For the last few months, the topic of violence, and the justification thereof, has been on my mind with increasing frequency. My thoughts have not come together with much clarity — and, by and large, they are stemming from my overwhelming sense of helplessness, anger, and sorrow, related not only to the injustices that I see around me on a day to day basis, but to the massive injustices that are sweeping across the world (on this note, I highly recommend Naomi Klein's latest book, The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism, which may be the best book I have read this year). Here, then, are a few of my scattered thoughts (and I would be very interested to hear what others think about these things).
1. If violence can be justified, or if violence can ever be considered a Christian act (that is to say, if a Christian could ever accept 'just war' theory), then Christians today would be obligated to take up arms against both their governments and many national, and multinational corporations. Never, in the whole course of history, have so few done so much harm to so many. If violence can be justified from a Christian perspective, then it the duty of contemporary Christians to become 'terrorists'.
[Of this point, I am absolutely convinced.]
2. I say that Christians would be obligated to take up arms, because all other (peaceful) methods of enacting social transformation, of countering rapacious corporate and governmental interests, have been overpowered, subverted, or revealed as impotent.
[The objection to this point would be threefold: one could assert that (1) all avenues of peaceful resistance have not yet been exhausted; (2) even if all the avenues that we currently can think of have been exhausted, our 'Christian imagination' requires us to imagine new peaceful options; (3) even if there is nothing we can to to create change peacefully, we must continue to do what does not work because violence is not an option for us — and because we hope for the time when God will, once again, 'come down' and create the change for which we long.]
3. Indeed, not only have all peaceful avenues been exhausted, but, precisely because of this, the Powers that be (powers of government and corporate business) are satisfied when Christians embrace notions of nonviolence — for the language of nonviolence is easily employed to shatter any resistance to the pursuit of their (ironically, violent) agendas. Put another way, the language of nonviolence, although often considered 'counter-cultural', often simply ends up supporting the status quo. Thus, although the Powers are inherently violent, they are more than happy to allow their opposition to embrace nonviolence — for that embrace quite often ensures that the rich will continue to accumulate more wealth, and the poor will continue to lose the little that they have.
[It is this point, that must be engaged in detail by Christians who wish to remain nonviolent — and it is this point that I find increasingly frustrating in my own personal embrace of nonviolence.]
4. Some will say that violence only breeds more violence, and to respond to the Powers violently is to only further enmesh ourselves in the 'cycle of violence', but others will say that the deepening of violence is what is needed in order to spark an awakening, a conversion, and an uprising. That is to say, precisely because most of the violence in our world occurs in places where we do not see, hear, feel, or smell it, we do not care (in any meaningful way) about it. To bring violence home, is to open the eyes of those around us.
[Of course, the objection here is that we have drifted into the realm of 'playing God' when we begin to treat people (and their lives) as pawns in the service of a greater plan — indeed, as a one who is committed to nonviolence, I am inclined to believe that any time that we kill, we are 'playing God' and engaging in an activity that is denied to us, but this relates back to the first point I raised.]
5. Others, following Niebuhr's hypothesis, will argue that our contemporary situation is one that forces us to compromise our Christian beliefs in one way or another, and so we must choose the least of the evils. If this is the case, then surely it is better to be guilty of killing a few (for the sake of the many), rather then sitting quietly by while the many are killed (and thereby being guilty of the deaths of many).
[The objection here is raised by those who altogether reject Niebuhr's hypothesis and argue that we should not choose the least of the evils but can always, somehow, choose good. Of course, it remains for those who raise this objection to show how good can, then, be served in our contemporary situation.]
Such are my thoughts these days. At the end of the day, I am still fairly convinced that an abandonment of nonviolence is, in actuality, an abandonment of faith in God. Therefore, I continue to pursue justice with peace, although I suspect that almost everything that I do will amount to nothing (indeed, to use an analogy, I suspect I will spend most of my life throwing myself against a wall and, at the end of it all, it will be me, and not the wall, that breaks). So it goes when we find ourselves in a time and space of reciprocal abandonment — a time and space where the Church has abandoned God, and God has, consequently, forsaken us.
And Now For Something Completely Different
Well, just over seven months ago, I was married. However, before the marriage, there was the bachelor party. So, what do a bunch of Christian pacifists do at a bachelor party? Simple: beat the living hell out of each other (people were, literally, knocked out, had body bruises, split lips, and I'm pretty sure I fractured a bone in my foot kicking my good buddy Oli).
So, for your entertainment, I offer you this clip of my fight with my younger brother. I am, of course, the one who dominates the fight (I'm wearing the red headgear, dark blue shirt, and black gloves).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MjGR2AZpVz8.
September Books
Once again, I find myself too busy to be able to post full reviews of these books. Hopefully I’ll be able to get back to one or two of them (the book by Kelly Johnson was especially good, and the book by Milton Friedman was especially bad [Friedman may not be the devil but his version of capitalism may very well be “the devil’s wet dream,” as Ani DiFranco once said]) but I’m not holding my breath — for now, I’ve just selected one quote from each book that I found especially gripping or definitive of the piece. Not surprisingly, given that I am taking a seminar on “Christianity and Capitalism” a lot of my reading is based upon that topic.
1. The Fear of Beggars: Stewardship and Poverty in Christian Ethics by Kelly S. Johnson.
“[V]oluntary begging is not merely about an individual’s pursuit of holiness, but rather concerns the possibility of a Christian social order… The beggar instigates an order of gift-giving, searching out those who will join in a cycle of gift which does note exclude work or exchange, but orders them to serve the good of proclaiming Christ… a steward may practice her craft without a church, but the beggar must have one.”
2. Mandate to Difference: An Invitation to the Contemporary Church by Walter Brueggemann.
This is a collection of essays/sermons by Brueggemann, and the last one “Some Theses on the Bible in the Church” was especially concise. I’ll just quote Brueggemann’s theses:
1. Everybody has a script.
2. We are scripted by the process of nurture, formation, and socialization that may go under the large rubric of liturgy.
3. The dominant scripting of both selves and communities in our society, for both liberals and conservatives, is the script of therapeutic, technological, consumer militarism that permeates every dimension of our common life.
4. That script promises to make us safe and happy.
5. That script has failed.
6. Health depends, for society and for members of it, on disengagement from and relinquishment of that script.
7. It is the task of the church and its ministry to de-script from that powerful script.
8. That task is undertaken through the steady, patient, intentional articulation of an alternative script that we testify will indeed make us safe and joyous.
9. That alternative script as an offer of a counter-metanarrative is rooted in the Bible and enacted through the tradition of the church.
10. That alternative script has as its defining factor the Key Character in all holiness, the God of the Bible who is variously Lord and Savior of Israel, Creator of heaven and earth, and is fleshed in Jesus, we name as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
11. That script of this God of power and life is not monolithic, one-dimensional, or seamless, and we should not pretend that we have such an easy case to make.
12. The ragged disjunctive quality of the counter-script to which we testify cannot be smoothed out and made seamless, as both historical-critical study and doctoral reductionism have tried to do.
13. The ragged disputatious character of the counter-script to which we testify is so disputed and polyvalent that its adherents are always tempted to quarrel among themselves.
14. The entry point into the counter-script is baptism.
15. The nurture, formation and socialization into the counter-script with this elusive, irascible Key Character at its center constitute the work of ministry.
16. Ministry is conducted in the awareness that most of us are deeply ambiguous about this alternative script.
17. The good news, I judge, is that our ambivalence as we stand between scripts is precisely the primal venue for the work of God’s spirit.
18. Ministry, and the mission beyond ministry, is to manage that inescapable ambivalence that is the human predicament in faithful, generative ways.
19. IF what I have said is true, then it follows that the work of ministry is crucial, pivotal, and indispensable; as in every society, so in our society.
3. The Worldly Philosophers: The Lives, Times & Ideas of the Great Economic Thinkers by Robert L. Heilbroner.
“A man who thinks that economics is only a matter for professors forgets that this is the science that has sent men to the barricades.”
4. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism by Max Weber.
“A specifically bourgeois economic ethic had grown up. With the consciousness of standing in the fullness of God’s grace and being visibly blessed by Him, the bourgeois business man, as long as he remained within the bounds of formal correctness, as long as his moral conduct was spotless and the use to which he put his wealth was not objectionable, could follow his pecuniary interests as he would and feel that he was fulfilling a duty in doing so.”
5. Capitalism and Freedom by Milton Friedman.
“Historical evidence speaks with a single voice on the relation between political freedom and a free market. I know of no example in time or place of a society that has been marked by a large measure of political freedom, and that has not also used something comparable to a free market.”
6. Utilitarianism by John Stuart Mill.
“[T]he ‘greatest happiness principle’ holds that actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness; wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness. By happiness is intended pleasure and the absence of pain; by unhappiness, pain and the privation of pleasure.”
7. The Manifesto of the Communist Party by Karl Marx and Frederick Engels.
“Let the ruling classes tremble at the Communist revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win. Workingmen, of all countries, unite!”
8. Marxism and Literary Criticism by Terry Eagleton.
“[W]hat perished in the Soviet Union was Marxist only in the sense that the Inquisition was Christian… The Marxist critical heritage is a superlatively rich, fertile one… We do not dismiss, say, feminist criticism just because patriarchy has not yet been dislodged. On the contrary, it is all the more reason to embrace it.”
Christian Community as Sanctuary (On Hosting Runaway Bank Robbers)
So, it turns out that the fellow that we had crashing on our couch several months ago — the fellow that I ran into on the street one night and brought home with me — was actually on the run from the cops at the time. He had just been released from a twenty-five year prison sentence (mostly for robbing banks), had breached his probation, ran, and, voila, ran into me. I only just discovered this information tonight (this explains why he got restless after a couple of days and decided to take off).
Good to know. Although, to be honest, I don’t think I would have done anything differently if I had known at the time.
It is worth recalling that, in the early Church, and the medieval Church, the church (building) was legally considered a place of refuge for criminals, including murderers, thieves, and runaway slaves (hence, the title of “Sanctuary” is given to the interior of the church). Consequently, although no such legal recognition exists today, and although our church sanctuaries tend to be anything but places of refuge for criminals, I think that the principle still holds, and contemporary Christian communities should begin to explore what it means to be a sanctuary today (after all, other religious orders, like the Franciscans, continued to hold to other standards — even when the legal “right of asylum” became increasingly restricted — as the “Earlier Rule” of Saint Francis makes clear: the brothers are to welcome all people into their dwelling places, including robbers and other outlaws).
Indeed, I would like to suggest that intentional Christian communities, rooted in inner-city neighbourhoods, are exactly the sort of places where we should, once again, begin to apply such notions of sanctuary (regardless of whether or not such places of refuge are legally recognised). I would, however, be interested to hear what others think about this.
On Proclamation (the word made flesh)
As actually lived, a religion may be pictured as a single gigantic proposition. It is a true proposition to the extent that its objectivities are interiorized and exercised by groups and individuals in such a way as to conform them in some measure in the various dimensions of their existence to the ultimate reality and goodness that lies at the heart of things. It is a false proposition to the extent that this does not happen.
~ George Lindbeck, The Nature of Doctrine, 51.
If Lindbeck's assertion is correct (and it very well might be), then the conclusion that we are compelled to draw is that very few of those around us could be accused of genuinely rejecting Christianity. By and large, those around us have encountered a purely propositional form of Christianity, a form that has hardly (if at all) been “interiorized and exercised” in such a way that conformity to “ultimate reality and goodness” has resulted. Therefore, it is more often the case that what those around us reject is Christianity exhibited as a false proposition. Indeed, despite our reputation as the “Christian” or “post-Christian” West, I suspect that most of our neighbours have never even heard the truth of the gospel proclaimed truly. In a sense, we are living in a society that is still waiting for the good news, because it is still waiting for coming of the “Word made flesh” — only this time it is not waiting for the advent of Christ, it is waiting for the embodiment of the gospel by the Church.
Therefore, instead of looking on our society and seeing a mass of people who have rejected Christianity, I look upon our society and see a mass of people who have never encountered Christianity. The fault is not their sinfulness, but ours. It is not that they have failed to accept the good news of Jesus Christ, it is that we have failed to proclaim it.
God's Lesser Known Preferential Options
About a year ago, one of my roommates and I decided to compose a list of “God's lesser known preferential options.” She recently posted some of those ideas on her blog (audreymo.blogspot.com) and I thought I would carry the idea over to here to see what others might come up with. The idea, of course, is premised upon the argument made by the liberation theologians that God, in Scripture, exhibits a “preferential option” for the poor. Therefore, after carefully searching the Scriptures ourselves, we came up with these other, lesser known, preferential options (and hope that you will add to the list).
1. Diet Coke
2. Boxers
3. Gay Marriage
4. The Serial Comma
5. Palestinians
6. Rich People Who Feel Kinda, Sorta Guilty About Being Rich
7. PCs
8. Militant Islam
On Humour and Playfulness
There is a Bohemianism in the labor movement, and it smacks of sentimentality. The gesture of being dirty because the outcast is dirty, of drinking because he drinks, of staying up all night and talking, because that is what one's guests from the streets want to do, in participating in his sin from a prideful humility, this is self-deception indeed!
~ Dorothy Day, The Long Loneliness, 255 (slightly edited).
I want to relate this quotation from Day to some recent conversations that have occurred on the topic of humour and playfulness. Some time ago, Peter and I had some discussion on the topic of Baudrillard and Christianity, wherein Peter argued that one should not pursue a method of “analyze-resist” in one's approach to political powers (a method that he sees as far too compromising, reductionistic, and, in the end, legitimising); rather, one should embody an “aesthetic Christianity” wherein one is “free not to take things too seriously, free to play and be joyful” (cf. http://coprinus.blogspot.com/2007/08/baudrillard-christianity.html). More recently, David W. Congdon wrote a post entitled “What Would Jesus Drive?” which included a poll, by the same title, that was meant to be humourous (although it appears that many, to David's apparent frustration, took the poll more seriously than intended; cf. http://fireandrose.blogspot.com/2007/09/what-would-jesus-drive-what-would-jesus.html).
Both of these conversations caused me to reflect about the role of humour and play in Christian thinking and living, and that is what caused me to think of the above quotation from Dorothy Day. You see, Day's quotation reminds us that there are things we incorporate from our surroundings, things that we think are noble and liberating, that actually end up having a negative influence upon us. Perhaps those mentioned by Day think that they are exhibiting a radical form of solidarity with the marginalised when they stay up all night drinking, talking, and stinking, but Day suggests that they actually aren't doing anybody any good and have only deceived themselves.
It is my suspicion that much of the same thing is going on in recent Christian reflections on humour and playfulness (certainly I wouldn't want to suggest that Peter or David fall into this camp — they were the springboards for my thinking, not the targets of it). After all, this recent focus on humour and playfulness did not, by and large, originate within the Christian Academy. Rather, it became one of the major emphases within what has come to be known as “postmodern thought.” However, we must make two important, and disconcerting, observations about the role of these themes in postmodern thought. In particular, we must examine the location of those who make this assertion, and we must examine the foundation of this assertion. First, when we look at the location of those who make this assertion, we quickly realise that, despite their reputation as “radical thinkers,” those who make this assertion tend to be comfortably situated in the upper classes and have come to be well-established within academic and cultural centres of power. It is, perhaps, a little too easy to talk about humour and playfulness while sitting in a lounge, nursing a glass of Romanée Conti, and smoking French cigarettes. Secondly, when we look at the the foundation of these themes, we come to see that they are premised upon a form of nihilism that denies, and attacks, all meaning and significance. Essentially, when everything means nothing, we might as well laugh and play.
Consequently, when we explore how these themes of humour and play are utilised by Christians what do we find? A largely acritical appropriation performed mostly by (surprise, surprise) Christians well situated in the middle and upper classes — in places of comfort, privilege and power. Such themes are all too easily embraced (and consumed) by those of us who would rather not deal (in too much detail, anyway) with the sufferings of others. In this way, humour and play become a part of the therapy and sensibilities of the Christian middle-class.
Of course, there is an important place for humour and playfulness, but how we understand and engage in those things, might end up being rather different once we move into the lower classes and places where suffering is most evident. For example, I am journeying alongside of many people who have been raped, and many more who will continue to be raped. I have yet to hear a single good rape joke (although, it should be noted, that while in various Christian social settings, I have actually heard more than one rape joke). Of course, most everybody understands this example, but it seems to me that much of the humour and playfulness that is found within much of the mainstream Christian community (including the Academy) expresses a similar apathy to issues that are, literally, life and death issues to others. Simply put, there are some things that are not funny. Of course, this is not to suggest that humour cannot be a powerful weapon, it simply means that we have not spent nearly enough time thinking about how to use humour, lest we end up accomplishing the reverse of what we had hoped, and end up paralleling those “Bohemians of the labour movement” that Day described.
Perhaps a better place to begin thinking about these things is suggested by Paul's command in Ro 12.15: Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn (Brueggemann, by the way, has done an excellent job of exploring this topic). After all, isn't our focus on humour and playfulness, also another proof of our corporate inability to mourn? Yes, humour and play can be powerful, but just as powerful are tears and “hard words from broken hearts” (Wallis' description of the prophetic, in The Call to Conversion). We need to be able to discern how and when to engage in either. How do we learn this discernment? The best solution I know is found by journeying into places of suffering. Those who have known great suffering are the best equipped to teach us great joy (conversely, I think we should be suspicious of the joy of those who know little of suffering). Never have I encountered such joy, play, and laughter, as the joy, play, and laughter, I have encountered in a group of low-track prostitutes sitting down for dinner together, or in a group of homeless kids sharing a smoke on the sidewalk, or in a group of homeless men playing cards together in a drop-in (I have also known great sorrow and pain in those places, but such is the life abundant). It is here, in these places, in these relationships, that one discover the forms and expressions of humour and play that are capable of shaking the foundations of empire.
If you don't believe me, I invite you to come and see for yourself.
Church and Government: The Pragmatic Angle
Stated simply this is what I would like to propose:
If we were to invest the same amount of time and energy into pursuing change through the Church that we invest into pursuing change through the government, then the payoff would be exponentially greater.
Sure, I won't deny that positive change can come through the government (or through the rather limited avenues for change that the government allows). However, it takes a great deal of time and energy to create even a little change, and big changes only occur very rarely.
I suspect that when we work through the Church we will be able to create much larger changes with much less time and much less energy.
Let me provide an example of what I'm talking about.
Homelessness is obviously a major problem in Canadian urban centres. Affordable housing might very well be the greatest need right now in places like Vancouver and Toronto. Pursuing change through the government requires a great deal of lobbying, of protesting, of capturing (and holding) the attention of the media, of rationalising, and of imposing constant pressure upon politicians, corporations, and policy-makers. Engaging in that process requires a great deal of time and energy and the end result is always minimal. The government creates 50 more units of affordable housing, or offers to open up 40 more shelter beds (in the winter only), that sort of thing. Given that a city like Toronto has 50,000+ homeless people, this is akin to putting a band-aid on a severed artery.
So, what is the alternative to this that the Church offers? Really, it's quite simple. We take the words of Isaiah 58 seriously and “bring the homeless poor into our homes.” Rather than begging and pleading with the government, we simply become the change we seek elsewhere. Rather than wasting a great deal of time and energy asking the government to open new homes, we simply open our homes to the homeless.
And so on and so forth. Rather than waiting for the government to eradicate poverty (something that it will never do), we can become the sort of community that is described in Acts wherein a form of sharing exists that leads to the observation that “there were no needy persons among them” (Acts 4). It's all rather simple (which isn't to say that it is easy). All we need is a little imagination and a little courage; a little hope, a little faith, a little love.
Why waste all that time and energy elsewhere? Really, I can't help but think of something Jesus once said (brace yourself, Stephen & Co.!) in the Sermon on the Mount:
Do not give what is holy to dogs, and do not throw your pearls before swine, or they will trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces.
Of course, the “dogs” and the “swine” are the institutional Powers — Businesses, Parties, and Laws involved (not the people, like Stephen & Co., whom I respect a great deal).
[I will now run for cover, and convince myself that I am right regardless of what is written in the comments.]
Understandings of Power (why Christians should avoid being in the government)
[Update: After adding some consideration of the term 'power-as-appeal', I have substituted the term 'power-as-invitation' for the previously used term 'power-as-persuasion'.]
Thesis 1. Following the examples of Jesus and Paul, Christians should not seek to wield 'power-as-force' over those who are not members of the Church.
This thesis requires some explanation.
(1a) What do I mean by the expression 'power-as-force'? By using that expression I am referring to power that is exercised in such a way that it leaves those on whom it acts no alternative but to comply or be punished — it forces compliance. Power-as-force is the form of power that is exercised by the State through the military, the police, the courts, the prisons, the hospitals, and all the other institutions that discipline and punish the general population (I am, of course, indebted to Foucault in this regard). Power-as-force says to a person: “You must do this,” or “You cannot do that” and “If you do 'this', then we will imprison you” or “If you do 'that', then we will hospitalize you.” Significantly, power-as-force operates on people regardless of their belief-systems. You do not need to ascribe to the fundamental beliefs of the system of power-as-force, you simply must obey or face the consequences.
(1b) When we look to the example of Jesus, we discover that this is precisely the form of power that he rejected. Of course, Jesus did exercise power-as-force over some things:
-nature
-sickness
-demons
-death
-some property, including animals (the Temple incident!)
However, the key thing to realise is that Jesus never exercised power-as-force over any people outside of the community of discipleship. It is only within the community of disciples that Jesus exercises a minimal form of power-as-force (by issuing commands that require obedience).
(1c) We see the same thing in the letters of Paul. Paul is willing to issue commands, and expects obedience from his churches. But he thinks it is a mistake to try and extend that power-as-force outside of the community of faith. Thus, he writes:
I have written you in my letter not to associate with sexually immoral people — not at all meaning the people of this world who are immoral… What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside? God will judge those outside (cf. 1 Cor 5).
Paul is not interested in judging those outside of the Church, nor is he interested in holding them to certain standards of behaviour. He is, however, very much interested in engaging in those practices within the community of faith.
Thesis 2. Therefore, Christians should seek change within the world through the Church, which practices 'power-as-invitation', not through the government which practices power-as-force.
Again some explanation is required.
(2a) What do I mean by the expression 'power-as-invitation'? I do not mean the pursuit of 'seeker-sensitive' church models, nor do I mean the ongoing fascination with presenting a 'relevant' form of Christianity. Rather, I understand power-as-invitation to be what comes when the Church models an alternate way of sharing life together. The Johannine material captures this well — we will be known, within the world, by the love that we have for one another (this emphasis also appears in the Synoptics and in the Pauline material). Of course, that love is to be an overflowing love, and just as we are to be known for how we love one another, we are also to be known for how we love the 'poor', and even for how we love our 'enemies'. Such a way of sharing life together does not exercise power-as-force, but it does exercise power-as-invitation, because it is open to others and will appeal to many. Indeed, the term 'power-as-appeal' might be an even better term for this sort of power, as the word 'appeal' implies attractiveness (i.e. “I find that way of life to be very appealing”) but also implies the sort of weakness that is found in begging (i.e. “I appeal to you as Christians”).
(2b) Therefore, rather than imposing demands upon those outside the community of faith (which is precisely what the government does when, for example, it demands that pacifist pay taxes — taxes that will help to fund the war effort), the Church issues an invitation to those outside. Governments demand, the Church invites.
(2c) Thus, we see why Christian involvement in the government is, despite good intentions, and despite whatever positive impact it might have, largely a mistake — a mistake that, IMHO, results from a misunderstanding of how Christians are to relate to power. Simply stated: the government operates by using a form of power that is denied to Christian engagement with those outside the Church, and it is impossible to participate within government without accepting this underlying power structure.
Remember the Exodus
Several OT scholars have highlighted the observation that the vision of neighborliness that is found in the tradition of Deuteronomy is premised upon the experience of the exodus of the Hebrew slaves from Egypt. Hence we see several passages where concern for the vulnerable, the oppressed, and the poor is premised upon this memory (these examples gain added emphasis when read in context):
You shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.
~Deut 10.19
Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land… Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the LORD your God redeemed you; for this reason I lay this command upon you today.
~Deut 15.11, 15
You shall not deprive a a resident alien or an orphan of justice; you shall not take a widow's garment in pledge. Remember that you were a slave in Egypt and the LORD your God redeemed you from there; therefore I command you to do this… When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left; it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow. Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt; therefore I am commanding you to do this.
~Deut 24.17-18, 21-22
Walter Brueggemann, in commenting on these things, concludes by arguing that:
The memory of the exodus that leads to neighborly generosity is the primary mark of the covenantal society. That memory in practice issues in a subordination of the economy to the social fabric with focal attention to the marginated who are without social access, social power, or social advocacy. The covenant is an assertion of interdependence that flies in the face of acquisitiveness that regards everyone else as a competitor for the same commodity or as threat to my self-securing.
~ cf. “A Welcome for Others” in Mandate to Difference.
This observation has a great deal of potential explanatory power within our contemporary situation.
By and large, I believe that the Church in the West has failed to live up to the sort of neighborliness that is commanded in Deuteronomy. By and large, we like to engage in token acts of charity (which are also signs of good citizenship), but which mostly leave our lives untouched, and free us to live like those around us, pursue that which they are pursuing, and enjoy that which they are enjoying. Indeed, when one suggests that our churches should, perhaps, engage in a form of neighborliness that is closer to the model set by Deuteronomy (and further established by the likes of Isaiah and Jesus), one can expect to encounter a great deal of resistance from those same churches.
How can this be?
I believe that one of the central reasons why this is the case is because we have lost our ability to meaningfully remember the Exodus. Sure, we know the story but it does not register with us an any meaningful sort of way because, by and large, we have never experienced anything comparable to that event.
What Brueggemann calls the “counterintuitive economic practice” of the community of faith in Deuteronomy is premised upon a recent encounter with YHWH who has been revealed as the “counterintuitive economist.” This encounter is still fresh in the mind of the Hebrews and this is why (when the Law is given) they embrace the form of neighborliness that it requires. The commands of Deut 23.15-16, commands that essentially make slavery an untenable institution, make a good deal of sense to a community of recently liberated slaves. Unfortunately, they make less and less sense to, and hold less and less persuasive power over, those who have never experienced slavery, and those who have no memory of being slaves in Egypt. Thus, the Israelites become more and more like the nations around them and forget the form of neighborliness that the God of Deuteronomy (the Father of Jesus) requires.
And what of us? We have not experienced slavery in Egypt. What sort of experiences have we had that parallel the Exodus? Few, if any. After all, are we not a people who now live with the memory of the failure of all recent attempts at liberation? Around the world we have seen movements of liberation that have self-destructed (like Marxism in Eastern Europe), and movements of liberation that have been crushed by other forces (like Socialism in Latin America). Even, or perhaps especially, in our own nations we have seen the near total failure of all the major movements of liberation and resistance that arose in the '60s and '70s (and which were briefly resurrected in the late '90s).
What is the lesson that we have learned? That those who cannot be co-opted or bought are tortured and destroyed, and probably aren't even trustworthy anyway. Therefore, we arrive, in the words of Deleuze and Guattari (who made this point before Fukuyama) at “the end of history.”
So what, then, does our memory tell us? That any form of “Exodus” today is impossible. Consequently, we must resign ourselves to making our homes here, and doing the best with what we've been given.
And what of liberation? Liberation is simply the offer of the forgiveness of sins that frees us from the guilt that we feel for living in such a compromised state. “I have invested in oil.” Lord, have mercy. “My clothes were made by children.” Christ, have mercy. “I hoard.” Lord, have mercy. “I consume.” Christ, have mercy. “I am wealthy, and healthy, and satisfied.” Mea Culpa; Lord, have mercy. “I participate in structures of oppression and crucifixion.” Mea Maxima Culpa; Christ, have mercy. Our consciences having been (somewhat uneasily) appeased, we find freedom in our slavery, and in our enslavement of others.
Thus, we are held in bondage by a fatal, and fatalistic, memory. What hope do what have, us cynics and realists of the twenty-first century, of recovering our memory of the Exodus? How can we begin to remember the Exodus in such a way that we are able to begin to recover the neighborliness that is required of us?
I know of one way, and in order to explore that way it is worth looking at the example of Moses. In particular, I am struck by what we find in Ex 2.11:
Now it came about in those days, when Moses had grown up, that he went out to his brethren and looked on their hard labors; and he saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his brethren.
Here, we have Moses, raised and educated as a child of one of Pharaoh's daughters, engaging in a marvelous activity. First, note the double emphasis within the passage on the Hebrew slaves as Moses' “brethren.” Moses, although close to the royal family and Egyptian power, chooses to identify with the slaves as his own brothers and sisters. But he also does more than this. He goes out to them, and he looks upon their hardship. Leaving the comforts of his upbringing, he goes to where the slaves are, and he sees, and hears, and smells, what they are experiencing. The result? Moses is converted. He will never again be situated in places of Egyptian power, nor will he embrace the “gifts” that he has been given in order to institute whatever sort of reform he can hope for realistically. Instead, Moses will go on to be used by God to bring about the Exodus, and to offer the Hebrews the tradition of neighborliness that one finds in Deuteronomy.
So how does remembering Moses before the Exodus help us to remember the Exodus itself? Because the first step to remembering the Exodus is to remember slavery. Moses remembers slavery, not in some sort of hypothetical manner, but by going to the places where slavery is the worst. Furthermore, he remembers slavery by identifying himself in and with those slaves; he sees their torn skin and wasted bodies, he hears the noise of their cries, and the silence of their hopelessness, and he smells the odour of death rising from their sweat and their sores — and in this seeing, hearing, and smelling, he discovers the same thing in himself. He comes to know himself as a slave among slaves (is this not the same trajectory that was followed by Archbishop Romero? A conservative, comfortably situated in a place of power, it was not until Romero experienced slavery through the assassination of his friend Rutilio Grande that he became capable of remembering the Exodus and pursuing Deuteronomic neighborliness).
So we too, if we are to remember the Exodus, must begin by remembering slavery by going to the places where bondage is the worst. We must “go out,” we must “look upon,” and we must identify as our “brothers and sisters,” those who suffer the most today if we are to become capable of remembering the Exodus and engaging in the form of neighborliness established by Deuteronomy.