allowed Jesus to die.
What I am trying to say, what Christianity must proclaim, is that the cross of Christ is a complete scandal. The cross affects God. This is why we cannot know God except through the cross. The cross alone is our point of reference. And the revelation of God through the self-emptying of God’s self in the cross is the complete abandonment of trying to make history come out right. We so often ask the question of ‘Why did God become human’ that we neglect an equally important question of ‘Why was Jesus killed.’ Jesus’ renunciation of ‘equality with God’ for the form of servant obedience unto death is the renunciation of any type of worldly control. The cross marks Christ’s willingness to suffer utter defeat. This obedience that refused coerciveness seems to be saying that the cross is the meaning of history, not power, domination or oppression. Jesus did not raise a sword to defend himself; rather he refused to cooperate with the powers of this world. This seemingly foolish way of being in the world resulted in death on a cross. But it is precisely at this point that the Christian understands God’s victory. The abandonment of Christ on the cross comes at the ultimate solidarity of God with all of the world’s suffering ones. The cross is not a sacrifice Christ does instead of us, it is Christ showing us how to give ourselves for the love of the other. This is why Paul writes that we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling to Jews and foolishness to the rest of the world. We want to argue that Christ justifies are existence, along with our own ways of controlling the outcome of history. But this is God’s task. The cross instead opens up the history of God as a Being-in-relation with and for the world.
We try, rather unsuccessfully, to explain away Jesus’ cross. We don’t like it. The cross rightfully makes us uncomfortable. We are embarrassed that God has allowed the Powers of this world to kill God’s chosen One. So we think it necessary to protect God- we have devised systems of who God is for us that look past the cross to the resurrection. We talk of the cross as our justification before God, and don’t ask whether we are merely trying to justify God’s non-action on the cross. The resurrection is joy and hope; the cross is death and abandonment. We prefer to see God in the resurrection and see the cross only as a necessary step in the process. We like the God who raised Jesus from the dead and don’t know what to do with the God who allowed Jesus to die.
What I am trying to say, what Christianity must proclaim, is that the cross of Christ is a complete scandal. The cross affects God. This is why we cannot know God except through the cross. The cross alone is our point of reference. And the revelation of God through the self-emptying of God’s self in the cross is the complete abandonment of trying to make history come out right. We so often ask the question of ‘Why did God become human’ that we neglect an equally important question of ‘Why was Jesus killed.’ Jesus’ renunciation of ‘equality with God’ for the form of servant obedience unto death is the renunciation of any type of worldly control. The cross marks Christ’s willingness to suffer utter defeat. This obedience that refused coerciveness seems to be saying that the cross is the meaning of history, not power, domination or oppression. Jesus did not raise a sword to defend himself; rather he refused to cooperate with the powers of this world. This seemingly foolish way of being in the world resulted in death on a cross. But it is precisely at this point that the Christian understands God’s victory. The abandonment of Christ on the cross comes at the ultimate solidarity of God with all of the world’s suffering ones. The cross is not a sacrifice Christ does instead of us, it is Christ showing us how to give ourselves for the love of the other. This is why Paul writes that we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling to Jews and foolishness to the rest of the world. We want to argue that Christ justifies are existence, along with our own ways of controlling the outcome of history. But this is God’s task. The cross instead opens up the history of God as a Being-in-relation with and for the world.
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