One of the reasons why I tend to stay away from movies is that I just can’t handle them anymore. The premises for too many movies — things that others approach fundamentally as fiction — have become a part of my lived reality.
I can’t watch violent movies, or tragedies — I’ve seen too much violence and tragedy in my own life and in the lives of those I love.
I can’t even watch beautiful movies with happy endings — it reminds me too much of all those who were beautiful who never made it to a happy ending.
Every time I lose a kid it’s like losing another lover. Not that there’s anything sexual in the relationship. I just mean that in each of these kids I see a type of beauty that is indescribable, that takes my breath away, that fills me with wonder. And every time a kid overdoses, every time a kid is murdered, commits suicide, relapses, is carried away by their pimp, or whatever — every time something like that happens I’m left with an emptiness, with a little piece of me ripped out, with another wound that I know will leave a scar.
And I’m tired of it. I’m tired of hoping for happy endings that never come about. I’m tired of watching my friends get tortured to death.
Michael’s gone. Last time I saw him he had two black eyes and a broken nose. He owes a lot of money to a lot of people.
David’s gone. He’s locked-up in the psych ward and he can’t seem to remember anything.
And Leslie’s gone. They’re giving her free speed and heroine — and it won’t be long now till they’re pimping her out.
Sometimes there’s a happy ending. But not usually.
It’s not that the odds are insurmountable, it’s just that the apathy of the people around us is too great. If a few more people actually cared then the odds could be overcome. But I don’t think that will happen anytime soon.
So I hope you make good, I really do. But if or when you do, can you please remember my friends.
Justice: Retributive, Restorative, and Distributive
North American politics, still bearing certain vestiges of Christendom, has maintained an ongoing love affair with the notion of justice (and, alas, quite often that love affair never moves beyond a notion into concrete practice… but I digress). The West has generally found it convenient to maintain the definition of justice that Christendom provided. Such a definition may well be worth re-examining. Once again I go back to a favourite subject of mine — just because Christians value “justice,” and contemporary culture values “justice,” it doesn't mean both parties are valuing the same thing. In fact I think Christian talk about justice is fundamentally different than the way in which Western culture, particularly North American culture, talks about justice (in this discussion I am especially indebted to Brueggemann; surprise, surprise, I told you that book was good; cf. Theology of the Old Testament, 735-42).
It seems that the prevalent understanding of justice is retributive. Justice is understood as giving a person their just deserts on the basis of performance — a system of reward and punishment based on an individual's behaviour.
However, the biblical understanding of justice is distributive. The intention of biblical justice is to redistribute social goods and social power, and reorder they way in which those are arranged. This is what the liberation theologians are talking about when they argue that God shows a preferential option for the poor. Distributive justice recognises that all members of a community are intimately linked with all other members. It seems to me that restorative justice picks up on this to a certain degree — it does well to emphasise the communal nature of human existence, but perhaps it does not emphasise the concrete physical ramifications of this as much as it should. Distributive justice makes it clear that practising justice is inextricably linked to things like the distribution of goods.
Now a case can certainly be made for both retributive and distributive justice within the biblical texts (the bible, after all, reflects various traditions that are often in tension with one another), but the bible is quite unambiguous about the fact that distributive justice — which destabilises the status quo — trumps retributive justice — which is often used to maintain “order,” specifically the way things are presently ordered. That is to say, those who have a vested interest in the status quo will be eager to maintain a retributive definition of justice. Unfortunately such justice, that is so triumphant in a society that perpetuates (and is premised upon?) social inequalities, has very little to do with any sort of Christian justice.
June Books
Well, another month has come and gone and it’s time to comment on June’s books. Sorry the reviews are so brief and vague, it’s five in the morning, I’m in the middle of a set of night shifts, and I think my brain died two shifts ago.
1. Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy by Walter Brueggemann. Simply put, this book blew my mind. Read it. Were I to teach a biblical survey course, this book would be the companion to NT Wright’s The New Testament and the People of God (of course both books weigh in at around 750 pages so nobody would take the course). Brueggemann is the Tom Wright of the Old Testament.
2. Paul for Everyone: 1 Corinthians by Tom Wright. I decided to work through 1 Corinthians in the Greek text this month. It was heavy slugging and so I picked up Wright’s easy access commentary for some light reading while I waded through the Greek. I’ve got mixed feelings about the “Paul for Everyone” series. I suppose it’s great for those who don’t have a background in biblical studies but, if you’re looking for something with more substance — and less anecdotal sermon elements — I’d look elsewhere.
3. God, Medicine, and Suffering by Stanley Hauerwas. This is now the fourth(?) book I’ve read by Hauerwas and he is quickly becoming one of my favourite and most respected theologians. I already commented on this one in a previous post.
4. Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. Lamott writes her story in this book — her upbringing in a wealthy, liberal Californian home, her battle with various addictions, and the struggle she has with her faith and raising a child alone. This book was deeply moving, the sort that makes you laugh but also brings tears to your eyes. A lot of her friends die. It sort of reminded me of a lot of my friends…
5. Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. This is the sequel to Traveling Mercies. Enjoyable but not quite as good as the previous book.
6. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. I thought I’d give Joyce another chance, I hated Ulysses but I’d heard this book was quite different. Granted it was different, but I still think Joyce writes aweful literature. I don’t have a whole lot of respect for stream of consciousness writers like Joyce (or Faulkner).
7. Persuasion by Jane Austen. My first stab into Austen’s writing, an enjoyable read with a well-developed central character. I’m looking forward to reading more by her.
8. A Pair of Blue Eyes by Thomas Hardy. Quite a simple story but I love Hardy and I love the way he writes female characters.
9. The Immoralist by Andre Gide. A short French novel that sparked quite a bit of controversy some time after it was published. The prose is pretty stark and I can’t say that I was able to empathise too deeply with the protagonist.
10. Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood by Marjane Satrapi. Finally, I find an illustrated novel that is close in caliber to Blankets (well, perhaps it is closer to Art Spiegelman’s Maus). The art isn’t as good (it’s much more influenced by the French style — it was, after all, originally published France) but the story is great. Marjane talks about what it was like growing up in Iran in the 1970s and 80s. A great work that challenges the stereotypes that dominate Western discourse about Iran.
<i>Sensus Plenior</i>?
The deeper I have gone into biblical studies the more I have questioned conventional and popular interpretations of… well… pretty much everything related to Jesus, the bible, and Christianity. I am increasingly convinced that the mainstream forms of Western Christianity have seriously misinterpreted and perverted all three of those things.
When I engage in dialogues around right interpretation (exegesis, not eisegesis!) I hear one objection repeated in many different forms:
“No, the bible can't be that complex, it must be accessible to everybody at all times.”
“If the bible is as complex as you say, then it shouldn't be accessible to everybody. That way it won't be so used and abused.”
There have been several times when I've even wondered about the efficacy of allowing universal access to the biblical texts.
However, I am convinced that such universal access is necessary — but it must also be treated with special caution. The bible is a complex combination of a wide variety of genres, written, edited, and compiled in a wide variety of socio-political contexts. We must approach such a complex document with caution.
Perhaps an illustration (or two) will help. Let's compare the bible with a volume of national law. Now, I'm no lawyer but if I carefully read through the laws I will get a general feeling for the legal system. I will begin to see how some laws are related to others and I will start to understand the values, ethic, and world-view of my nation. However, there is much that I won't understand. There will be a lot of technical jargon that doesn't make sense to me — and there will be a lot that I think I understand but I don't. I may be unaware of other mitigating factors, I may be unaware about the ways in which lawyers can turn a phrase to make it mean something that I do not expect. So, as a person who is no expert in law I need to study law with some humility — and allow the experts to provide the definitive interpretation of the relevant texts.
Similarly, I am no student of architecture. However, I can look at a blue-print of a house and grasp the big picture. I can get where the rooms are, grasp an understanding how their size in relation to each other, even begin to understand where the major support beams are — but there will be a lot about the blue-print that means nothing at all to me. Yet when an architect examines the blue-print she will be able to tell me how such supposedly irrelevant things are actually crucial and have a determining influence on the whole house. I will be able to appreciate some things but at the end of the day I'm going to allow the architect to build the house.
Now here's the point I want to make — a point that many Christian raised in our exceedingly self-absorbed and individualistic culture don't like to hear — Christians must allow the professionals to provide the definitive interpretation and application of the biblical texts. Certainly all of us can examine the documents and gather a sense for the big picture. We can all pull out major points about the character of the Christian god and what it means to live Christianly — but, at the end of the day, if our interpretation (and praxis) differs from the interpretation (and praxis) of the experts, we need to be willing to humble ourselves and submit to those who know the documents in a way that we do not.
Humility must replace any individualistic, positivistic, or triumphalistic reading of the texts.
Walter Brueggemann emphatically asserts that (within the realm of the Old Testament — and I think this point still rings true, although the pouring out of the eschatological spirit must be considered here) God ordains certain people and structures to be the agents through which his presence is mediated to the world (Torah, king, prophet, cult, and wisdom — cf. Theology of the Old Testament). In the Old Testament there is no suggestion that right understanding, or even any form of transformative encounter with God(!), is universally available to the people of God. Instead, there are those who God has met in genuinely transformative ways so that they can mediate God's presence and purposes to the broader community. Those of us who have been raised in triumphalistic, comfortable (and surely blessed) churches would do well to consider these words. We need to carefully consider the arrogance of our presumption that we all have universal and equal access to God. And as we consider these things we must be willing to humble ourselves and submit to those who have genuinely encountered God.
No Match?
Our enemies are brutal, but they are no match for the United States of America. And they are no match for the men and women of the United States of America.
~ George W. Bush, from his address at Fort Bragg
I'm sorry George, I can't help but notice a double entendre in your words. How exactly are your enemies no match for your nation and your people? Is it that their strength is no match? Or is it that their brutality is no match for the brutality of your nation? I know that's probably not what you meant but it seems to be what your words imply. And for once I'm inclined to agree with you. The insurgents* may be brutal but their brutality is pathetic — dare I say pitiable? — in comparison to the brutality committed by your regime.
________________________________
*Notice the way in which the American Empire has co-opted the language of revolution. George W. Bush is labeled the “American Revolutionary” while the freedom fighters in Iraq are called “insurgents” (see my post on Time Magazine's special issue in December 2004).
The Hulk
Hulk,
I'm a lucky son-of-a-bitch to have a friend like you. Your email in response to my last post brought tears to my eyes. I wanted to write something just as meaningful in response, I wanted to write a post that would let everybody know what a fucking amazing friend you are. I wanted to tell everybody about your wisdom, your passion, and your empathy. I wanted you to know how deeply I admire you… but all I've got are these few lines that read like a Hallmark card (well, except for the swearing).
I love you brother. And thanks.
(By the way, I talked to Bushey today — he was trying to convince me to go planting up by Fort Nelson. That got me thinking about the season we planted together… I realised that a lot of my good memories from that summer are related to watching you freak out. Thanks for that, too.)
Where are you?
Ann Lamott repeats a Hasidic story about a rabbi who tells people that if they studied Torah, it would put scripture on their hearts. A student asks the rabbi, “Why on our hearts, and not in them?” The rabbi answered, “Only God can put scripture inside. But reading sacred texts can put it on your hearts, and then when your heart breaks, the holy words will fall inside.”
If we encounter Jesus in “the least of these” then I think that journeying in love relationships with marginalised people is something like putting Jesus on our hearts. Yet such relationships, when they are genuine, cannot help but lead us to a place of broken-heartedness. A place of crying out to God. When we love such people with a real love, then our hearts will break and Jesus will also be in our hearts.
(In the same way if we are also to be Jesus to these people then when their hearts are broken we have the chance that we’ll fall into the holes — that Jesus will fall into the holes — instead of the other shit that people force into their hearts just to stay alive.)
Billy Graham, you got it wrong. You don’t get Jesus in your heart by saying a pithy prayer. You get Jesus in your heart by journeying with his precious ones — the crucified people of today.
~
Leslie is a sweetheart. There is a softness to her, a gentleness in her words and in the way that she looks at you. She’s the kind of kid that you want to hug, the kind of kid you want to take under your wing and say, “It’s okay, you don’t have to be strong anymore. Rest now. Play now. We’ll be strong for you.”
Leslie has cerebral palsy and a learning disability. Sometimes it takes her a while to learn things and she falls down more often than most people.
Oh, and Leslie’s mom started selling her into the sex trade when she was just a little girl — not that she’s much bigger now.
Ever since she moved into our program we’ve been worried about the men that Leslie’s been hanging around with. We’ve talked with her about being safe, about setting up boundaries, about trying to avoid places where she might get trapped. I had a good chat with her the other day. She says the guys she hangs with continually offer her drugs for sex — and maybe there was a time in her past when she would of done that — but she respects herself too much to consider the offer. She refuses and she likes the way that makes her feel about herself.
And then one night Leslie didn’t come home. I sat at the desk all night long hoping she would come in… but she didn’t. She came in the following evening flying high and totally wrecked. She was crying and trying to get money out of her savings. Staff refused to give her money and she fled. One of the RAs found her curled up in the back alley in the fetal position. It turns out that a some of the guys she was hanging with had dragged her into an alley, forced a bunch of pills down her throat and then ripped her pants off. They were grabbing at her and…
She’s rocking as she tells her story and she flinches every time a guy walks by. Now she can’t eat, she can’t sleep, and she can’t stop crying.
“I feel empty. I feel like I’m dead. And then sometimes I feel so angry… I’ve started cutting myself again — I hadn’t done that for a year and a half.”
Leslie is one of my kids, she’s one of my people, and I love her. I don’t give a fuck about what kind of special relationship you think you have with your god — if you’re not concretely journeying in love relationships with people like Leslie then I’m half inclined to say your faith is bullshit. But maybe that’s just me lashing out because my friends are getting gang raped on a pretty regular basis.
~
Ann Lamott tells a story about A.J. Muste in her book Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. A.J. Muste used to stand in front of the White House during the Vietnam War. He would go, night after night, rain or shine, and stand with a single lit candle. One night he was asked, “Mr. Muste, do you really think you are going to change the policies of this country by standing out here alone at night with a candle?” He replied, “I don’t do it to change the country, I do it so the country doesn’t change me.”
Listening to Leslie makes me think of Mr. Muste. I am not listening to her because I think I can save her — I wasn’t there in the alley when they forced her down onto the ground all covered in “piss and shitty garbage.” I wasn’t there when they tore at her clothes and her body. I suppose that god was there bleeding and crying and feeling helpless along with her — so I’ll do the same now. We may not be able to save each other but perhaps being together will give us the strength we need as we wait for God’s salvific action.
So I’ll hold my candle, and I’ll smile and try to look brave when you come by and tell me what a wonderful thing I’m doing — before you drive away.
I’m not trying to give my life meaning
by demeaning you
and I would like to state for the record
I did everything that I could do
I’m not saying that I’m a saint
I just don’t want to live that way
no, I will never be a saint
but I will always say
squint your eyes and look closer
I’m not between you and your ambition
I am a poster girl with no poster
I am thirty-two flavors and then some
and I’m beyond your peripheral vision
so you might want to turn your head
cause someday you might find you’re starving
and eating all of the words you said
~ Ani DiFranco
God as Judge
The metaphor of the judge does not have its locus in a theory of law. It lives, rather, in a world of desperate, practical appeal to those who have no other ground of appeal or hope and in a world of righteous rage among those who are appalled at exploitative brutality that must be called to accountability.
~ Walter Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament.
As Christianity was infiltrated by Greek philosophies and other modes of thought from the Greco-Roman world, the idea of judgment became increasingly related to a law of moral purity, and personal piety. That is to say, judgment became associated with sin that had more to do with personal holiness and less to do with social justice. Of course this is only natural once Christianity becomes the official religion of the Constantine's empire (and any other subsequent Christian empires), for the religion of empire is a religion which cannot show much regard for the social injustices that result from the excercise of power. If anything such a religion provides a the empire with a justification for such inequalities.
However, a Christianity that only thinks of judgment in this context is essentially unbiblical. As Brueggemann emphasises, the notion of God as the judge, the notion of God excercising his judgment, is intimately tied to socio-economic issues.* God as judge is understood as the God who will not tolerate social injustices. God as judge is the God who sides with the oppressed over against the oppressor. God as judge is the God who brings liberation to captives and food to the hungry.
Of course Christian discourse about judgment is mostly dominated by questions relating to the final destination of one's eternal soul (which is itself a Greek, and not a Hebraic, concept). However, Krister Stendahl, a New Testament scholar who is partially responsible for launching the school of thought known as 'the new perspective on Paul,' does an excellent job of bringing a genuinely biblical understanding of judgment back into the discussion. He argues that God's judgment cannot be divorced from the realm of the social and the political. The notion of God's judgment cannot help but give us pause about our current socio-economic status. In the conclusion to his stirring essay “Judgment and Mercy” (found in Paul Among Jews and Gentiles), he writes,
Judgment and mercy. We must resist all homogenizing, neutralizing, dialecticizing and balancing acts with these terms.** There is little mercy except the chance of repentance for those of us who sit in judgment; but when judgment comes upon us, there is much mercy for the oppressed… So let us weep! And let them rejoice when the judgment that comes upon us provides their liberation!
Christians would do well to worry less about the state of their own souls and worry more about the state of their neighbours' bodies.
___________________________
* I say “his” because the title of “judge” when applied to YHWH is generally associated with YHWH's masculinity. There are other titles that emphasise YHWH's femininity — of course, as Brueggemann also highlights, we need to understand all nouns as “noun-metaphors” when they are applied to YHWH in the Old Testament. They are not Israel's primary way of referring to YHWH and only gain their meaning from their association with the broader narrative and from the ways in which YHWH acts in the story of Israel.
** This thought also fits well with Brueggemann's insistence that one should refuse to resolve tensions that are inherent to the biblical texts. Brueggemann argues that such tensions must be maintained because they are essentially a part of the character of YHWH as it is revealed to us.
Saints and Commies
When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist.
~ Dom Helder Camara, Archbishop of Recife, Brazil.
And don’t even think about suggesting that God has a preferential option for the poor. Such a thing is unthinkable to us who — despite our alms-giving, and our oh so noble acts of charity — pursue comfort, wealth, and that ever elusive sense of security. A preferential option for the poor? But I’m rich, and I’ve built my business with integrity — God must love me. God doesn’t have favourites.
Unfortunately, when one seriously studies the bible a preferential option is unavoidable. God does have favourites. There are people groups that God consistently sides with and speaks of with great affection — and there are people groups that God regularly sides against and speaks of with great anger. And it’s only natural that the groups the God sides against tend to claim that God is on their side, that they are living holy lives and are experiencing intimacy with the divine. It always was that way and I don’t expect things to be any different now.
David and I
David was a tough guy when he moved into our program. He came in talking about fucking bitches and bashing faggots. David rides girls like he rides his skateboard, fast, hard, and every now and again somebody gets hurt. He did some time when he was younger — he’s only 18 now — and I think he got in with some white supremacists. I’m not sure but, every now and again, there seems to be a veiled racism hanging under his words.
You see, where David comes from, they don’t give you respect. Respect is something you earn, something that you take, and it’s only given grudgingly.
In our briefings we would talk about David, we were constantly warning him about his language, his behaviour towards women, and members of the LGBTQ community that participate in our program. We were all pretty sure that things were going to come to a head one day, that David was going to explode, that we would have to come down hard on him for him to realise that we’re serious about what we say.
But David never exploded and we never had to come down hard on him. He just… changed. There was no big break through, no big blow-out, nothing. Suddenly the way he talked was different, suddenly he was treating queer and trannie youths respectfully. Suddenly he seemed just like any other kid that’s hungry for love.
And that’s what love is. Love is respect that is given freely. David never had to earn our respect, never had to take it from us. We were giving it freely to him since the day he moved in. And it changed him. David chose to respond. He suddenly found himself in a new and safe place and that enabled him to drop all his guards, to let his shoulders down, and be more like somebody he wants to be — not somebody he has had to be in order to survive. And so he did just that. He dropped his guards. He smiles and says that he’s happy to see me.
The thing is…
The thing is that when I compare myself to David I end up thinking he’s a far better person than I am. You see, I also had found a safe place, a place where I think I was loved more deeply than I had ever been. I too had somebody give me an unearned respect. But instead of letting down my guards and trusting like a child, instead of trusting like David trusted, I ran. I wrecked everything and I disrespected — disrespected in the deepest sense of the word, a sense which I only expect people involved with street culture to understand — the person who loved me and trusted me. With all my talk about love, and trust, and willing vulnerability, I find myself to be a more hurtful kid than David.
let it go
the damage in your heart
let it go
the damage in your heart
i can’t tell you how the words have made me feel
i can’t tell you how the words have made me feel
~ Weezer