Pastor James McConnell, Peter Robinson, and The Scale of Sectarian Danger

It hasn’t been a good week for tolerance or equality in Northern Ireland… And it wasn’t anything to do with the EU and local council elections.

In a sermon given last week, Pastor Jack McConnell of the Whitewell Tabernacle, a large and influential Pentecostal church in North Belfast, publicly referred to Islam as ‘heathen' and 'satanic… a doctrine spawned from Hell’.

Reaction from many quarters was swift:

the Presbyterian moderator, the Rev Dr. Rob Craig, said the comments were ‘unacceptable… They are not consistent with the Gospel of Christ and the love of God’;

the Deputy First Minister Martin McGuinness said ‘all of us in positions of leadership have a responsibility to represent and stand up for all the people of our society. We have a duty to promote equality, mutual respect and tolerance for all in our society based on the core principles contained in the Good Friday Agreement’;

Dr. Raied Al-Wazzan, of the Belfast Islamic Centre, said ‘this is inflammatory language and it definitely is not acceptable. This kind of language is actually increasing the ethnic religious hate crimes’;

Amnesty International and other human rights groups also denounced the pastor’s words, reiterating that such language was illegal;

the Police Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI) confirmed they are investigating the statements.

The situation escalated on 28 May when First Minister Peter Robinson came to McConnell’s defense. ‘There isn't an ounce of hatred in (McConnell’s) bones’, he said. ‘This is someone who preaches the gospel. It is the duty of any Christian preacher to denounce false doctrine. He's perfectly entitled to do that - it's an appropriate thing for a minister to do.’ He went on to state that, like McConnell, he wouldn't necessarily trust Muslims either,beyond the daily exercise of going to the shops.

To dissect these incredible statements by two publicly influencial men, we can start by understanding that McConnell’s statements are part of a much larger fundamentalist Christian theology which sees all of reality as starkly divided between what is of God and what is of Satan- there is no moderating scale between them. If something is not ‘Christian’- and usually their definition of ‘Christian’ is quite narrow- it is satanic, ‘evil’. Furthermore, any display of tolerance or basic respect runs the risk of supporting the ‘evil’ thing. Worst of all, rhetoric and statements that the law clearly defines as ‘hate speech’ are understood by McConnell and other radical Christian clerics- I’m sorry, but there is no other term for them- as ‘speaking the truth in love.’ Any offense taken from them can be dismissed since they were simply ‘preaching the Gospel’.

But even if McConnell’s reprehensible words can be, if certainly not rationalized, then at least contextually understood, Robinson’s are utterly inexcusable, coming as they do from not only an elected official but from a head of government. They are confirmation that Robinson is unfit for public office, much less to lead a government, particularly in a post-conflict country. He should resign. At the very least, his words should be publicly condemned by the Prime Minister, who recently announced his desire to form closer partnerships with Robinson’s party in the House of Commons.

Likewise, the whole episode is further proof- if any more were needed- that Northern Ireland remains a deeply divided and sectarian place. The description of ‘sectarian’ in relation to this episode might seem incongruous to many, as McConnell was not talking about Irish Catholics, Nationalists, or Republicans- he was talking about Muslims. Indeed, the law would delineate between ‘hate crime’ or ‘hate speech’ and crimes related to sectarianism. But the fact remains that, in Northern Ireland, the two types of crimes inform and perpetuate each other, and in the light of this episode, I think it is vitally necessary- once again, and over and over- to talk about sectarianism.

Probably the best resource I’ve ever found on the topic is the book Moving Beyond Sectarianism by Joseph Liechty and Cecelia Clegg. The book came out of years of research, community meetings, and small group work in Belfast by the authors as part of a project facilitated by the Irish School of Ecumenics,Trinity College Dublin at Belfast. The book does an excellent job of dissecting sectarianism, minutely and carefully, teasing out its dynamics and expressions. Liechty and Clegg ultimately conclude that sectarianism is not simply something we ‘do’- or something ‘they’ do- but something we are and something we live in.  

In Northern Ireland, sectarianism is not one, obvious thing; rather, it appears as a spectrum of attitudes, actions, beliefs and structures. These run from the most visible and recognizable (physical violence and intimidation) to less obvious, but equally destructive ‘patterns of relating’ over the long term (hardening boundaries between groups; overlooking others; belittling, dehumanizing, or demonizing others, etc.). Sectarianism also encompasses what might be called ‘boundary maintenance’ along religious and political lines, the unhealthy interaction of politics and religious belief, and their use in the process of perpetuating division and conflict.

Ultimately, sectarianism is about relationships; it serves the process of defining for people how much- or how little- interaction with the ‘other’ group is considered safe or permissible.

Furthermore, sectarianism has a tendency to become a self-perpetuating cycle; all that is necessary to perpetuate it is to do little to consciously stop it. Primarily, this is most commonly achieved through a lack of sustained, meaningful interaction between groups or individuals. Ironically, sectarian dynamics render this interaction superfluous in the minds of the people within the system, as the system ensures that ‘we’ know what ‘they’ think without ever having to engage ‘them’ in a relationship of dialogue’. The ‘other’ remains ‘wholly other’- nothing like one’s selves- in order to maintain one’s own positively constructed identity.

Sectarianism is complex, but also can be extremely nuanced and difficult to nail down, making it both difficult to diagnose and easy to rationalize or dismiss. Most Irish and Northern Irish people would be quick to say, ‘I’M not sectarian’ because many would limit sectarianism to throwing a brick through a sitting room window or shouting 'Loyalist scum!' at a crowd of Protestants or ‘Fenian Bastards!’ at a crowd of Catholics. But sectarianism can also be extremely polite and appear totally reasonable. For those of us from Ireland or Northern Ireland, it is a way of being, part of our perception. I didn’t move to Ireland until I was 33, but it was woven into my consciousness from my childhood in Irish-American New Jersey. It’s still in me; it’ll always be there. It’s a way of processing information and relating to others, particularly ‘those’ others. I cannot smash or purge myself of it; I can only acknowledge it when I feel it arising within me and consciously decide to approach my relationships or beliefs and emotions about the 'other' in a different way. When you live in a sectarian system, moving beyond sectarianism is a series of daily choices- what to say, how to think, how to act, and how to manage emotions.

One fascinating bit of Liechty and Clegg’s output- and one that I think is especially prescient to the events surrounding McConnell and Robinson’s statements- is their ‘Sectarian Scale of Danger’, which represents a series of rhetorical statements progressively moving from not sectarian at all to inescapably sectarian. This underlines the premise that, while every sectarian statement is not equally egregious, all perpetuate the system at some level. I include some of my thoughts and commentary throughout the list: 

1. ‘We are different, we believe differently.’

This is the only statement that is free from sectarianism, the only statement in the list that can be said without any sectarian sentiment whatsoever. Beyond that, the sectarian danger grows…

2. ‘We are right.’

With the second statement, we have begun to state an opinion that differentiates one set of beliefs or actions from another. It is very possibly true- or at least it could be. But a very specific line has been crossed.

3. ‘We are right and you are wrong.’
   
   

With statement 3, we have now made our first definitive value judgment. Again, it might be true or have some degree of truth in it, but the line that was crossed at statement 2 has been slightly hardened.

Liechty and Clegg then expand on statement 3 with a series of elaborating statements. As the list continues, while it might be theoretically possible to hold the sentiment without sectarian intent, it becomes increasingly difficult and unlikely:

3a. Our way is right, but other ways are, or at least may be, equally valid.

3b. Our way is right, and we are not really interested in other ways of doing things- we make no judgment about them, one way or the other.

3c. Our way is right, and it is better than yours, although your way has some merit.

Statement 3c encompasses the official stand of the Catholic Church toward Protestant churches in the wake of Vatican II- that authentic Christian faith is most completely found within the Catholic Church, but that Protestant churches are brothers and sisters in Christ, filled with the Spirit of God, but deficient in certain doctrinal and practical aspects. Those statements seem entirely reasonable to the speaker, but they can easily come across as arrogant or thoughtless to the hearer.

3d. Our way is right, your way is wrong.

Statement 3d now moves us into the beliefs of many Protestants toward Catholics and the Catholic Church, as well as between many Protestant churches, and of many Christians toward other religious faiths.  

3e. We are right and you are wrong- but in this one particular area, we don’t emphasize this, because you and we have a great deal in common in other areas.

Statement 3e is the underlying foundation for divergent churches to engage in community service projects together like aid of the homeless, Christmas toy drives, disaster relief, etc.

3f. We are right and you are wrong- but out of concern and respect for the relationship between us, and in the hope of living in harmony, we have no wish to stress this.

Statement 3f is the informing basis for relations between churches of different denominations- usually in a rural area or a small town- that officially disagree with each other on any number of issues, but lay that aside in the name of ‘good community relations’. While this can be reasonably positive in theory, what it often means in practice is ‘benign apartheid’- little or no contact, no meaningful relationship, or any serious attempts to increase understanding.

3g. We are right and you are wrong- contemptibly, dangerously wrong, but we cannot say so, perhaps because it would be dangerous, or at least politically incorrect or socially unacceptable if we did.

3h. We have chosen to say that you are wrong because it puts the relationship between us on a more honest basis.

3i. We have chosen to say that you are wrong because we are so enthused about what we believe and do that we hope you will accept it, too.

3j. We have chosen to say that you are wrong because it is our duty to denounce error and expose injustice.

Statement 3j is the domain of ‘speaking the truth in love’, those declarations of dogma or opinions about the ‘other’- other denominations, other faiths, other sexual or gender identities- that are very often thoughtless, ill-informed, or outright offensive, but due to the lack of any sustained contact or dialogue with the ‘other’- as any attempt to do so might be seen as a dangerous compromise or ‘condoning of sin’- the ‘loving’ intention is lost or unheard.

3k. We need to stress that you are wrong because we would be uncertain about our rightness if we were uncertain about your wrongness.

3l. We need to stress that you are wrong because we are in a struggle with you, and the conviction of not only our rightness but your wrongness strengthens us in that struggle.

Statement 3l brings us close to the attitude of many fundamentalist Protestants toward the Catholic Church during the conflict. Ian Paisley’s 1982 book No Pope Here, a copious litany of Reformation-era anti-Catholic vitriol, is an almost-perfect example.

4. You are a less adequate version of what we are.

Statement 4 encompasses many Orthodox attitudes to Catholics, Catholic attitudes to Anglicans, Catholic attitudes to Protestants, Charismatic attitudes to mainstream Protestants and Catholics, etc.

5. You are not what you say you are.

6. We are in fact what you say you are.

Statements 5 and 6 has several manifestations: there is the attitude of many Christians toward groups such as Mormons or Jehovah’s Witnesses- groups that would identify as ‘Christian’ but would have those claims rejected by many Christians; there is the attitude of many Protestants who would reject- or seriously qualify- Catholics’ claims to be ‘Christian’; there are the barbs of ‘terrorist’ thrown back and forth by one group or another at the heroes or leaders of the other; and there are the claims of some victims of the conflict to be ‘innocent victims’ at the expense of others lost or bereaved. There are times, of course, when someone makes claims about themselves (to be, say, a doctor, a lawyer, or an accountant) that, if untrue, could have consequences so serious that they must be challenged. But in matters of faith and doctrine, the matter becomes much more opaque and the basic right to identify oneself becomes worthy of protection.

7. What you are doing is evil.
8. You are so evil that you forfeit ordinary rights.

Numbers 7 and 8 have crossed the line into severe danger of sectarian intent. There is almost no chance of declaring them or something similar and credibly argue that you didn’t mean to be sectarian.

9. You are less than human.
10. You are evil.
11. You are demonic.

The sentiments of numbers 9 through 11 are blatantly sectarian; it is impossible to believe or voice these sentiments without sectarian intent. And it is here, unfortunately, that we encounter the statements of Pastor McConnell, with his references to Islam being ‘heathen’, ‘satanic’, ‘dangerous’, ‘a doctrine spawned in Hell’, as well as his remarks that ‘millions of Muslims are taking over the world’ and that he never trust a Muslim. Furthermore, by declaring that ‘the IRA had a lot of terrorist cells that could bomb Britain’ and that ‘the same thing is being repeated’, he draws all Muslims into the paradigm of the Northern Ireland conflict. This is blatantly sectarian, utterly dehumanizing, ignorant and thoroughly reckless in a country with the levels of violence against minorities as those in Northern Ireland. He condemns all members of a diverse, worldwide faith- as well as some of the most vulnerable individuals and families in the country- as untrustworthy, devious, and violent.

McConnell has manifested in the most egregious, ugly way the ghosts of our past and the shadows of our present. He should repent, ask forgiveness, and open his heart and his mind to those he has wronged.

And Robinson must resign. Immediately. No doubt about that. 

Warnings and Encouragements: Reflecting on Gerry Adams, Jean McConville, and the past that haunts us all…

As I write, Sinn Féin president Gerry Adams has just been released without charge after spending four days in police custody in Antrim in Northern Ireland, being questioned about the Provisional IRA’s abduction, murder, and secret burial of widowed mother-of-ten Jean McConville in 1972. Over the years, Adams has consistently denied any participation in- or any knowledge of- the events, as well as maintaining he was never a member of the Provisional IRA. Both of Adams’ assertions have been flatly denied by other members of the PIRA, such as the late Brendan Hughes, OC of the Belfast Brigade of the PIRA at the time, who went to his grave insisting that Adams ordered McConville murdered and buried. Adams- who carried Hughes’ coffin in 2008- has bluntly insisted that Hughes is ‘telling lies’.

The arrest has infuriated Adams’ Sinn Féin colleagues. Deputy First Minister Martin McGuinness has accused the Police Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI) variously of orchestrating the arrest in the run-up to elections to damage Sinn Féin’s chances at the polls, or intimated there is a secret cabal of ex-Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) officers within the PSNI vengefully working against Adams. In either case, Sinn Féin is accusing the PSNI of ‘political policing’.

McGuinness’s colleague, First Minister Peter Robinson, has accused Sinn Féin of ‘Republican bully boy tactics’ and condemned Sinn Féin’s rallies and rhetoric in support of Adams as attempts to ‘blackmail’ the police and undermine an open investigation.

What can we take away from these events, and what do they mean for post-conflict Northern Ireland? I can think of two things, and neither of them is particularly positive:

To begin with, beyond the specific issues surrounding the McConville case and Adams’s arrest, I think we can put to rest once and for all the notion that the Northern Ireland Executive is in any way a healthy or even cordially-functioning ‘partnership’. The public statements of Robinson and McGuinness further confirm their contempt for each other and have further poisoned a barely-concealed loathing that Sinn Féin and the DUP have for one another. It seems that only wealthy corporate CEOs in the US and Europe that OFMDFM seek to court for local business investment will ever see the smiling, jocular pair working in unison; the people of Northern Ireland will get the sniping, bitter, and hostile pair, barely ever seen together. That’s not good.

Secondly, I think it is becoming obvious that we have finally reached the end of all that the Good Friday Agreement could possibly deliver. This might be controversial, but I think it’s time to say it out loud- the ‘peace process’ is over. Don’t misunderstand me: I don’t think the conflict is going to begin again, nor do I think that the Good Friday Agreement was in any way a failure or a mistake. The Agreement represented real progress out of the hell of the 70s and 80s, and what it delivered- a power-sharing Executive, policing reform, and decommissioning (which, to put a darker spin on it, was also the destruction of literally tons of forensic evidence, but more on that later…) changed the political landscape immeasurably- and for the better.

 

But the Good Friday Agreement had its limits, and choosing that particular type of peacemaking model- it’s called ‘consociationalism’ if you’re at all interested- had its consequences. This, to be fair, was never explained to the long-suffering people of Ireland and Northern Ireland, who simply- and quite understandably- were willing to opt for anything presented to them that promised an end to the conflict. But many of the less-positive aspects of the intervening years- increased segregation; a solidifying and entrenchment of diametrically-opposed identity groups; renewed territorial marking and the proliferation of more and more flags and separation barriers; ongoing, localized disorder surrounding culture and identity symbolism; an almost-total lack of a shared narrative of what ‘happened’ during the conflict; no shared understanding of the past; no frameworks to deliver justice to the bereaved- can be laid at the door of those who opted for 'consociationalism'- decisions made and alternate roads not taken.

So, to clarify, I don’t think the ‘peace’ is over, but I do believe the ‘process’ is over. Any semblance of a coordinated series of events that builds on previous events, as well as a context of debate and discussion across all levels of society about what should come next… well, that’s finished. Lots of good, positive things continue to be done by incredibly dedicated people working on the ground, but they don't cumulatively lead to a stronger social peace. This, in a sense, is ‘us’; this is ‘peace’; what post-conflict Northern Ireland is now is what we have spent 16 years and billions of pounds building. All we can do now is assess.

The Adams arrest is the direct consequence of the failure of the governments of Ireland, the UK, and Northern Ireland to agree to mechanisms on how to deal with the past. It’s not at all surprising, as the conflict was big, dark, and difficult, and most of the planning of it, from all sides- police, government, military, and paramilitaries- was done in secret. 

As a result of no one being particularly willing to go on public record about what they did, No one can be held publicly accountable for anything in particular, which means all sides can believe anything they choose about the past and their role in it, as well as about the other side, and their role in it. It was genius; everyone can see themselves as heroes and victims, and everyone gets to view the other side as criminals and perpetrators.

And it ‘worked’- at least for a while. Everyone built monuments to whoever they wanted- in their own areas. Everyone planned commemorations for their ‘honoured dead’- and the other side didn’t have to come, and indeed weren’t invited. The few times a year that one group’s commemorations and celebrations couldn’t be hidden from the other side led to street clashes that put dozens of police officers in the hospital and cost local businesses millions, but it wasn’t that often and it was in areas where tourists and investors could be kept away from. Any important social and development issues that needed to be sorted out by politicians from all sides could be postponed indefinitely- and, if need be, eventually quietly shelved.

It was all so easy. But it has left us with very weak social and political institutions at all levels; the top snipe and count votes and relations at the grassroots stay as poisoned as ever.

Where it has failed utterly is for Jean McConville and for her family, as well as the other victims of paramilitary and state forces, who now are left with fewer and fewer options to locate the truth and find closure regarding what happened to their loved ones or to themselves. These people are the true victims of, to use McGuinness’s loaded terminology, ‘political policing’.

Jean McConville was dragged from her home, interrogated, tortured, shot and ‘disappeared’ by paramilitary forces who, for political and ideological reasons, felt this type of ‘policing’ of 'their' area of Belfast was their right to do. She was a victim of ‘political policing’;

In January 1971, 13 civilians were shot dead by the British army in Derry, an event known ever since as ‘Bloody Sunday’. For decades, the military and the government stuck to the story that the dead were armed gunmen. Decades later, an independent inquiry found that none of the dead were armed and that they had been gunned down for no reason. The government apologized, but as yet has declared no plans to bring charges against any of the soldiers and officers who did the killing and the lying. Could the government do more to pursue the matter, regardless of security or embarrassment? Of course they could. Those 13 civilians and their families are victims of ‘political policing’;

Last week, NI Secretary of State Theresa Villiers informed the families of 11 civilians massacred by the British military in the Ballymurphy area of West Belfast in 1971 that there would be no official inquiry into the events. It was the same regiment that, months before, had killed the 13 civilians in Derry. Does the British government know the individual identities of the soldiers in Ballymurphy that day? Of course they do. Could the government do more to pursue the matter, regardless of security or embarrassment? Of course they could. Those 11 civilians and their families are victims of ‘political policing’;

Also last week, the British government announced that there would be no official inquiry into the burning to death by the IRA of 12 civilians at the La Mon hotel in 1978. Does the British government have any information? They don’t seem to want to say. Does anyone in Sinn Féin or former IRA volunteers- who perpetrated the deed and felt themselves legally justified to do so- know anything? Probably, but they won’t say. Those 12 civilians and their families are victims of ‘political policing’;

All during the conflict- and up to the present day- hundreds of young people have had their hands or knees blown off with Loyalist and Republican gunshots, or merely been ‘exiled’ from Northern Ireland for any number of offenses. These forces feel they are ‘policing’ their areas. The PSNI insist there is very little they can do to stop it. All of these young people are victims of ‘political policing’;

Every PSNI officer sent to the hospital or put on administrative leave for stress and trauma during the marching season who is told by Unionist politicians that his or her injuries are the fault of the Parades Commission is a victim of ‘political policing’;

How can we theologically reflect on this state of affairs? The place I go is the words of Jesus in Luke’s Gospel, chapter 12. When I looked it up in my Bible, I noticed that the chapter heading read ‘Warnings and Encouragements’, which I found very apt. In the text, Jesus says to his disciples:

Beware of the yeast of the Pharisees, that is, their hypocrisy. Nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not be made known. Therefore whatever you have said in the dark will be heard in the light, and what you have whispered behind closed doors will be proclaimed from the housetops.

In a post-conflict zone such as Northern Ireland, the ‘yeast’ of spectacular hypocrisy is everywhere. There are so many victims and bereaved who doggedly demand real justice and the full truth of what was done to them or to their loved ones, by whom, and for what reason. Against them, variously, are the governments, the police, the military, and the paramilitaries who all have their secrets that they dare not reveal. The words of Jesus are indeed a warning to the latter and an encouragement to the former. They expose the hypocrisy and bureaucracy for what it is and give strength to those weighed down by it. They expose the futility of secrets, for Jesus- who counselled his followers, ‘all you need to say is “yes” and “no”; everything else comes from the evil one' (Matt. 5:37)- revealed that God is on the side of the honest, the forthcoming, and the seekers after the truth; he opposes the liars, the duplicitous, and the hypocritical.

The truly powerful and the truly righteous have nothing to fear from the truth. It is their salvation.

It is also Northern Ireland’s salvation- socially, politically, and spiritually.  

Forever Scolded from The Heavens: A Revolutionary Reflection on St. John Paul II

It’s not every day you go to Mass and your local parish church has, that very day, changed its name.

But with yesterday’s canonization of Popes John XXIII and John Paul II on Sunday, 27 April, here in Bigfork MT, Blessed Pope John Paul II parish is now Saint John Paul II parish. When the woman who welcomes us at the beginning of the service welcomed us to the latter instead of the former, there was loud applause from the congregation. The parish was founded months before John Paul’s death, so there is a strong affinity with John Paul for many. He was a living memory; he was Pope in the lifetime of most, a constant presence. I guess it’s only natural…

Perhaps it is needless to say that I had mixed feelings. 

At the risk of being needlessly cynical, the choice of these two particular Popes seemed calculated to perfectly appeal to two wings of the Church without offending either. What I mean is that it would be extremely difficult to imagine either one of these men being canonized singularly in the current cultural context of the Catholic Church. John XXIII seems to be there to appeal to progressives within the Church. This was, after all, the Pope who called the Second Vatican Council (1962-65) and delivered the famous encyclical Pacem in Terris. As someone whose theology is rooted in liberation theology, which in some ways was both a catalyst and a fruit of the Latin American bishops’ efforts to practically implement the far-reaching implications of the Council, John XXIII in a sense represents for me the probing Church, the seeking Church; the Church of optimism and opportunity, openness, and transformation; the Church grappling with and embracing the modern world in all its complexity and dynamism. John XXIII embodies for me the question, ‘how broad and expansive might the Church be?’

John Paul II, on the other hand, was there for the conservatives, those who’d always been suspicious of Vatican II and all that followed it. John Paul II, it would not be wholly unfair to say, spent the majority of his papacy rolling back and corralling much of Vatican II’s possibilities- or at least what its most expansive interpreters might have hoped for. Progressive seminaries were closed; hierarchical positions went to the most conservative candidates; Leonardo Boff was silenced, Jon Sobrino reprimanded and much of the most dynamic aspects of the movement were either condemned, co-opted or sanitized; Archbishop Oscar Romero was unsuccessful in gaining from John Paul an official condemnation of El Salvador’s brutal regime, which eventually killed Romero; John Paul was scathing in his criticism of the Base Christian Communities movement in Central America; any discussion of a more nuanced understanding of gender, sexuality and reproductive issues were off limits under John Paul’s papacy; centralization and autocracy were hallmarks it. John Paul II embodies for me the question, ‘how can we more rigidly define and control what the Church should be?’

This is not to overlook John Paul II’s many positive policies and stances- his implacable opposition to state communism, war, and organized crime, as well as being the first world leader to use the word ‘genocide’ to describe the 1994 events in Rwanda. His spirituality and religious devotion are beyond dispute, and he was a man of personal righteousness. 

So, my difficulties with John Paul II are not over this issue or that issue; we are simply two different sorts of men and two different sorts of Christians. At bottom, I am a revolutionary- not a liberal, not a progressive- a revolutionary. I seek liberty, justice, equality, reparation, and social transformation; I don’t seek it from a government, a class, my ‘betters’, or from beneficiaries. In the face of systematic oppression, marginalization, theft, and violence, the revolutionary does not lobby or appeal; the revolutionary resists- directly, actively, and collectively. Revolutionary resistance encompasses many things. But make no mistake: our resistance must be nonviolent, but our nonviolence must be resistance…

Revolution is a radical response. The word ‘radical’ derives from the Greek word for ‘root’. A radical response seeks to get to the heart of the issue, focusing on root causes rather than symptoms. In situations of egregious repression and violence, such as those in Central and South America of the decades that saw the rise of radical theology, there were no mechanisms of democracy, independent trade unions, free press, or free media. There was, however, the Church- or more specifically, a vision of ‘Church’. Brazilian priest Frei Betto explained it thus:

It wasn’t so much a question of the Church opting for the poor as of the poor’s – forced by the repression of the people’s and trade union movements- opting for the Church. In other words, the poor turned to the Church in order to remain organized, articulate, conscious and active… The poor invaded the Church, and Catholic priests and bishops started to be converted to Christianity.

For Betto, radical theology is an inversion of norms and roles; it is the poor laity who convert the influential and well-off hierarchy to the Gospel. Many clergy and hierarchy stepped into the breach, and began to articulate a radical Christian analysis against a repressive and unjust status quo, the most famous example of which is perhaps that of Brazilian Archbishop Dom Hélder Câmara: ‘When I give food to the poor, I am called a saint; when I ask why the poor have no food, I am called a communist.’

This the essence of a radical Christian critique, which seeks not charity or good deeds, but justice. It understands that the incarnation itself was a revolutionary action on the part of God toward humanity. It sees the resurrection of Jesus as a revolutionary transformation, old things dead and passed away, all things made new. Both were not simply spiritual occurrences, but directly imply the need for radical social change- ‘thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven’.

So I have no doubt that John Paul II and I are both Christians, but I’m a radical Christian- a revolutionary Christian. This idea was put most bluntly by Columbian priest Camilo Torres Restrepo, who left his vocation as a priest and an academic to join the ELN guerillas in June 1965:

The duty of every Catholic is to be a revolutionary; the duty of every revolutionary is to make the revolution. The Catholic who is not a revolutionary is living in mortal sin.  

Perhaps a quintessential picture of the difference between a radical Christian vision and that of John Paul’s vision was embodied when he traveled to Nicaragua in 1983. The Somoza dictatorship was ousted by the Sandinista Revolution in 1979, and priest, author, and poet Ernesto Cardenal took up the post of Minister of Culture in the Sandinista government. The Pope was incensed that a priest had entered front-line politics- and leftist revolutionary politics at that- and demanded that Cardenal resign his post. Matters came to a head when John Paul visited Nicaragua in 1983. When the Pope disembarked from his plane, it had been arranged that he would not greet individuals so as to avoid embarrassment on both sides regarding disagreements over politics. But one minister mistakenly stepped forward and greeted the Pope, awkwardly necessitating that the Pope greet all in the same way. When the Pope reached the rebel priest, Cardenal knelt to kiss the Papal ring. John Paul removed his hand and openly scolded Cardenal, wagging his finger at him and demanding in Spanish, ‘Usted tiene que arreglar sus asuntos con la Iglesia! (You must fix your affairs with the Church!)’. The episode- and the image- was disheartening for many Nicaraguans, both for the fact that the revolution was popular after the overthrow of Somoza, and that Cardenal was a revered figure in the country.

Perhaps it is impossible for a Pope to be a revolutionary. Perhaps no one in such a position can be truly radical. Perhaps it is unfair to even suggest it. But when I look at the picture of a rebel priest being upbraided by a finger-wagging Pope, I don’t have to consider long which side I’m on.

Anyway, John Paul II is now a saint. As a devout Christian, I believe he is glorified and in heaven. He is now part of the great ‘cloud of witnesses’ from which Christians can gain encouragement, inspiration, and intercession. So, what does a revolutionary Catholic, a parishioner of St. Pope John Paul II, make of the canonization of a Pope who so effectively resisted what has been so influential in my life and work, and what I believe without a shadow of a doubt is the life and salvation of the Church in the midst of the world?

I keep thinking of the image of Pope John Paul scolding Cardenal. Perhaps, as we try to effectively live a life of radical Christianity, we will continue to be scolded by St. John Paul as well. As we struggle for justice and to build a Church from the bottom up rather than from the top down;

as we demand a more inclusive Church for women, laypeople, LGBT people;

as we resist clericalism and Vatican bureaucracy;

as we demand transparency and transformation in how our Church is run- yes, ‘our’ Church;

As we demand full justice and reparations for the abused, the disaffected, and the disillusioned;

As we envision and practice new models of radical ecumenism and Eucharistic sharing with all of our Christian brothers and sisters;

As we actively resist and practice direct action against those who bring death to humanity, whether it be militarily, economically, ecologically, or financially;

As we comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable;

As we build the revolution;

Perhaps we will still invoke the ire of St. John Paul II, forever scolded from the heavens.

For my dreams and my visions, I expect little else…

Jesus Is Dead: A Reflection for Holy Saturday

This is Holy Saturday. Jesus is dead.

We spend so much time talking about how Christ ‘died and rose again’ that we fail to meditate on his death. He died. His heart stopped beating, his brain flat-lined and his body started to decay.

And if we do engage with his death, we run the risk of engaging with his death grotesquely or forensically, like the disturbing mania a few years ago over the disgusting gore-fest that was Mel Gibson's ‘Passion of the Christ’.

But for the most part, Christ’s death remains for most Christians a theological footnote, an unpleasant necessity that assuages God’s justice and allows them to go to heaven.

But Holy Saturday is when we come face to face with a dead Jesus. On that day, Christians worship a corpse. There is no Sunday. Dead bodies don’t come back to life.

To speak of Easter Sunday on Holy Saturday is to not comprehend what happened on Good Friday. It is to understand Christ's death only on a philosophical or theological level. However, we must experience Christ's death from the place of the disciples who watched it happen. They did not go home that night saying, 'O well, no matter. He promised to rise.' No, they went away dead men, the most dead men ever, for they had lived with Christ for three years and experienced the Kingdom of God in a way no one ever had. And now it was over… Killed.

The Empire won. Corruption won. It was all a lie. There was no hope; and no hope of hope ever again.

We will never be able to feel as they felt. But we can take this day to meditate what it means to live without hope, to think about those who, in our world, are living with no hope:

the sex slave in a back room of an unmarked building in a back alley of a city whose name they don't know;

the refugee from an African war now living in a camp a thousand miles away from the spot where she was raped as her husband was shot in front of her and was raped by soldiers yesterday and wonders if they’ll be back today;

The detainee in Guantanamo Bay, denied any semblance of universally-recognised judicial rights, who even if found to be wrongfully detained, will never be released; 

The woman in an abusive relationship ignored or called a liar because her husband holds a position of power and influence in their church;

the child handcuffed to a sewing machine who will be beaten if they don't meet their quota of designer handbags;

the family coping with disability whose vital lifelines are being cut by austerity packages;

the family of a young child killed by a drone strike which the US government will neither confirm or deny launching;

The Palestinian Christian farmer watching Israeli bulldozers tear up his olive trees to make way for a new Israeli settlement, funded in part by his Christian brothers and sisters in the US;

These are the ‘Holy Saturday people’, the worthless and the hopeless that live in a world where God is dead and will not come back to life.

There is no Easter Sunday without Holy Saturday. It is through the blackness of Holy Saturday that we must see the joy of the women at the tomb, the joy and courage of the disciples.

Easter is about life in the fullest sense. Not theological life or philosophical life, but the life of a man who was dead and then not dead anymore.

The ‘Holy Saturday people’ of this world are looking for ‘Easter people’. The essence of Christianity is not in doctrine or confessions, important as they are. The first Christians, the first ‘Easter people’, had a simple message: ‘Jesus was dead. Now he is alive. We’ve seen him.’

This is what we have to offer the ‘Holy Saturday people’. Nothing is impossible anymore. No system is so evil, so oppressive, so entrenched that we cannot overthrow it. If Jesus is not dead then nothing is impossible. We await no revolution; Easter was the revolution.

But that’s all for another day.

Today is Holy Saturday. Jesus is dead.

World Vision, The Biblical Text, and 'Good News to the Poor'.

It was less than a week ago that World Vision, an Evangelical Christian humanitarian aid, development, and advocacy organization, announced their decision to hire and extend equal employment benefits and opportunities to same-sex married couples. At that  time, Vice President Richard Stearns made clear that the organization was not changing its belief that sexual relations outside of marriage were sinful, but rather that:

changing the employee conduct policy to allow someone in a same-sex marriage who is a professed believer in Jesus Christ to work for us makes our policy more consistent with our practice on other divisive issues. It also allows us to treat all of our employees the same way: abstinence outside of marriage, and fidelity within marriage.

Stearns went on to say that the decision was World Vision’s alone, not the result of outside pressure, and that the board were ‘overwhelmingly in favor’ of the new policy. He went on to reassure World Vision supporters:

…we are not sliding down some slippery slope of compromise, nor are we diminishing the authority of Scripture in our work. We have always affirmed traditional marriage as a God-ordained institution. Nothing in our work around the world with children and families will change. We are the same World Vision you have always believed in.

Regardless of those assurances, the backlash from certain segments of the Evangelical Christian community was immediate. The Assemblies of God, one of the largest denominations in the US, urged its 3 million members to cut their support. This was no idle threat; according to Christianity Today, about $567 million of World Vision’s $1 billion budget comes from private contributions, according to the 2012 annual report. Individuals can personally sponsor a child in an undeveloped or underdeveloped nation for $35 a month. Through this programme, World Vision is able to sponsor 1.2 million children worldwide; within days, 2000 supported children had been dropped.

In the face of this backlash, World Vision have been forced to withdraw the new policy. In a statement, they said:

The board acknowledged they made a mistake and chose to revert to our longstanding conduct policy requiring sexual abstinence for all single employees and faithfulness within the Biblical covenant of marriage between a man and a woman…

Stearns told reporters, ‘We’ve listened. We believe we made a mistake. We’re asking (supporters) to forgive and understand our poor judgement in the original decision.’

Needless to say, my emotions over all of this have been on a roller coaster, from surprise and delight with World Vision’s original decision, to anger and depression in the midst of their subsequent decision. I was so angry last night I could barely speak. 

Thankfully I could type, and what you’re reading now is the result.

I am so embarrassed for the World Vision board, its employees, and the many supporters of the organization who supported the original decision. I am outraged for World Vision’s LGBT employees- and for those who honestly believed that World Vision had become a safe and embracing place to apply to work. And I am positively furious that a large portion of World Vision’s global work, and so many children’s lives, were put at risk- and remain at risk.

Make no mistake, that risk is coming from a portion of the Christian community who believe their reading of scripture is more important than the lives of the most poor and the most marginalized people on Earth. The wealthiest Christians on Earth- those in the suburban US- took the poorest and most vulnerable children on Earth hostage, threatened to refuse them food, shelter, medicine and a their advocating voice, all over an employment policy, an issue that the children had never heard of and which didn’t affect them in the slightest.

    

This is not Christ; this is anti-Christ. This is satanic.

I’m not going to take the time here to get into a biblical exegesis of the issues surrounding LGBT people; regular readers know my views on that topic, and I'm conscious that it is not my area of expertise. My field is liberation theology, and my thoughts on the World Vision issue that I'll give here come from that direction.

Liberation theology arose out of Latin America in the late 60s in the wake of Vatican II and the watershed 1968 meeting of Latin American Catholic bishops in Medellín, Colombia.  Over the next two decades, Latin American theologians such as Gustavo Gutiérrez, Juan Luis Segundo, José Bonino, Leonardo Boff, and Jon Sobrino developed and broadened the movement, but liberation theology is not so much a corpus of their works- impressive as it all is. Rather, liberation theology represented a new theological moment, an attempt to do theology in a new way.  It begins not with doctrine but with a focus on social reality, the social reality of poverty, oppression and marginalization. It prioritizes theological reflection as a means of drawing on the experiences of the people and helping to build their consciousness as the people of God, finding themselves and their circumstances in the biblical text. Liberation theology was methodologically rooted in an attention to praxis, the cyclical process of reflection and action which saw theological reflection not as an end in itself or simply a means to develop a stronger personal piety, but as a component of fundamental social transformation. Finally, liberation theology represented a new theological direction; it was theology done from the perspective of the most poor and the most marginalized. Liberation theology emphasized God’s ‘preferencial option’ for the poor; it recognizes a fundamental incompatibility between the priorities of capitalist economy and the Christian Gospel; In God’s economy, the liberationists contended, the needs of the poor come first. This is not to say God loves the poor more, but in a world where wealth, power and command are prized, God, so said the liberationists, was to be found with the poorest, the most marginalized and the powerless… And so should his Church.

This is why, as a theologian who roots his work in liberation theology, I don’t blame World Vision for reversing their decision. The primary idea that underlays the 'preferential option' is that, when decisions need to be made, priorities set, resources allocated, or money spent, we should begin all discussion from the standpoint of the effects of any action on the poorest or most marginalized in our community. I believe World Vision did that. Faced with a  situation where the health, safety and indeed the lives of children and communities in which they work and for whom they advocate were put at risk, they opted for the poor and for their communities. That is their calling. It is all of our callings. There are any number of things they could have done- many things that I personally believe they should have done. But I want to keep the focus on what they did. 

Don’t blame World Vision; blame those who threatened those in World Vision’s care.

When I first heard about the circumstances that led World Vision to reverse their decision I was immediately reminded of the Hebrew prophetic tradition, the prophets Hosea and Amos, who announced God’s solidarity with the poor and his judgment against the seemingly righteous who couldn’t care less for them. The similarly-themed Sirach 4:1-6 came to my mind:

My child, do not cheat the poor of their living, and do not keep needy eyes wanting. Do not grieve the hungry, or anger one in need. Do not add to the troubles of the desperate, or delay giving to the needy. Do not reject one in distress, or turn your face away from the poor. Do not avert your eyes from the needy, give no one reason to curse you; for if in bitterness of soul some should curse you, their creator will hear their prayer.

These are the Hebrew biblical texts known so well by Jesus, that serve as the basis of his proclamation of the Gospel, which will always be, first and foremost, ‘good news to the poor’ (Luke 4:18) and very bad news indeed for those that oppress and defraud them. The Sirach text goes as  far as to give us an image of the poor- frustrated, desperate, angry with the massive injustices daily heaped against them- crying out ‘God damn the rich!’, and the prophet assuring them that God heard and answered…

In the reality of all these biblical texts, how do those who threaten the poor in World Vision’s care have the unmitigated audacity to dare say that their actions are motivated out of a reverence for scripture?

How can any of them dare to declare themselves ‘Christian’- ‘follower of Christ’- and yet idolize their own reading of the biblical text- their own intellect, their own opinion, their own interpretation- over human lives?

How dare they idolize random proof texts that seem to confirm their cultural biases over the person of Jesus revealed in the Gospels?

Jesus’ love and care for the ‘least of these’, for the desperate, the marginalized and the vulnerable is the foundation of the Gospels, and stands in utter contrast to those who threatened World Vision. When asked who was the greatest in the kingdom of God, Jesus did not call a heterosexual married man and woman to him; he called a child- a vulnerable child, weak, in need of care, trusting and innocent. These, Jesus insisted, were the greatest in God’s kingdom. With that, he issued a warning: ‘If anyone causes one of these little ones who trust in me to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and be thrown in the sea and drowned; Woe to those who cause the weak to stumble! Such things must come, but woe to the person through whom they come!’ (Matt. 18:6-7)

It was Jesus who said, ‘Let the little children come to me; do not stop them, for God’s kingdom belongs to such as these.’ (Matt. 19:14)

It was Jesus who said ‘I was hungry, I was thirsty, I was destitute, sick, imprisoned, a stranger…’ (Matt. 25)

It is the Gospel of Jesus, ‘good news to the poor’, that invites us to find ourselves in these texts. Are we feeding the poor, or are we starving them?

Are we giving fresh water, or are we dumping pollutants in the river?

Are we  giving, or are we withholding?

Are we healing, or inflicting?

Are we welcoming, or are we abandoning?

Are we liberating, or are we incarcerating?

Do we wear the cross of salvation round our necks, or a millstone?

Where do you stand?