Who are 'the Poor'? Explanation and Defense

I know that I frequently speak of ‘the Poor’ on this blog, and that I sometimes don’t define what I mean by that title (and sometimes do) and so, in response to a comment made by Dave (http://www.indiefaith.blogspot.com/) on my latest thoughts regarding ‘the Poor’ as members of the body of Christ, I thought I would spend some time explaining what I mean by this title, and why I choose to use it.
To begin with, when I speak of ‘the Poor’ I am referring to more people than simply those who are economically disadvantaged.  In this regard, it is helpful to understand how the term ‘the Poor’ is used in the New Testament in general, and by Jesus in particular.
The Greek word ptochoi (‘the poor’) is used by Jesus to refer to people who underwent the following experiences (NB: in what follows, I will be developing James Dunn’s reflections on this term found in Jesus Remembered):
(1) Material poverty based upon the lack of a secure economic base.  There are many ways in which a person could lose his or her economic base.  One could lose one’s kinship group — like widows, orphans, and aliens — and thereby be without the most foundational means of economic support and protection.  One could also lose one’s land, and thereby lack the primary material means of earning a (subsistence level) income.  Similarly, one could suffer some sort of physical injury and become incapable of working — think of the sick, the lame, and the blind, and how the Gospels frequently number them amongst the poor.  Finally, one could undergo some sort of experience that left one outside of the religious purity boundaries established by society which could lead to poverty due to marginalisation or ostracism — in this regard, think of the lepers, the woman with the issue of blood, and the demon-possessed who are also included amongst the poor.
(2) Experiencing material poverty then leaves the poor vulnerable to economic exploitation.  Hence, the poor are not only the economically disadvantaged, they are simultaneously the marginalised and oppressed.  This exploitation can occur on a number of levels — materially, the little that the poor have can be taken away from them; socially, the poor are accorded a low level of status are are cut-off from the general public and, just as significantly, from people and places of power; spiritually, or religiously, the poor are also classified as ‘sinners’ or as ‘unclean’ (note how frequently the titles ‘the poor’ and ‘the sinners’ are paired with each other in the Gospels).  Of course, socio-religious methods of exploitation are often simply the means of paving the way for the economic and material exploitation of the poor.  Not many people pay attention to the plundering of those who are insignificant and damned — especially when those who are doing the stealing are the powerful and the righteous, who can claim abundance as the result of their godly living!
(3) Finally, given that the poor are “helpless and hopless in the face of human oppression” (Dunn’s words) they are also defined as those who recognise their vulnerability and look to God for help, especially since they have nobody else to whom they can turn (I believe these are those whom Jesus calls ‘the poor in Spirit’).
Thus, Dunn notes that the word ptochoi, as it is used in the LXX, replaces a number of Hebrew terms such as `ani’(poor, afflicted, humble), dal (crushed, oppressed), ‘ebyon (in want, needy, poor), `anaw (poor, afflicted, humble, meek), and rosh (in want, poor). So Dunn concludes:

The traditional Jewish understanding of poverty, therefore, was neither simplified nor idealized.  Starting from the harsh, often brutal reality of poverty, it recognized different dimensions of poverty — material, social, and spiritual.

To Dunn’s helpful source critical analysis, we should add one insight from Bruce Malina’s helpful sociological reading of the New Testament world (cf. The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropology. Third Edition, Revised and Expanded).  Malina, while recognising the multiple forms poverty takes, stresses the priority of the social element of poverty during the first century, in the Graeco-Roman world.  He argues the the terms “rich” and “poor” are not primarily about how much capital one owns; rather, they refer to the greedy and the socially ill-fated.  Hence:

The terms do not characterize two poles of society as much as two minority groups, the one based upon the shameless drive to expand one’s wealth, the other based on the inability to maintain one’s inherited status of any rank.

According to Malina, wealth and poverty are more about social trajectories: those labeled “rich” are those who have exploited others to try and climb the social ladder, while those labeled “poor” are those who are falling down the social ladder.
Now, this combination of elements would suggest that David is right to question my monolithic use of the term ‘the Poor’.  After all, when I use this term, I have all of these elements in mind.  When I speak of ‘the Poor’ today, I am thinking not only of the economically disadvantaged, but also of the oppressed, those suffering social marginalisation, those considered ‘damned’ by the Church, those considered ‘criminals’ by the Justice System, those who are rejected due to illnesses or biological differences, and so on and so forth.  Why, then, do I not use a more general term — why not simply speak of ‘those in exile’ or something like that?  Well, I have at least four reasons for persisting in using language that highlights wealth and poverty.
First of all, I believe that the language of ‘exile’ is too vague for much of what I am seeking to express.  Indeed, as my own reflections on exile have developed, I have come to believe that all of us, in North America, are undergoing an exilic experience.  Consequently, the language of ‘exile’ too easily blurs the experiences and responsibilities of those who are comfortably situated in places of privilege and power and those who are abandoned to places of pain and lack.  To posit another analogy, we all may be in Egypt, but how we experience Egypt, and what we are called to do there, is very different depending on if we are in Pharaoh’s household, or in the household of a Hebrew slave.  (This, by the way, is why we need to be skeptical of comfortable middle and upper-class Christians who rush to emphasise ‘poverty of spirit’.  What they usually mean by this — token dependence upon God — generally has nothing to do with the genuine, and desperate, poverty of Spirit of which Jesus speaks.)
Secondly, and most importantly, I believe that we must continually speak of wealth and poverty today, because it is economics that now functions as the cornerstone of our existence in the world of late capitalism.  Thus, while Malina may be correct in arguing that status was the cornerstone of the Greco-Roman world, we must recognise that our world is not theirs (and vice versa).  Consequently, we must privilege the economic aspect of poverty today, precisely because it is this aspect that undergirds all our other experiences of poverty (I think that Jesus was already onto this point when he spoke about the love of money as the root of all evil).
Thirdly, and closely related to the second point, I hold onto the language of ‘the Poor’ because it is concrete — in fact, it is uncomfortably concrete for most of us.  Again, more general language makes it easier for us to rationalise our life-as-it-is.  The more vague the terms, the easier it is for me to include myself within the group God privileges even when, in reality, I am a part of the group that is persecuting God’s people.  Hence, I like this language because it rattles me and, I hope, it rattles others.  We need to be rattled.  That, I believe, is how we are led to conversion.
Finally, I retain the language of ‘the Poor’ because this is the language, and the term, prioritised by the Christian Scriptures.  While I recognise that there is a wealth of implicit meaning found in this term, I also recognise the value of learning to speak biblically.
This, then, is my explanation, and defense, of my use of the term ‘the Poor’.

New Blog

I have decided to switch to a wordpress blog from my old livejournal account.  I’m still in the midst of importing all my old posts (alas, I lose all 3000+ comments!), and I’m also figuring out how to negotiate this server… so bear with me.  I may have a few book-smarts, but I certainly do not have the computer-smarts!

Regarding the Poor as Members of the Body of Christ

Jonas (http://blog.bahnhof.se/wb938188) recently asked me this question, based upon my review of Jon Sobrino’s latest book:
Would you like to explain the view of the poor as Christ´s body? Does that mean that the poor [are] incorporated into Jesus, the Messiah, even if they verbally deny him and don´t want to follow him? What would be the biblical base for this teaching?
Here is my response:
Fair question!
I wouldn’t necessarily say that “the poor [are] incorporated into Jesus, the Messiah” but rather that Jesus, the Messiah, incorporated himself into the poor. Therefore, there is now an indissoluble and sacramental link between the poor and Christ. By choosing to identify with the poor, the marginalised, and the damned, Christ revealed to us that these people are priests, administering God’s presence to the world. Not only that, but Christ reveals to us that God has chosen to locate himself in and amongst the poor. Hence, the poor are the people of God — because they are the people with whom God has chosen to identify. Therefore, as Porfirio Miranda reminds us, if we are seeking God, we should go where God has told us he can be found — in and amongst the poor. We are foolish to look elsewhere, when God has already revealed his location!
But let us explore this sacramental connection a little further so that too much is not left in the realm of mystery (which is far too often a refuge for any ideological position).
First of all, the poor reveal to us, in history, the bleeding and suffering of God due to the brokenness of the world. Hence, the poor are the sacramental presence of the body and blood of Christ just as much as (if not more than) the sacramental presence of the body and blood of Christ found in the Eucharist.
Secondly, by bearing our sins — by taking nothing from us while we take everything from them, by taking our hunger while we take their food, by bearing death as we flee from it — that poor also hold the potential to be ministers of salvation to us. They reveal the falsehoods structuring our societies, they make manifest the perverse results of our ideologies, and they expose the hypocrisy that runs through our expressions of piety. Hence, in this regard, the poor are the sacramental presence of the Christ who proclaims, “I am the truth”.
Thirdly, the poor and those amongst them who choose to act non-violently towards the rich and privileged — that is, the majority — are also agents of God’s grace. By choosing to work with us in pursuit of new life together, by refusing to respond to us by taking away our lives, our loved ones, and our daily bread, the poor treat us with a value which we have never ascribed to them. This truly is ‘amazing grace’. However, to be clear, this does not mean that we can simply go on living lives built upon the blood of others. Such an approach would be the worst example of the ‘cheap grace’ that Bonhoeffer despised. The grace shown to us, by the poor, is not an opportunity to go on sinning, it is a call to conversion.
This means that the poor are counted as members of the Church, even if they verbally deny Jesus and assert that they do not want to follow him. For, just as with the confessing members of Christ’s body, they are simul justus et peccator — righteous and, at the same time, sinners. If the sin of a good many of the confessing members of Christ’s body is their refusal to journey into solidarity with the oppressed, then the sin of a good many of the crucified members of Christ’s body is their inability to confess Jesus as Lord (for now anyway). Note, however, even here the sin of the confessing members is greater than the sin of the crucified. Often the crucified have never been truly presented with the gospel, or with individuals or communities who genuinely reflect the liberating news of Jesus’ lordship to them — thus, the Jesus they have rejected is not the historical Jesus and risen Lord. The confessing members, alas, have far less excuses for missing that which is so obvious within Scripture.
As for the biblical basis for this teaching, I would simply point to manifestations of God’s preferential option for the poor contained within Scripture. Think, for example, of the fact that the very poor are left in the land when all of Israel is carried away into exile. In this event, the poor are spared the judgment that is poured out on all, not because they have lived righteously, but because God identifies with the poor and show them preferential treatment because of the ways in which they have been dehumanised by the social powers who act in the service of Sin and Death. Similarly, think of the unconditional proclamation of forgiveness that Jesus offered to the poor, the sick, and the marginalised. To the poor, Jesus said, “You already are forgiven; come, journey with me” — it was only to the comfortable and powerful that Jesus brought harsh warnings of judgment. For a multiplication of examples, I’ll simply refer you to the writings of Gutierrez, Boff, Sobrino, et al. I think I have adequately made my point.
However, let me reaffirm my prior assertion, while switching the emphasis. Yes, the poor are members of the body of Christ, but they are not the only members thereof. This is why I continually speak of both the ‘crucified’ and the ‘confessing’ members of Christ’s body. The key thing is to bring those two halves together so that the body can be whole, and so that the Church can truly manifest the presence of Christ in our world. The goal is for the crucified members to become confessers of Christ, and for the confessing members to become crucified with Christ. The new creation of all things is (proleptically) contained therein.

Eschatology and Ethics (a brief response)

Michael of “Pisteoumen” recently posed a question regarding the possible relationship between eschatology and ethics (cf. http://michaelhalcomb.blogspot.com/2008/08/eschatology-ethics.html).
Not surprisingly, given that so much of my thesis revolves around this relationship, I believe that, from a Christian perspective, eschatology and ethics are intimately, and inextricably, connected. Eschatology is that which provides us with a narrative framework for understanding history, and our own historicity, in a meaningful way. Ethics is then our effort to embody that meaning in our day-to-day actions. The key here is realising that, from a biblical perspective, eschatology is far closer to a praxis-oriented philosophy of history, than it is to a collection of 'end times' doctrines.
Stated another way, we could say that a properly eschatological (and therefore properly Christian) ethics is a way of remembering the past and anticipating the future in order to live meaningfully in the present.

Come on, People!

The other day, I had a particular encounter that surprised me — not because of how I responded, but because of how everybody else responded. I was walking down the alley behind my house, heading to the bus stop, when I thought I heard somebody yelling. As I turned the corner out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, I saw an elderly woman holding her neck, slumped over in a bus shelter. She appeared to be street-involved, and was yelling: “Help me! Help me! I'm having a medical emergency!”
However, the thing that really surprised me, was that I observed people walking by her, completely ignoring her — and the other people waiting for the bus were all backing up, and moving away from her. There must have been about 6-8 people within earshot of her, and all of them were keeping the hell away from her.
I'd like to say that I responded to the situation by doing what anybody else would do — i.e. I ran over to the woman, found out what was wrong, called an ambulance, and waited with her until help arrived — but it turns out that nobody else responded in this way.
Actually, that's not entirely true. Shortly after I started talking to the woman, a homeless man came over to help as well. So, I guess you could say that I responded to the situation like any other homeless person would.
Thinking about this scenario, made me remember another event that happened several years ago, when I was living in downtown Toronto. It was the middle of winter, night was falling, and I came across an homeless man who was semi-conscious, lying in a puddle of slush. I didn't have a cell phone, but I knew the number for the Street Help Line, so if I could get ahold of them, I knew that they would come and look after this man. The problem was, I didn't have a quarter to call the Street Help Line from the payphone across the street. No big deal, I thought. There was a crowd of people a few feet away waiting for the street car. I turned and said to them, “Excuse me, there is a man lying here who needs help. Can somebody give me a quarter so I can call the Street Help Line?” To my amazement, every single person in that crowd ignored me (just like they were ignoring the man lying in the slush). This made me angry, and instead of asking nicely, I became aggressive and, in no uncertain terms, I told the people what I thought of them. That worked much better, somebody gave me a quarter, and everything worked out.
Now, I understand that middle-class people are scared of pretty much everything and everybody, but I cannot understand how one can allow such irrational fears to override any loving or helpful actions. I mean, in both of these situations, nobody had even taken out a cell phone and called 911. Bloody hell. Besides, it's not like I never get scared. I do get scared. It's just that I try not to let my fear overpower my identity in Christ.

What do we do with Acts and the Deutero-Pauline epistles?

A good many New Testament (NT) scholars have demonstrated the value of reading the NT in light of extra biblical sources — be those sources literary, epigraphic, numismatic, or archaeological. Hence, the NT scholar finds it necessary to explore the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, Greek and Latin classics, public inscriptions, images on coins, and the city plans and buildings found within the NT era. All of this leads us to a fuller, and more accurate, understanding of the content of the NT scriptures.
However, where this becomes curious (at least in my own particular area of study) is the way in which the genuine Pauline letters are still, by and large, studied without serious regard given to The Acts of the Apostles or, more especially, the Deutero-Pauline epistles. Why is it, for example, authors like Virgil, Tacitus, and Suetonius are given so much weight in our readings of Paul, while Luke's narrative account of parts of Paul's life is given less weight? Or, to take another example, why is an author like Juvenal considered an useful resource (even though he wrote after Paul did) when the Deutero-Pauline epistles are not (even though they were likely written earlier than much of Juvenal)? Or, to mention an even later work, on what basis can we refer to The Acts of Paul and Thecla while simultaneously ignoring 1 & 2 Timothy?
It seems to me that, given the tensions (and, perhaps, even contradictions) that exist between the genuine letters of Paul and the Deutero-Pauline epistles (especially the later pastorals), it is easier for us to ignore the epistles and find extra-biblical sources that verify what we want to find in Paul. The problem is that the Deutero-Pauline epistles might be closer to Paul than a good many of these other sources.
Perhaps another reason to ignore these epistles is the bulk of material a person would have to address. Academic specialisation leads to narrow foci within scholarship, and it is probably easier to, for example, read Paul in light of Virgil (a relatively unexplored realm, which also makes this more excited work — and work that is more likely to gain recognition) than it is to read Paul in light of the Deutero-Pauline letters.
Of course, there are scholars who continue to view these Deutero-Pauline epistles as genuine letters of Paul, but, IMO, this is an oversimplification. Rather, what I think we should be asking is 'how was it that these epistles developed out of Pauline communities, and in what ways are they faithful and unfaithful to Paul?'
Consequently, given all the appeals currently being made to extra-biblical sources, I am somewhat baffled that The Acts of the Apostles and, more particularly, the Deutero-Pauline letters are still largely neglected in Pauline scholarship. Indeed, those scholars who engage in 'counter-imperial' readings of Paul (i.e. the scholars I have been reading a lot) should be especially ocncerned with addressing the questions listed above. Rather than brushing aside Acts and the Deutero-Pauline epistles simply because they were not authored by Paul, they need to explore how communities that begin with such a radical founder can devolve into communities that embrace the dominant sensibilities of the empire (if, indeed, the Acts and the Deutero-Pauline epistles do this).

Jesus Saves (a prayer of sorts)

You know, it's all well and good that Jesus saves us from the consequences of our own sins, but I'd much rather he spent more time saving us from the consequences of the sins of others — or, for that matter, saving others from the consequences of our own sins. In particular, it would be nice if he spent a little more time saving the dis-empowered and vulnerable from the sins of the powerful and predatory. Yep. That would be really great.

Back Soon…

Just a quick note to say that I have been out of town and away from any computers, for the last little while. However, I fly home tomorrow, and hope to continue the conversation with Halden, Eric, Jonas, et al., in the very near future (oh, and I also need to write my “Response Part 2: The Need for Academic Endeavours”).
For now, I'll point out that Eric has written his own three part series, in response to my question (cf. http://ericdarylmeyer.wordpress.com/) and Ben has also written a response on his blog (cf. http://benbyerly.wordpress.com/2008/07/02/the-academy-and-the-poor/).
As I said, I hope to respond in more detail soon, but for now let me say that I really am interested in hearing what any and all have to say on this subject. This includes those outside of the realm of academia, for I really do believe that the question posed is one that people in all areas of life should consider. My thanks to Heather and Kelley for speaking from their own experiences and from other areas of expertise. I reckon jumping into a discussion full of people who like to throw around technical words might be a little off-putting, but I'm glad that both of you did.

The Academy and the Poor: Response Part 1. The Need for Justification

During the last nine years more than enough ideas for the salvation of the world have been developed by the International (if the world can be saved by ideas) and I defy anyone to come up with a new one. This is the time not for ideas but for action, for deeds.
So said Mikhail Bakunin when he quit the Jura Federation in 1873. Yet one could easily say the same today. Surely, confronted as we are with the monumental evils and injustices of our world, now is also “the time not for ideas but for action”. Now, perhaps more than any other moment in history, we are aware of the great harm that is resulting both from our actions — be that the harm that we cause to the environment because of our dependence upon things like oil and plastics, or the harm that we cause others through our dependence upon cheap goods, produced by foreign children, or any other number of things — and from our inactivity — be that the apathy we exhibit towards the AIDS pandemic, or our apathy towards the plight of the urban poor in our own cities, or any other number of things.
Furthermore, not only are we aware of the the ways in which we are causing harm to the earth and to others, we are also aware of any number of solutions to these problems. It's just that we choose not to inconvenience ourselves and pursue those solutions. Thus, although we know that it is possible to live without an automobile, we choose to continue to drive; although we know how to reduce our dependence on plastics, we can't really be bothered to follow through; although we are aware of how we can help reduce the impact of AIDS (we've all seen the World Vision commercials, haven't we?), we choose to change the channel; although we know that we can “invite the homeless poor into our homes” (as the Lord, in Isaiah, tells us we should), we choose not to.
Thus, just as there are a great multitude of problems of which we are aware, there is also a great multitude of causes — a host of people already working on implementing solutions — to which we could dedicate ourselves.
Likewise, the Scripture appears to call us inexorably, to simple, straightforward action. Thus Deut 15:
If there is a poor man with you, one of your brothers, in any of your towns in your land which the Lord your God is giving you, you shall not harden your heart, nor close your hand from your poor brother; but you shall freely open your hand to him, and shall generously lend him sufficient for his need in whatever he lacks… You shall generously give to him, and your heart shall not be grieved when you give to him, because for this thing the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in all your undertakings. For the poor will never cease to be in the land; therefore I command you, saying, 'You shall freely open your hand to your brother, to your needy and poor in your land.'
And Is 35:
Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knee that gives way. Say to those with fearful hearts, 'Be strong; do no fear. Your God will come. He will come with vengeance; with divine retribution. He will come and save you.'
And Micah 6:
He has told you, O you people, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you, but to do justice, to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God?
And so on and so forth, right through Jesus' embodied proclamation of holistic liberation, the Pauline and Johannine ethics of cruciform love, and James' definition of true religion. All of this is unavoidably straight-forward. If we are to be like our Father in heaven, we must love like our Father in heaven (Mt 5). And, just as we know God's love because of the actions God has taken with, for, and amongst us, so also our love of others must be demonstrated in our actions with, for, and amongst others. Furthermore, just as God descended to seek and save those who were lost, sick, and damned (Lk 19; Mt 9; Ro 5), so also must we priortise thoe who are abandoned, those who are sick, and those who are damned today. All of this is summarised quite well by the author of 1 Jn 3:
This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.
Thus, I believe that the onus genuinely does rest upon the shoulder of the Academic. In light of these things — and the observations of Wolterstorff, Moltmann, and the liberation theologians, which I mentioned in my last post on this topic — the Academic must justify his or her study, and must justify that study in a way deemed satisfactory by the poor.
After all, it is the poor who will judge us. It is the poor person we encounter in the crucified and risen Christ who calls us to account for our actions, and it is the poor person of Jesus Christ who says to us, “whatever you did or did not do for 'the least of these' you did or did not do for me.” Hence, if the poor will one day judge us, we would do well to be concerned as to whether or not we find them currently accepting the justifications we offer for our Academic endeavours.
Consequently, if in this post I have made the case for the need for justification of Academic efforts, in my next post in this series, I hope to present what I consider to be some worthwhile justifications thereof.

An Interlude on Memes

In a faltering effort to start a ‘meme’, I asked the following question: “when confronted with ‘the Poor’ of our day, how do you justify your own academic endeavours?”
I had only a few people take me up on this question — mostly in the comments section, although Patrik responded on his blog (http://shrinkinguni.blogspot.com/2008/06/meme-academy-and-poor.html). To be honest, I’m not that surprised that few theo or biblio bloggers picked up this meme. I reckon the lack of response is due, in part, to at least two things: (1) the fact that this is a difficult question to answer, and one that most academics prefer to avoid dwelling on in detail (or, perhaps, have never bothered to dwell on in detail); and (2) the fact that most memes operate as a means of self-branding, wherein we increase our own personal brand status by demonstrating our knowledge and diversity of reading or experience in various realms of life and culture. Consequently, memes about things like our favourite books, or movies, or twentieth century theologians, or whatever else, are (1) easy to write; and (2) increase our own brand-status by showing others the depth and (surprising!) diversity of our tastes.
If that’s not bad enough, these memes also operate well within a culture of consumption, and can be an effective means of advertising goods to other consumers. We read these memes and think, ‘I should go buy that book!’ or ‘I should go rent that movie!’ and so on and so forth. The same thing goes for other links we often provide on our blogs — things like amazon wish lists come to mind — a convenient ways of self-branding that also perpetuates cycles of consumption.
Hence, my usual hesitation to take part in these activities (my monthly reading lists being the notable exception). It’s true, taking part in memes is a good way to increase the traffic that your blog gets — it lets you tag others, who then tag you, resulting in new readers coming to your blog, and so on and so forth — but this is why I deliberately chose not to tag anybody in my previous post. Honestly, if we’re writing on our blogs simply in order to draw readers — if we’re writing simply because we desire an (ever increasing) audience — then I reckon we’re writing for the wrong reasons.
That said, I really should get around to responding to the question that I posed regarding the Academy and the Poor…