It's been an odd sort of week, full of death and resurrection; tears of sorrow, tears of joy.
After a suicide attempt, a good friend relapsed on crack cocaine. He had one and a half years of clean time and appeared to being doing well — no one foresaw the suicide attempt or the relapse. Now he's lost his housing, and we've lost all contact with him. I've been walking the alleyways and the neighbourhood where I know he goes to buy, but I can't find him. I don't know how he will be able to stay alive, if he is alive.
Another friend, a young girl, had also gotten a good amount of clean time under her belt. She had gotten off the street, out of sexual exploitation, and into a relationship with a decent guy who had no history of street-involvement. Yesterday I learned that she relapsed, is back on the street, and is working the trade again. Turns out she was recently grabbed, forced into a car, and gang-raped. Such an experience is not uncommon among the girls who work my neighbourhood.
One of my former professors, who continues to be a guide and friend to me (one of the three “'radical' academics” I mentioned in my last post) was just diagnosed with colon cancer and goes in for emergency surgery tomorrow.
So Death continues to work among us.
But resurrection was also at work this week (a rare event, but truly marvelous when it occurs). A few years ago I got to know an incredible young man (one of the most truly beautiful people I have ever known) who was addicted to crack and was suffering from a form of mental illness that caused him to hear voices that were constantly telling him to hurt himself, or kill himself, or whatever. He had gone through some horrible experiences that had shattered him before he had any real chance to develop into wholeness and so, over the time that I knew him, he drifted lower and lower into the belly of the beast. Finally, we lost all contact with him and, although we scoured the streets and agencies looking for him for ages, we never found him. A year went by and then, out of the blue, we got a phone call from him just the other day. Turns out he went to an “hard-core” treatment centre, got out of town, moved back in with his family, and has almost one year of clean time under his belt. He's working a good job, his mental state is under control, and he even volunteers once a week at a drop-in for street-entrenched youth in his town (I always told him that he would be able to do that sort of work far better than I can or could). What joy! This is the sort of miracle, the sort of good news, that gives me the strength to persevere and the ability to hope against all the odds. Behold, “this brother of [ours] was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found” (cf. Lk 15.11-31). Yes, he was dead; yes, he is alive again. Lord, have mercy on those who are still dead and dying.
It is weeks like this one that capture so well the reason why my blog is subtitled “This, therefore, is the life abundant.” I think we commonly misconstrue Jesus' promise of abundant living for his followers. We tend to put a sort of “health and wealth” spin on it, as though we just need to follow Jesus and “all our problems will be solved.” However, I believe that Jesus' promise of abundance is a promise that we will both suffer more and laugh more. It is a promise that we will experience greater sorrow and greater joy, abundant anguish and abundant peace. A promise that we will become intimate with both death and new life.
Thus, we come to know the life abundant when we begin to “rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn” (Ro 12). Ironically, in our pursuit of other forms of “abundance” (for example, the accumulation of capital, and the pursuit of status or power) we close ourselves off from the truly abundant life that is found in places like my neighbourhood. If you wish to find true abundance then go to places where the Spirit of life is moving among the crucified, places of mourning and laughter (tears of sorrow, tears of joy), places of death and resurrection.
On the Hypocrisy of "Radicals" (myself included)
In commenting on “happiness,” Slavoj Zizek has the following things to say:
In the strict Lacanian sense of the term, one should thus posit that “happiness” relies on the subject's inability or unreadiness fully to confront the consequences of its desire: the price of happiness is that the subject remains stuck in the inconsistency of desire. In our daily lives we (pretend to) desire things that we do not really desire, so that, ultimately, the worst thing that can happen is for us to get what we “officially” desire. Happiness is thus inherently hypocritical: it is the happiness of dreaming about things we do not really want.
Now this is, indeed, an intriguing understanding of happiness and desire, and one that, I believe, fits well with the role that happiness and desire play in a consumer society that is driven to consume ever more.
However, things get even more intriguing when Zizek goes on to illustrate his point by talking about “radical” academics. This is what he says:
When, for example, “radical” academics demand full rights for immigrants and the opening of borders to them, are they aware that the direct implementation of this demand would, for obvious reasons, inundate the developed Western countries with millions of newcomers, thus provoking a violent racist working-class backlash that would then endanger the privileged position of these very academics? Of course they are, but they count on the fact that their demand will not be met—in this way, they can hypocritically retain their clear radical conscience while continuing to enjoy their privileged position…
“Let's be realistic: we, the academic Left, want to appear critical, while fully enjoying the privileges the system offers us. So let's bombard the system with impossible demands: we all know that such demands won't be met, so we can be sure that nothing will actually change, and we'll maintain our privileged status quo!” (all quotations are from The Puppet and the Dwarf: The Perverse Core of Christianity, 43-44.)
Not only the “academic Left” needs to heed these words. All those who would consider themselves “counter-cultural,” and especially those within the “social justice” oriented streams of Christianity, need to pay attention to Zizek at this point. Take, for example, the popularity of the “MakePovertyHistory” campaign, or, for that matter, the smaller, and seemingly more challenging, “Make Affluence History” campaign. It seems to me that most of those who support these campaigns are simply raising “impossible demands” and thereby actually maintaining their “privileged positions” both in our national and our global contexts. Why do I think this? Because, by and large, those who support these campaigns are living lives that look no different than the lives of those around them. As far as I can tell, the only way that one can only honestly (i.e. without hypocrisy) participate in these campaigns is by doing what Jesus advised: “If you wish to be complete, go and sell your possessions and give to the poor… and come, follow me” (Mt 19.21).
The more recent “Red” campaign is, perhaps, an even more obvious example, supported as it as by the likes of Bono and Oprah. Here we have two extremely affluent people, who have both been noted for their superfluous consumption at various times, acting as moral guides and telling us that the way to respond to the lack that defines the lives of others, is by consuming more ourselves! I find it baffling that so few people seem to find this ironic (and ironic in more ways than one!).
This is why, time and time again, the issue is not what campaigns we are supporting, what charities we are funding, or what declarations we are making. Ultimately, these issues are confronted, exposed, and perhaps resolved, in our daily lives. For example, regarding “radical” academics, I know three professors who have walked away from tenure, comfort and privilege within prestigious Academic circles. One to live and work amongst the marginalised in Vancouver's downtown eastside, another to live and work with migrant farm labourers and inmates in Washington state, and the third to live and work in an intentional community in the slums of Manila. All three have remained in some contact with the Academy but they remain on the margins there, and their situation there is one that has caused all of them a great deal of pain. These are the “radical” academics who have earned a voice into the issues raised by Zizek. That so few Christian academics are living in this way — that so few of those who teach us about things like suffering love, the way of the cross, and our mission as agents of God's new creation are living in ways like these — suggests to me that something has gone wrong within the realm of the Christian Academy.
Of course, all of this leads me back to examining my own life, and the hypocrisy that is present therein (as, I hope, it leads all of us back to examine ourselves). I would be lying to suggest that my daily living has attained to the level of expectation that I impose in my rhetoric. However, I find hope in the fact that my life is increasingly resembling those expectations. That is to say, I hope that I am pursuing a trajectory that leads me to a place of speaking and living honestly in relationship to these things. Am I there yet? No. Have I begun to travel there? Yes. What saddens me is that few Christians are intent on following that trajectory to the end. Instead, what we like to do is take a few steps down that road (perhaps a few more steps than those around us) and then we settle down and pat ourselves on the back and call one another “radicals.” Let's be honest: giving to charity is not radical, opening a drop-in in our churches is not radical, moving into poor neighbourhoods is not radical — all of these things are baby-steps on a journey that takes a lifetime to complete. (Indeed, I suspect that the only time we will be certain of our “radical-ness” will be when we find ourselves nailed to crosses — and at that point it won't matter anyway, and will likely be the furthest thing from our minds.)
Engaging the Criminal Justice System: Anarchy, Order, & the Church
What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside? God will judge those outside…
If any of you has a dispute with another, dare he take it before the ungodly for judgment instead of before the saints? Do you not know that the saints will judge the world? And if you are to judge the world, are you not competent to judge trivial cases? Do you not know that we will judge angels? How much more the things of this life! Therefore, if you have disputes about such matters, appoint as judges even men of little account in the church! I say this to shame you. Is it possible that there is nobody among you wise enough to judge a dispute between believers? But instead, one brother goes to law against another — and this in front of unbelievers!
The very fact that you have lawsuits among you means you have been completely defeated already. Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be cheated?
~ Paul the Apostle, 1 Cor 5.12-13a, 6.1-7.
Now my hypothesis is not so much that the court is the natural expression of popular justice, but rather that its historical function is to ensnare [popular justice], to control it and strangle it, by re-inscribing it within institutions which are typical of state apparatus… Popular justice recognises in the judicial system a state apparatus, representative of public authority, and instrument of state power… This is why the revolution can only take place via the radical elimination of the judicial apparatus.
~ Michel Foucault, “On Popular Justice: A Discussion with Maoists” in Power/Knowledge.
In my efforts to journey alongside of, and in solidarity with, those on the margins of our society I have increasingly wondered about the extent of interaction that I should have with the criminal justice system (I have three power-elements in mind here: the police, the law courts, and the prisons; these are the militant, the judicial, and the penal power-elements of “justice” as it is enforced in our society). Increasingly, I am uncomfortable with any sort of appeal to these power-elements. This is so for several reasons.
First, I have seen innumerable physical and emotional scars caused by rampant “abuses of power” committed by police officers, court officials, and prison guards, and this has led me to the conclusion that acts of brutality, dishonesty, and violence are not abuses of power within this system, but are natural expressions of power within this system. That is to say, I now no longer believe that such actions are “freak” occurrences, extrinsic to the system; rather, I believe that they are inherent to the system and intrinsically linked to all three of these power-elements (thus, the true “freak” occurrences are when rare officers, officials, and guards are able to not engage in these violent practices).
Secondly, I have also been convinced by those, like Foucault, who argue that all three of these power-elements are fundamentally compromised and exist in order to serve the interests of the privileged few, over against the disadvantaged many. The problem that exists within these power-elements isn't simply the impact of power upon individual people; rather the problem is much deeper and rooted in the law itself. Our legislations, our laws, our rules, and our concepts of “justice” and “equality under the law” actually mask a deeper injustice and a deeper inequality that are operating through all of these things. What do laws of private property and public decency tell us? That both the rich and the poor cannot steal to survive; that both those with homes and those who are homeless cannot sleep in bus shelters; that both the employed and the unemployed cannot wash windshields at intersections to try and earn some change. And so we see how “equal rights” and “justice” operate in our society.
Thirdly, I am similarly convinced that these power-elements also fail to operate in the way in which they promise us that they will operate. The criminal justice system promises the general public order and safety, and it premises its punitive measures upon the rehabilitation of the criminal. However, in actuality it makes us less safe, not only because it exercises its power over us in an abusive manner, but also because it only entrenches criminals in their criminality. Indeed, despite all the promises to the contrary, Foucault argues that this is precisely what the criminal justice system sets out to accomplish. Rather than “rehabilitating” criminals, the judicial and penal systems justify the militant system by ensuring that criminals can only remain as criminals. Thus Foucault argues:
At the end of the eighteenth century, people dreamed of a society without crime. And then the dream evaporated. Crime was too useful for them to dream of anything as crazy — or ultimately as dangerous — as a society without crime. No crime meant no police. What makes the presence and control of the police tolerable to the population, if not fear of the criminal? This institution of the police, which is so recent and so oppressive, is only justified by that fear. If we accept the presence in our midst of these uniformed men, who have the exclusive right to carry arms, who demand our papers, who come and prowl on our doorsteps, how would any of this be possible if there were no criminals? ( from “Prison Talk” in Power/Knowledge)
Therefore, maintaining criminals as criminals is one of the major ways in which the privileged few, who control the criminal justice system, are able to divide the disadvantaged masses and make the majority adopt agendas that actually run counter to their best interest.
Consequently, with these three points in mind, my discomfort with appealing to any of these power-elements should now be understandable. To call the police because I have been assaulted, to press legal charges because I have been robbed, to initiate a process that ends with a person sent to jail — doing any or all of these things is the equivalent of surrendering a person from the margins to power-elements that are bent on the destruction of that person. Furthermore, it is difficult (impossible?) to see how such an action can be construed of as an act of solidarity with those on the margins; rather, such an action more often (always?) betrays the extent to which my solidarity is merely rhetorical and not actual.
Therefore, if our first response should not be an appeal to the police, the courts, and the prisons, how should we respond to personal experiences of violence, or theft, or other criminal acts?
Well, as Christians, we may want to begin by taking the Sermon on the Mount seriously. When struck, we can turn the other cheek (rather then striking back with the “long arm of the law”). When sued for our tunics, we can give our coats as well (rather than counter-suing in order to get back what “belongs” to us… plus a little more for damages incurred). When someone asks for something from us, we can give it to them (rather than focusing on that to which I am legally entitled). And when we encounter those who would make themselves our enemies, we can respond with love (rather than responding by seeking their imprisonment).
However, and this is where the opening quotation from 1 Cor 5-6 comes into play, Christians will only be able to spontaneously respond in this way in the public sphere, if they have previously learned to respond this way to their brothers and sisters in the Christian sphere. Consequently, rather than viewing the three power-elements of the criminal justice system as authoritative, Christians must view the Church (the Christian community) as authoritative. It is the Church, not the criminal justice system, that must define “justice” and “equality.” Our natural inclination must not be to appeal to the power-elements of the criminal justice system, our natural inclination must be to appeal to the Church — and this means that we must undergo some distancing from all other power-elements that seek to act as authorities over us. If Christians do not act in this way, if they persist in seeing the criminal justice system as the authority over their lives, then, as Paul asserts, we have already been completely defeated.
Furthermore, I believe that Paul might well be alluding to the Sermon on the Mount when he concludes by asking “Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be cheated?” Indeed, at this point I believe that Paul is not only concluding his reflections on law-suits in the Christian community (6.1-6), I believe that he is also concluding his reflections on how to respond to those outside of the Christian community as well (1 Cor 5.9-13).
But wait, some may object here, doesn't this argument lead us to anarchy?
Certainly the privileged few, who run the State, would want us to see anarchy as the only alternative to the power-elements imposed by the State. Anarchy, the collapse of order, is always the great enemy and the great justifier of State power — granted that power may be less than perfect but, so the argument goes, it is better than the alternative. However, as William Stringfellow shows us (cf. Conscience and Obedience), the State's claim to order is illusory. In fact, violence, war, and an increase in chaos, are intrinsic to the project of the State. The “order” imposed by the State actually results in precisely the things that the State projects onto anarchy.
Consequently, we are now in a place where we can understand Pierre-Joseph Proudhon's in/famous assertion that “Anarchy is Order.” When the “order” of our day is a mask for chaos, we have no choice but to be anarchists. However, precisely because Christian-anarchy takes place within the Church, as an element of the Church, I believe we are in a position to follow Jurgen Moltmann's line of thinking when he stated, in response to Ernst Bloch, that “only a Christian can make a good atheist.” I would like to conclude by suggesting that only a Christian can make a good anarchist.
Baudrillard and Christian Universalism: Freedom, Choice, Liberation, Martyrdom
No object is proposed to the consumer as a single variety… what our industrial society always offer us 'a priori', as a kind of collective grace and as a mark of a formal freedom, is choice. This availability of the object is the foundation of 'personalization': only if the buyer is offered a whole range of choices can he transcend the strict necessity of his purchase and commit himself personally to something beyond it. Indeed, we no longer even have the option of not choosing… Our freedom to choose causes us to participate in a cultural system willy-nilly. It follows that the choice in question is a specious one: to experience it as freedom is simply to be less sensible of the fact that it is imposed upon us as such, and that through it society as a whole is likewise imposed upon us… Clearly 'personalization', far from being a mere advertising ploy, is actually a basic ideological concept of a society which 'personalizes' objects and beliefs in order to integrate persons more effectively.
~ Jean Baudrillard, The System of Objects, 151-52.
There is much that I find worthwhile in this quotation from Baudrillard but, given some of the ongoing discussion about Christian universalism, I was especially struck by what Baudrillard had to say about choice. Let me explain the connection.
D. W. Congdon has continually contributed to the discussion of Christian universalism on his blog and Ann Chapin, a commentator on a recent post (cf. http://fireandrose.blogspot.com/2007/07/paul-among-evangelicals-1-problem.html), asked what I (and others, apparently) believe to be a central question to this discussion. This was her question:
“Is part of the problem equating the experience of choice with real freedom?”
This question is, of course, raised in light of the general Christian view that our salvation is somehow connected to our own choices. Thus, those who hold to this view accuse Christian universalists of negating human freedom. In this way “real freedom” is equated with the “experience of choice.”
This, then, is where a cross-reference to the above quotation from Baudrillard begins to make things much more interesting. Essentially, what Baudrillard suggests is this: if we equate freedom with choice, then we lose our ability to recognise that which actually enslaves us, and our choice-making both confirms and deepens our bondage, regardless of what we choose.
This perspective on freedom and choice also sheds light on another traditional Christian assertion — the assertion that true freedom is found in obedience to God. However, before we assert this too hastily, we must ask ourselves the following question: if freedom is not to be equated with choice, how can it be equated with obedience? After all, many who are forced to obey, would understand that obedience as slavery — as just another form of bondage. And they would usually be correct in that understanding. After all, the notion of “freedom in obedience” has been continually applied by dictators, and totalitarian powers (remember, “arbeit macht frei” hung over the gates of a number of Nazi concentration camps).
We are thus confronted with the following question: if freedom is not found in choice, when, or how, is freedom found in obedience?
The key to answering this question is recognising that freedom comes to us as a gift given in two movements. As far as I can tell, the bible presents a picture of a world, and a people, who are in bondage. Although people can choose this, that, or the other thing (and they do choose pretty much all of the above during the course of the biblical narrative), it is clear that humanity is not free — it is enslaved to sin and death, and to all the spiritual and material forces that are in the service of these two great powers. However, there is good news: the hold of these powers is forever shattered by the Christ-event and the dawning of the new age. In the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, the bondage of humanity — and of creation — is shattered, and, in the out-pouring of the eschatological Spirit, freedom is given as God's free gift to humanity. As Paul says, “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free” (Gal 5), and again, “The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace; the sinful mind is hostile to God. It does not submit to God's law, nor can it do so. Those controlled by the sinful nature cannot please God. You, however, are controlled not by the sinful nature but by the Spirit, if the Spirit of God lives in you” (Ro 8). This is the first movement in God's giving of the gift of freedom and it is the movement in which we now live. Here we see that freedom is understood as liberation, not choice.
We are, however, still awaiting the second movement. Because we live in the “now-and-not-yet” of the kingdom of God, because we embrace an inaugurated but not yet consummated eschatology, the freedom that we experience now is only a partial freedom. Although we have been liberated from bondage to sin and death, we still suffer at their hands (and at the hands of their spiritual and material associates). Thus, Paul also says “We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved” (Ro 8, again). The first movement is only the “firstfruits”; the second movement is the consummation. The second movement is the final act of liberation that will be accomplished when Christ returns and puts a final and total end to sin, death, and their lackeys; and it is the coming of God to heal all wounds, to dry all tears, to make all things new, and to become “all in all” (1 Cor 15).
Consequently, we can now see that Christian universalism does not negate human freedom; rather, it recognises that all freedom is a gift from God; it recognises human freedom as liberation from bondage to sin and death, and believes that God will one day finalise this liberation by completely destroying the powers of sin and of death, thereby setting us all free.
In this way, we also come to see how freedom is found in obedience. Obedience is simply living as those who have been so liberated. Obedience is remembering the first movement in God's giving of the gift of freedom and proleptically anticipating the second movement. Obedience is standing firm and refusing to “be burdened again by a yoke of slavery”( Gal 5, again). This is why the martyrs — those who are chained, tortured, and killed — are the greatest signs of freedom in the world; wholly deprived of choice, they become holy witnesses to the gift of liberation found in Christ.
In conclusion, it is worth remembering Baudrillard's argument one more time. If a focus on choice simply masks that which keeps us in bondage, one cannot help but wonder if there is some sort of bondage at work in the argument of those Christians who wish to equate freedom with choice. I suspect that there is. By linking freedom to choice, freedom moves from the theological to the anthropological — freedom, from this perspective, is simply part of who we already are, and who we always were, as humans. Such a way of thinking inevitably makes us the agents of our own salvation. However, because we cannot save ourselves, such a way of thinking ends up leading us back into bondage. Thankfully the God who has saved us and who will save us, liberates us from all forms of bondage, even forms currently imposed by poor theology!
Review: "Jesus of Nazareth" by Joseph Ratzinger
I had originally planned to include this review in a post on my “July Books” but, given its length, I thought I would post this separately. This review, like all my reviews, doesn’t claim to be comprehensive (or even adequate).
Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfiguration by Joseph Ratzinger/Pope Benedict XVI (part one of a two volume series).
If I were to boil this review down to one sentence, I would say this: what Ratzinger has always gotten wrong, he continues to get wrong, and what he gets right has been done much better elsewhere. (To be honest, I can’t help but wonder if this book was such a big hit simply because most people haven’t read anything at all about the “historical Jesus” — a term I need to put into quotes, given that Ratzinger’s criteria for historicity are different than those generally accepted by Jesus scholars.) Of course, there is a two-edged sword to all of this. Because he is the current Pope, Ratzinger is guaranteed a much larger audience than pretty much all other Jesus scholars. So, even if what he gets right has been better explored and expressed elsewhere, chances are many of those who read this book wouldn’t bother reading any of the other (better) volumes on Jesus, and in this way Ratzinger’s book accomplishes some good. The problem with this is that this larger audience is also just as likely to swallow all of Ratzinger’s mistakes because they are not reading any of the other (better) volumes on Jesus.
So what was good about this book? First, Ratzinger’s ongoing emphasis on Jesus as the prophet that is like Moses and greater than Moses is excellent. This is really the leitmotif of the book — Jesus is the prophet who sees God face-to-face (whereas Moses only saw God’s back) and Jesus therefore makes God and God’s word known to us. Indeed, Ratzinger pushes this idea to its end-point, asserting that Jesus sees God face-to-face because he himself is God — the divine Son of the Father — and thus, as God, he himself is the fullest revelation of God. This, I think, will cause a bit of an uproar amongst historical Jesus scholars, even though, conversely, I think that this is also a major part of the reason why this book has been so praised in Christian circles (especially since other Christian Jesus scholars — even ‘evangelicals’ like Tom Wright — have been much more circumspect in how they have approached the issue of Jesus’ divinity). The scholars will argue that Ratzinger has imported “confession” into “history,” and they may be right (however, I wonder if all our attempts at doing history are confessional!). Regardless of the divinity debate, I found Ratzinger’s ongoing Moses/Jesus comparison to be insightful and worthwhile.
Secondly, I appreciated the way in which Ratzinger included the Gospel of John in his study of the historical Jesus. Most studies focus entirely on the Synoptics and reject John’s Gospel from the get-go, seeing it as a theological, and not an historical, portrait of Jesus. Similarly, Johannine scholars tend to neglect or ignore the Synoptics. I like the idea of reading the two together and bringing them into a much closer dialogue than they generally receive.
Thirdly, many of Ratzinger’s topical reflections on things like prayer, forgiveness, and suffering are quite insightful, and well-written. There is much of substance and much that is good to be found here.
So, what got me so frustrated while reading this book? First, I was very annoyed by Ratzinger’s incredibly shallow portrait of Marxism (this has always been one of his faults). in his discussion of Jesus’ first temptation in the wilderness (“turn stones into bread!”), Ratzinger argues that this is the core of Marxism’s promise of salvation — that no one should go hungry; that all should have bread. This, Ratzinger argues, ends up placing our focus on the wrong thing (i.e. one should focus on God who supplies us with bread that we should share with one another) and so “the result is not justice or concern for human suffering. The result is rather ruin and destruction even of material goods themselves.” The problem here is that Ratzinger is painting all Marxists with the same brush. To assert that all Marxism results in ruin, destruction, and the absence of concern for human suffering is about as absurd as asserting that all Christianity results in patriarchy, colonialism, and homophobia. Sure, some strands of Marxism ended disastrously (like the strands found in much of Eastern Europe) but other strands were destroyed before they had a chance to flourish (i.e. the reason why most of the strands of Marxism and socialism in Latin America resulted in ruin and destruction was because they were destroyed by fascist and totalitarian forces that were armed, funded, and protected by Western democratic States and their business interests). The fact is, there is much that we can learn from Marxism, and few other political philosophies exhibit the concern for human suffering that is found in Marxism.
Ratzinger’s reductionistic understanding of Marxism leads him to make absurd comments. For example, when commenting on the appeal for God’s kingdom to come (in the Lord’s Prayer), he writes the following:
This is not an automatic formula for a well-functioning world, not a utopian vision of a classless society in which everything works out well of its own accord, simply because there is no private property. Jesus does not give us such simple recipes.
Well, Marxism, socialism, and anarchism, also don’t give us such simple recipes. That Ratzinger thinks he can present such a caricature (in my line of work we would call this a “cheap shot”) as a real picture of any of these movements is ridiculous. That Christians reading this book might be nodding their heads to all this just shows how ignorant we are.
Secondly, I was bothered by Ratzinger’s seemingly arbitrary selection of passages to highlight or neglect. Of course, I use the word “arbitrarily” to suggest that Ratzinger has no good historical or textual reason to pick and choose passages the way that he does; Ratzinger’s choices seem to be motivated by an underlying ideology. Consequently, in his discussion on the “good news” proclaimed by Jesus — the good news that “the kingdom of God is at hand” — he focuses on inaugural passages in Mark (Mk 1.14-15) and in Matthew (Mt 4.23, 9.35) but completely neglects Jesus’ inaugural speech in Luke (Lk 4.14-20) which is full of socio-political language and implications, and chooses to skip on to Jesus’ much more enigmatic statement in Lk 17.20-21. Why does Ratzinger neglect Lk 4? Probably because it does not fit as comfortably with the highly Christological understanding he applies to the kingdom, and because it seems to support a political application of religion — just the sort of application that Ratzinger opposes and calls “utopian dreaming without an real content.”
Thirdly, Ratzinger’s apolitical (i.e. conservative) and anti-material stance continues to surface in his exegesis of the passages that he does select. Thus, he makes it clear that the poverty that is praised in the Sermon on the Mount is not for everyone, but is for the “great ascetics” who are called to “radicalism” as they journey alongside of the Church (i.e. the important thing is not for you to be poor but for you to have a friend that is poor). Thus, he makes sure to emphasise the the Sermon on the Mount is “not a social program” and goes on to say that “discipleship of Jesus offers no politically concrete program for structuring society. The Sermon on the Mount cannot serve as a foundation for a state and a social order.” Of course, on the one hand, Ratzinger is correct to question the idea of a State imposing the Sermon on the Mount as a social program for society (lest we go down the road of Christendom). However, on the other hand, what Ratzinger altogether misses, or fails to mention, is that the Sermon on the Mount is precisely the social program of an alternate social order — the Church. Instead of grasping this point, Ratzinger prefers to go the road of Christian conservatism and thus he asserts: “The concrete political and social order is released from the directly sacred realm, from theocratic legislation, and is transferred to the freedom of man.” In this way, he continues to push the old divide between “Church” and “State” — a divide that inevitably leads to the defeat of the Church. What Ratzinger fails to realise is that his apolitical theology is really a conservative political theology and so he contradicts himself when he argues that: “political theologies… theologize one particular formula in a way that contradicts the novelty and breadth of Jesus’ message.” What Ratzinger is really saying here is that “political theologies” (i.e. liberation theologies) contradict the conservative political theology that he has attached to Jesus. Consequently, when Ratzinger concludes that “Jesus stands before us neither as a rebel nor as a liberal” one can’t help but wonder: but does Jesus stand before us as a conservative? Why bracket out those two political categories and not this third one as well?
Indeed, it is the opposition to liberation theology that I suspect underlies Ratzinger’s comments on the fact that the Apostles are commissioned to preach, excorcise demons, and heal the sick (Mt 10.1). Ratzinger rushes to make it known that healing is “a subordinate element within the overall range of [Jesus’] activity, which is concerned with something deeper, with nothing less than the ‘Kingdom of God’: his becoming Lord in us and in the world.” Why healing is necessarily subordinated, why healing seems to have nothing to do with the Kingdom of God, with Jesus becoming Lord, I don’t know. At this point, Ratzinger is performing eisegesis, not exegesis.
Ratzinger’s conservatism also comes through in the reassurance he provides the reader by taking the edge off of Jesus’ more “radical” statements. Thus, while discussing the passages wherein Jesus assaults the traditional family unit (passages where Jesus calls his followers to “hate” their parents, to abandon their families, and to redefine their families around those who follow him), Ratzinger begins his discussion by quoting Ex 20.12 (“Honour your father and mother”) and quickly goes on to assure us that “from her very inception, the Church that emerged and continues to emerge, has attached fundamental importance to defending the family as the core of all social order.” Somehow, Ratzinger puts a “family values” spin on Jesus’ statements.
Furthermore, Raztinger’s conservatism also leads him, in his discussion of the “Our Father,” to reject the idea of referring to God as “Mother.” “Mother,” he argues, is used sometimes as an image for God in the bible, but never is it used as a title. The language of Father “was and is” far more appropriate to the biblical context and so he concludes: “the prayer language of the entire Bible remains normative for us.” Such a conclusion, from Ratzinger, is not surprising, even if it is disappointing. After all, this is the man who accused feminism of “imposing an ideology of gender” onto God, never realising the ways in which the patriarchal structure and theology of Roman Catholicism have already imposed an ideology of gender onto God (cf. http://poserorprophet.livejournal.com/27191.html for further comments on that).
Fourthly, I was somewhat bothered by Ratzinger’s ever-present Christological focus. It seems that everything Jesus did, or said, was really all about Jesus. Hence, as I mentioned above, talk of the kingdom of God is overwhelmingly Christological. Furthermore, all of the parables are to be understood Christologically — they are “hidden and multilayered invitations to faith in Jesus”! Such an understanding of the kingdom, and of the parables, is too simplistic, too reductionistic. Sure, Christ is an element of these things, and often plays an important, even central, role in them, but there is more to them than that. Some parables are really about Israel (the parable of the vineyard’s wicked tenants) some parables are about the imminent fall of Jerusalem (the parable of the of the green tree that becomes dry) some parables are about the return from exile (the parable of the prodigal son), and so on and so forth. As for the kingdom, well, sometimes the kingdom really does come in feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and healing the sick.
Finally, I also don’t think that Ratzinger spends enough time addressing, or wrestling with, the Jewishness of Jesus. Because he relies so much on the Christian tradition, and even John’s Gospel, he never really asks the question of how Jesus’ divinity can be placed within first-century Jewish monotheism. Furthermore, in his chapter on Jesus’ identity wherein he explores “three fundamental titles” (Christ, Lord, Son) he only devotes one paragraph to the first title — the most Jewish title — because it “ceased to function as a title and was joined with the name of Jesus… therein lies a deeper message: He is completely one with his office.” Now that’s all well and good, as far as it goes; it just doesn’t go very far, and leaves us with many unanswered questions.
So what do we get from all this? A half decent book about Jesus. Not great, not terrible, just so-so. There are some very stimulating passages but, not surprisingly, Ratzinger has also used this book to grind some old axes. His book about Jesus also becomes a part of his ongoing attack on anything hinting of marxism, socialism, feminism, or liberation theology.
Men and the "Naturalness" of Lust (a rant)
I recently spent a week visiting a friend who was house-sitting for a family from her church and I noticed a copy of Every Young Man’s Battle: Strategies for Victory in the Real World of Sexual Temptation on one of the bookshelves. Given the popularity of the “Every Man’s Battle” movement in Evangelical circles I thought I’d take a look at it to see what all the fuss was about. So, over the course of the week, I skimmed my way through the whole book.
What a complete waste of time. Every Young Man’s Battle is absolute drivel that, at times, drifted into insanity (for example, as proof of the dangers of watching what basically amounted to anything other than a Disney Cartoon, the authors share a “testimony” from a fellow who gave into the temptation to look at more explicit things. This fellow ends up watching TV with his sister-in-law one night, and she falls asleep laying on the floor in front of the TV… wearing a pair of short shorts. So what does this guy, who has already “opened himself to temptation,” end up doing? He masturbates right then and there while looking at his sister-in-law’s ass! Let me be clear: this is not the result of watching movies that are rated PG-13, hell, it’s not even the result of flipping through a dirty magazine — this guy needs serious professional help, and cutting down on his TV and movies isn’t going to do the trick. The fact that the authors suggest that there is a natural progression from watching such movies to lusting uncontrollably after family members is nuts — and the fact that so many Evangelicals are probably nodding their heads as they read through this is just as nuts). How is it that so many awful books end up becoming so popular with Christians? Just look at the reviews that this book got at amazon.com (and don’t get me started on things like The Prayer of Jabez or the Left Behind series!).
However, the thing that probably upset me the most from my skim through this book was found in the Section entitled “How We Got Here” in the Chapter entitled “Just By Being Male.” Basically this chapter argues that the reason why so many Christian men struggle with sexual issues is because it is natural for men to struggle with those things — it is a part of their maleness. Now, this argument is pretty common in Christian circles (even beyond Evangelical circles) and it’s about time we did away with it.
You see, struggling with sexual issues is not just part of being male. “Lust” is not an ontological issue, it is a cultural one — it is not related to our being, but to the way in which we are shaped and formed by our society. The truth is that there have been cultures where lust and sexually related crimes hardly existed at all. I think, for example, of the early encounters of Christian missionaries with some of the tribes in the South Pacific. Very little, if any, clothes were worn by the members of these tribes but people were not viewed as objects to be lusted after, and so things like sexual crimes were basically nonexistent. It was only after the missionaries began demanding that these people wear clothes — thereby imposing the idea that the female body is ever always an object of male lust — that sexual crimes came into being.
Indeed, there still are cultures today where lust is, by and large, not an issue. I think of the experiences of a woman I know who has spent several years living in the United Arab Emirates. One of the things that has most impressed her there is the fact that the men have never made her feel like they were seeing her, or treating her, as a sexual object. Far from it, she has feels like she has been treated with respect by all the men she has met there.
Therefore, we need to realise that the reason why lust seems so universal in men (Christian or otherwise) in our society is because we are culturally conditioned to view women as sexual objects — as objects that exist for the gratification of whatever desires men might have. This has nothing to do with the nature of masculinity, and a lot to do with patriarchy, advertising, and capitalism. Thus, to argue that such a “battle” is “natural,” is to simply reinforce the structures that perpetuate the sexual objectification of women. Basically, Christian men are fighting the wrong battle. Instead of learning how to deal with something that is said to be a part of who they are as men, they need to learn how to resist the Powers that have led them to believe that something so unnatural is natural.
Furthermore, when we learn that this is a cultural battle, we also realise that this popular way of thinking continues to be a veiled excuse for the way in which men sexually objectify women. When we deny the “naturalness” of this perspective, we set a necessarily higher standard for ourselves. One way leads us to say “This is just a part of who I am and so I’ve got to keep struggling with it” whereas the second way says, “This is not a part of who you are so you better get to a place where you don’t struggle with it.” (Of course, if Christian men are to get to a place where they don’t struggle with these things then the Church needs to learn to reform our desires in a way that overcomes the Powers of patriarchy, advertising, and capitalism.)
Finally, what also upsets me about this way of thinking is that it is so androcentric. It presents men as the casualties in this war — it is the purity of the male mind that is at stake. However, in reality, it is the wholeness of the female person that is most at stake, and it is usually the female body that pays the greatest, and most painful, price in all of this. Consequently, I have learned that encounters with women who have found the strength to share their stories — stories of the ways in which the have suffered because of the lust of men — are the most effective way of transforming the way in which Christian men relate to women. Unfortunately, for as long as we see our lust as “natural” we guarantee that such stories will not be shared with us. Such a way of thinking marks us as an unsafe audience — who wants to talk about being raped with a fellow who thinks that the desire to rape is a natural part of being a man? And so, even though one out of every three women in North America has been sexually assaulted, most Christian men don’t seem to know any who have been.
Heidegger & Baudrillard: Functionality, Desirability, Capitalism, & Self-Worth
I have spent a good deal of time recently considering the ways in which capitalism disciplines our desire and those reflections are the spring-board for my thoughts here.
Because capitalism is based upon a system of ever-increasing consumption, it leads us into a world where everything can be consumed. Everything can now be sold and bought. Consequently, everything, if marketed properly, can become an object of desire (since it is some form of desire that undergirds all of our consumption).
Martin Heidegger once made similar comments about the impact of technology upon the world (cf. The Question Concerning Technology). Heidegger argued that technology is far more than a mere tool used by people to accomplish certain tasks. Technology is actually a means of revelation (an “enframing”) that shapes how we see and understand the world. And the problem with technology is that it causes us to see things only in terms of their usefulness as means to certain ends (everything becomes a “standing-reserve”). Consequently, George Grant concludes that it is now impossible for us to apprehend this world as other than a “field of objects considered as pragmata” (cf. In Defense of America). Similarly, Albert Borgmann concludes that we have transformed meaningful things into commodities (cf. Technology and the Character of Contemporary Life). Things do not have any sort of transcendent being or inherent meaning, they are only meaningful to the extent that they can be used or consumed.
Heidegger, Grant, and Borgmann all argue that usefulness, that functionality, becomes the all-determining factor in how we see the world of objects around us. Jean Baudrillard takes this way of thinking and pushes it to its necessary conclusion: not only objects but “things” like space, colour, time, forms, materials, and designs are all incorporated into the “functional system” that has come to dominate our world-view (cf. The System of Objects).
However, Baudrillard then goes on to diverge from Heidegger & Co. in a significant way. Rather than defining “functionality” as “usefulness” or as something “goal-oriented,” Baudrillard argues that “functionality” is simply the ability to become integrated into this functional system. Hence, he argues that:
An object's functionality is the ability to become integrated into an overall scheme. An object's functionality is the very thing that enables it to transcend its main 'function' in the direction of a secondary one, to play a part, to become a combining element, an adjustable item, within a universal system of signs.
This, then, leads us back to my initial comments on capitalism. How so? Because I believe that it is capitalism that governs the “functional” system that is envisioned by Heidegger, and most fully described by Baudrillard. To slightly revise Baudrillard's words: An object's functionality is the ability to become integrated into the scheme of capitalism. Therefore, it is the dollar-value that capitalism puts on everything that becomes the “secondary function” — which is really the most important function — of everything. Consequently, capitalism believes that everything is useful to the extent that it can be sold and bought. Functionality is all about consumability. And consumability, as I suggested at the beginning of this post, is all about desirability — which is why capitalism spends so much time teaching us how to desire (i.e. desire without end), and what to desire (i.e. anything that it wants to sell us).
That this way of thinking has become so ingrained within us becomes obvious when we consider the ways in which our attitudes towards ourselves, and other people, is dictated by desirability. That is to say: I am taught that I am only valuable to the extent that I am desirable. Consequently, the sort of functionality that is valued in me is either the ability to accumulate capital or the ability to become capital. I am desirable as either a consumer (just as we desire to be, or be with, the wealthy and successful businessman or woman) or as an object of consumption (just as we desire to be, or be with, the ruggedly handsome man or the beautiful woman).
Outside of that cycle of consumption I have little value — which is why our society relegates the old, the disabled, and the poor to the margins. Quite often they exist outside of this cycle and so they are considered to be without value. Furthermore, because they often participate within the same system, once they become old, disabled, or poor they also often undergo a crisis of meaning and are trapped living out lives that they feel are no longer significant.
Consequently, if we are to live Christianly in the presence of this system, we must reconsider things like functionality, desirability, capitalism, and self-worth. But more on that anon.
On Divine Vengeance
Never take your own revenge, beloved, but leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay,” says the Lord. “But if your enemy is hungry, feed him, and if he is thirsty, give him a drink; for in doing so you will heap burning coals on his head.” Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.
~ Ro 12.19-21
For awhile now, I have suspected that God claims a monopoly on vengeance because the divine implementation of vengeance might look very different than we imagine it to be.
You see, we have tended to imagine vengeance as punitive, as retributive, and, usually, as some form of violence — “an eye for an eye,” and the sort of thing prescribed in the Lex Taliones. Such an understanding of vengeance declares that the punishment must be “equal in magnitude” to the crime. Hence, the more violent the crime, the more violent the punishment. Yet what is the result of this? An ever-expanding spiral of violence.
However, Ro 12 makes it clear that Christians are not to engage in any form of vengeance. Rather than “repaying” those who wrong them, Christians are to respond with acts of mercy. Instead of ensuring a form of punishment that is equal in magnitude to the crimes committed against them, Christians are to respond with a form of grace that matches the violence of the wrongdoing. Hence, the more violent the crime, the more gracious the response of the Christian community. And what is the result of this? Evil is overcome with good.
Indeed, where this begins to become intriguing is that this is precisely the way in which Jesus overcame evil. On the cross, God declared his judgment on sinners and, behold, it was a judgment of grace and of forgiveness. On the cross, Jesus suffered at the hands of violent men, crying out, “Father, forgive them!” and evil was overcome with good.
Hence, we come to see why God claims sole ownership over vengeance. We are too inclined to see grace and vengeance as opposites. On the cross, God reveals his vengeance as grace. We tend to think that vengeance means inflicting violence on others. On the cross, God shows us that vengeance means taking violence onto ourselves. We tend to think of wrath as a destructive force. On the cross, God's wrath is revealed as God's wounded, but life-giving, love.
Which leads me back to one of my favourite biblical passages, Is 35.3-4, which goes as follows:
Strengthen the feeble hands,
steady the knees that give way;
say to those with fearful hearts,
“Be strong, do not fear;
your God will come,
he will come with vengeance;
with divine retribution
he will come to save you.”
The vengeance of God is our salvation. It is salvation for “the oppressed” and it is salvation for “the oppressor.” This, I think, is good news.
Maranatha, come quickly and save us, Lord Jesus. Amen.
Longing for a Pure Event: Or, If you are the Son of God…
[W]hat does it mean “to believe?” That would mean maintaining some kind of subjectivity as a criterion of the validity of things… What interests me instead (but can you still call this history?) is the possibility of a pure event, an event that can no longer be manipulated, interpreted, or deciphered by any historical subjectivity.
~ Jean Baudrillard, Forget Foucault, 73.
[T]he chief priests, the teachers of the law and the elders mocked [Jesus]. “He saved others,” they said, “but he can't save himself! He's the King of Israel! Let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him, for he said, 'I am the Son of God.'”
~ Mt 27.41-44.
It seems to me that a good many of the influential thinkers of the last one hundred years, when confronted with their own subjectivity, were incapable of moving beyond that subjectivity into the realm of “the real.” Granted, some felt that they could grasp the real as far as the real consisted of the elements of the natural sciences, but the reality of “truth” or “meaning” or “value” seems to be beyond their grasp. Although I am no philosopher, it seems to me that this “crisis of subjectivity” (if I can call it that) profoundly impacts the writings of many who have influenced, and continue to influence, “postmodern” thought — Wittgenstein (speaking of values is non-sensical), Lacan (Reality is always mediated by the Symbolic and the “Big Other”), Derrida (that which causes us to see is that which also blinds us), Foucault (power determines what is real), and Baudrillard (disenchantment and nihilism have led us into a world where “the name of the game remains a secret”) are all, in their own ways, caught in this crisis.
Those of us who are accustomed to assuming a less complicated and more direct access to “the real,” whether because of our removal from philosophical discussions or because of our ongoing attachment to the naivete of “enlightened” claims to objectivity, may be inclined to think that such writers are prime examples of the collapse or decline of Western thought.
However, we would be foolish to dismiss such thinkers so easily. Intelligent critiques must be confronted honestly. Furthermore, all these thinkers desire access to the real. They pursue the real, they pursue value and truth and objectivity, but, due to “the crisis of subjectivity,” they find that these things are continually beyond their grasp. Indeed, this crisis is so deep that many of them are convinced that any who now claim to have contact with the real, to have access to truth, value and objectivity, are to be treated with suspicion. All such claims are generally challenged and rather thoroughly refuted. Thus, in their longing for what Baudrillard calls “a pure event” they assail anything that claims such status and continually find that such claims are consistently “manipulated, interpreted, or deciphered” by historical subjectivities.
This pursuit of the real by attacking all those who claim direct contact with the real reminds me of the way in which the Jewish religious leaders of Jesus' day mocked him while he was being crucified. These leaders are not simply mocking Jesus because of their cold-heartedness. Rather, their “mockery” is also an appeal to Jesus (I forget who first introduced this idea to me, perhaps it was N. Elliott). In this regard, this “mockery” is the religious leaders' final appeal for “a sign” that will confirm his Messianic status (cf. Mt 12.38-45). Because, in actuality, they probably do want Jesus to save himself, they probably do want Jesus to come down from his cross, because they too are probably longing for a Messiah who can overcome the crucifying power of Rome. By crying, “He trusts in God! Let God now save him!” they are also saying, “We trust in God! Let God now save us!” And so, even as they crucify Jesus, they are disappointed that another so-called “Messiah” has come and gone and they are still not free.
It is interesting to juxtapose the position of these religious leaders with the position taken by the contemporary thinkers mentioned above. The religious thinkers long for “a sign” in the same way in which Baudrillard longs for a “pure event.” Further, just as the leaders' longing for that sign leads them to crucify Jesus, so also our thinkers' longing for the pure event leads them to attack all claims of truth, value, objectivity, and contact with the real. Both refuse to accept anything less than that which has been denied to us and so both become transformed into death-dealing forms of life-seeking.
So how are we Christians, as those who insist on some contact with reality, some sort of objectivity, and some understanding of truth and value, to respond to these things?
First of all, we cannot respond by arguing that any sort of irrefutable sign, or pure event, has occurred. If the advent and the resurrection of the Son of God was open to manipulation and interpretation even during Jesus' lifetime then we cannot claim revelation as the sort of universally binding pure event for which so many are longing. Of course, I would be inclined to believe that God's direct and unmediated revelations of Godself to small groups or individual persons — like Jesus' appearance to Thomas and the twelve after the resurrection, or his appearance to Paul on the road to Damascus — function as a “pure event” to those involved, but there is no way that that encounter can be offered, or reproduced, as a “pure event” to those who were not a part of that encounter as it occurred. Consequently, from a Christian perspective, only the parousia of Jesus and the final coming of God can function as the hoped for pure event of which we have been speaking here. Thus, such a universally applicable pure event really does not belong to the realm of “history” (Baudrillard is right to wonder about this). Rather, it belongs to the consummation of “history” as we know it.
Therefore, it really does appear as though we are trapped with a hold on reality that is subjectively influenced. However, rather than rejecting such a hold on reality (which I believe is at least some sort of tangible hold — even if it is a small one — and not simply a picture or simulacrum of reality) we must walk the path between objectivity and subjectivity. I think that critical realism shows us the way here. Critical realism reminds us that both those who claim total objectivity and those who claim total subjectivity tend to crucify others.
However, there is nothing about critical realism that makes it any more convincing (or any more of a “sign” or “pure event”) than that which is offered to us by nihilism or critical anti-realism. Consequently, we really do seem to be in the situation that Lyotard has described for us: we all belong to our small tribes, we all ascribe to our “small narratives” and our own understandings of truth, value, and meaning (or the lack thereof), and there is no way for us to posit one of these approaches as the approach for all of us. The quest for a system that will provide us with universal assent and certainty has failed, and we have awakened to the realization that we all live in the absence of total certainty. I have addressed this situation several times before on my blog, so now I will only mention that such a crisis of the word (which is both a crisis of the meaning of the word, and a crisis of the communication of the word) inexorably draws us to the issue of embodiment and performativity (an issue that has been well addressed by the likes of von Balthasar, Lindbeck, and, more recently, Vanhoozer). Of course, performance does not become the new means of producing certainty (as if our lives can be the pure event that Jesus' life never was!) but it can, perhaps, tip the scales. After all, it is worth remembering the following words from Dorothy Day:
We had a mad friend once, a Jewish worker from the East Side… He sat at the table with us once and held up the piece of dark bread which he was eating. “It is the black bread of the poor. It is Russian Jewish bread. It is the flesh of Lenin. Lenin held bread up to the people and he said, 'This is my body, broken for you.' So they worship Lenin. He brought them bread.”
Those of us who pray daily for bread, and who break bread together in communities where no one should have too much or too little, would do well to think on this.
Clothe the Naked
What the fuck are you laughing at? Hey? What the fuck? How about I cut those smiles off of your faces, then we'll see if you're still laughing.
This, or roughly this, was what a working girl was yelling at what appeared to be a group of Christian young people on some sort of tour of my neighbourhood. I know this because I was walking behind her when she was yelling at the group — and because I wanted to say the same thing to them.
Because they were laughing at a naked woman.
A naked woman at Main and Hastings, the busiest corner in the neighbourhood, trying to walk and cover herself by pressing a small piece of cloth to the front of her body. She wasn't even wearing shoes. I am sure of this because I was looking at the ground when I stopped and offered her my shirt. As I was in the process of giving it to her, the working girl caught up to us, stopped, gave her an outfit, a few encouraging words, and then moved on. And I moved on, too. It was then that we passed the Christian young people who were smiling and laughing awkwardly. I wanted to yell at them, too… but I didn't. What difference would it have made? So I just turned to my friend, a woman who was visiting from out of town, and said: “I'm sorry, I wanted you to see more of what my neighbourhood was like, but I didn't expect you to see this.” Then, later that night, I cried while saying grace at dinner.
How does a woman end up walking through that sort of nightmare? Was she stripped and dumped at the corner by a “bad date”? Stripped and turned out by a boyfriend? Stripped in the alley over some sort of debt? Who knows. All these things have happened before and will happen again. But how, how the fuck, does nobody offer her clothes? Everybody stops and stares, but nobody does anything. Unbelievable.
Sister, I'm so sorry. Sorry for all of this. Sorry for their apathy and for my powerlessness. You have come and you have gone, and I will almost certainly never see you again. I could not save you from this hell. But this much I do know: I would rather burn here with you than laugh with those whose apathy damns you to this place.
Fire on Babylon; Lord, have mercy. Amen.