Tag: Christena Cleveland

A Voice In Ramah: Power, Protest, and Presence

A voice was heard in Ramah,
weeping and much grieving.
Rachel weeping for her children,
and she did not want to be comforted,
because they were no more.

(Matthew 2:18)

Brooklyn_Museum_-_The_Magi_Journeying_(Les_rois_mages_en_voyage)_-_James_Tissot_-_overallThis passage from Matthew is a response to horrific injustice. King Herod, learning from the Wise Men that the King had been born, is unable to locate the specific child that represented a threat to his Power. So to play it safe, he draws a circle on his map around Bethlehem and uses the legitimate authority of his government to execute all boys under two within that circle.

It’s understandable that Christmas pageants end with the arrival of the Wise Men. It makes a nice conclusion to the story. Very Important People “traverse afar” to acknowledge the King and humble themselves before Him. Clearly, power bends in the face of the Incarnate God.

But that’s not the whole story. Power is also used to exterminate innocents. Undeserving others who happened to be born in the wrong neck of the woods. Who couldn’t have possibly have been born just six months earlier so that they’d be over two when that horrific order came down.

Thursday night we finished my “Spirituality, Faith, and Justice” class. The students recognized that power and our response to it was a central theme to all of our readings. (They also rightly pointed out that I probably intended that since I picked the books and ordered the readings.) By the end of all of our books, a quest for power had given way to something else. Michael Sandel was calling for a communitarian response to the common good. Christena Cleveland calls us to a broader circle of identity and a commitment to serve others in response to Christ’s model. David Fitch and Geoff Holsclaw call us to practice Incarnational Pluralism, where we engage the communities in which we live to bear witness to the Kingdom.

Walter Brueggemann provides the best deconstruction of the role of power. He sees that Truth undermines power in remarkable and unpredictable ways; not of our acting but because God is already intervening in pursuit of Justice. Here are some passages from the last few pages of When Truth Speaks to Power:

I have no wish, mutatis mutandis, to draw too close an analogue to our own time or to overstate the totalizing aspects of the present American system. Except to notice that the present concentration of power and wealth among us, the collusion of much of the media, and the alliance of the courts make it possible to think that totalizing is ready at hand among us. Those of us who attend to and mean to adhere to the testimony of truth in the biblical tradition are left with the quite practical question concerning the performance of truth that concerns emancipation and transformation in a context that does not intend any emancipation from dominant ideology and that intends transformation only inside that system. The wonderment among us is that there are agents of truth who find daring, risky ways out beyond the totalism. Sometimes (many times?) the church colludes with the totalism and blesses it, to its own considerable benefit. But sometimes the church— in feeble or in daring ways, in conventional or in imaginative ways—has an alternative say….It is finally the God of all truth who breaks the grip of totalism, who confounds the imperial governor, and who makes all things new … here and there … now and then.

A society that has lost its way may indeed be ready for serious discipleship that informs citizenship. Such deep obedience to the truth that marks discipleship does not aim, in citizenship, to transpose the body politic into the church or into a theocracy. It aims rather to insist that the holy truth voices gifts and commands that matter in a society that depends too much on greed against neighbor, that practices too much denial about the crisis in the neighborhood, and that ends too much in despair.

It occurs to me that the situation of the church in our society, perhaps the church everywhere always, is entrusted with a truth that is inimical to present power arrangements. … The truth that is variously enacted by such agents is not an idea or a proposition. It is rather a habit of life that simply (!) refuses the totalizing claims of power.

Naturally, all of this thinking about issues of power leads me to reflect on Ferguson and Staten Island. How can grand juries fail to indict bad behavior? If we think about the totalizing aspects of power, it would be naive to expect an indictment. That would require the entities of power ruling against the agents of power. Sure, we can find cases where “bad apples” are isolated and removed, but that does little to disrupt the power involved.

The protests in the streets across the nation has been a fascinating display that people think “something is wrong”. But some of those protests have been designed to compete within power domains. Perhaps, they seem to suggest, if we disrupt shopping malls or traffic patterns, then change will come. But often that simply turns into an invitation for contesting power that plays into the hands of those who wield it most effectively and who have more structural resources upon which to draw.

So where does that leave us? If power is not the coin of the Kingdom, how do we nurture change and justice? Again, it’s worth reflecting on what happens in the midst of lament. As I’ve noted before, Brueggemann suggests that when the Israelite slaves cry out in their Egyptian oppression, God acts — even though they don’t ask God for deliverance. Our presence and participation in the pain of others is more of a testament to Truth than dozens of organizations or twitter hashtags.

God is also present in the suffering. In Pastrix, Nadia Bolz-Weber reflects on the perrennial question of theodicy: where is God in suffering? Her answer is remarkably simple: he is on the cross. He is incarnationally present in the midst of the pain.

One of my favorite parts of Frederick Buechner’s Wishful Thinking comes as he’s discussing Job’s suffering. Buechner suggests that we often want explanations of how these bad things happen. Who is to blame? What is the point? He also suggests that God is simply present in the pain.

Understanding in terms of the divine economy why his children had to die, Job would still have to face their empty chairs at breakfast every morning. Carrying in his pocket straight from the horse’s mouth a complete theological justification of his boils, he would still have to scratch and burn.

God doesn’t reveal his grand design. He reveals himself. He doesn’t show why things are as they are. He shows his face. And Job says, “I had heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now my eyes see thee” (Job 42:5). Even covered with sores and ashes, he looks oddly like a man who has asked for a crust and been given the whole loaf.

The Truth is that God’s Presence is there in the midst of the crowds in Ferguson and Staten Island and everywhere else. He has not abandoned the world. And we in the church, acting as the Body of Christ, are similarly present. We are vicariously suffering the loss of lives and the pain of incredulity that such things happen.

It’s worth looking back at the Jeremiah passage that Matthew quotes following the Slaughter of the Innocents. The very next verses, Jeremiah 31: 16-17 say that God is aware of the suffering and that things will soon be different.

The Lord proclaims:
Keep your voice from crying
    and your eyes from weeping,
    because your endurance will be rewarded,
        declares the Lord.
    They will return from the land of their enemy!
17 There’s hope for your future,
    declares the Lord.
        Your children will return home!

Maybe we need to include Herod in the Christmas pageants somehow. Maybe it would let us stay aware that we’re not about trusting in power, even when it’s ours to exercise. Maybe it’s worth reminding ourselves every year that Truth is playing on a very different level than simple Power.

I’ve often wanted a different ending to the second chapter of Matthew. The Wise Men are “warned in a dream” not to return to Herod. I kind of want them to go back and then refuse to tell where they find the Child. It would have cost them, but maybe would have saved those children.

But it’s not my story to write. It’s God’s. And as one of his ambassadors, maybe it’s enough for me to live in the tension and pain of loss. To suggest that there is another way. That one day, hopefully soon, we will all be returning home from the totalizing power of Empire into the reward of the Kingdom of God.

What Worries You? The Hiding Place and Ebola

PRRI

Last week, the Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI) released their American Values Survey. They collected data on about 4,500 subjects. One of the questions focused on the tensions present in the religion clauses in the First Amendment. In what we call a “forced choice” question respondents were asked “What Worries You More?” with two options: Government Interference in Religion or Special Rights given to religious groups. When they presented the data, they provided data for all respondents and then examined the impact of different religious affiliation. Their publication included the following bar chart.

PRRI RelRight away, I noticed the contrast between responses of the total sample and those of the White Evangelical subgroup. As you can see, the sample overall split exactly evenly at 46% for each option (with a small number saying both or refusing to answer). The results for white evangelicals were very different. It wasn’t possible to really explore the data with simple percentages, so I wrote the PRRI folks for subgroup sizes. I am grateful for the quick cooperation of Dan Cox, research director at PRRI who gave me the data.

Turns out that there were just under 900 white evangelicals in the survey choosing one of the two options or about 21% of the total sample. The sample sizes let me compare the responses of White Evangelicals to everyone else in the sample.

What I found was exactly what my statistical instincts told me about the initial data.

As the chart at the top of this post shows, while evangelicals are concerned about government interference by more than two to one (I left out the “both” and “no answer” options), a majority of the rest of the sample is more worried about religious groups gaining special privilege. The latter data may be a response to the Hobby Lobby decision or recent news about Title IX exemptions at Christian Colleges. If you put the contrast in the chart into a two-by-two table and run the statistics, the data is wildly statistically significant.

But the data is also aligning with what we see in the media. The end of the week saw a story break about Corrie ten Boom’s The Hiding Place being banned from a Charter School in Southern California. The director ostensibly removed the book from the “state-authorized lending shelves” because she believed there was a ban on “sectarian materials”. At least that’s the story told by the Pacific Justice Institute, a religious rights group. Alan Noble wrote this follow-up explaining that things were not as nefarious as first suggested, and that the Charter School issue had more to do with the nature of the “library” and what books can be purchased with state funds (as opposed to private donations). Even this explanation remains suspect to those who raised the concern (read the two updates in this story to see how suspicion wins over attempts at explanation, however unclear.)

This is completely consistent with the PRRI data on how white evangelicals see the “What Worries You?” question.

Consider two other examples from recent news. On Saturday, the site Raw Story re-released a story from last month. Right Wing Watch reported on remarks made by religious broadcaster Rick Wiles in which Wiles said “Ebola could solve America’s problems with atheism, homosexuality, sexual promiscuity, pornography, and abortion.” Or consider the reaction last week in Arvada, Colorado to a conservative school board promoted a social studies curriculum that promoted “partriotism, respect for authority, and free enterprise”. Students launched a protest, which included a twitter hashtag (#JeffcoSchoolBoardHistory) of fake history accounts (e.g., “Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle is a great American story of capitalism and savory meat products.“).

I don’t think I’m stretching the facts to argue that these two examples fit the “religious groups worry me” side of the equation.

But there’s still a puzzle here. Why are we so eager to grab a bad news story out of the mix and run with it? Is a Charter School in California indicative of major cultural shifts (the Cal State/InterVarsity issue was far more important). Is a random religious broadcaster I’d never heard of someone who speaks for evangelicals? (Given the number of hours broadcaster have to fill, it’s almost guaranteed that something outrageous will spill out over the airwaves.)

I can think of at least three reasons why folks are so willing to gravitate toward these examples: the data narrative, specialized organizations, and group dynamics.

1. There is a sense in which the data listed above serves as both an independent variable and a dependent variable. In other words, the belief that either government or religious groups are a source of concern shapes what one looks for in terms of news. The fear of government infringement or religious particularism encourages one to be on the lookout for examples. Examples that probably don’t deserve to be on anyone’s radar. At the same time, finding those examples and sharing them in social media solidifies the separation shown in the chart above. Every indicator, however isolated, is another case of “I told you so”.

2. These stories don’t occur on their own. Groups like the Pacific Justice Institute exist to be on the lookout for infringement examples and to push back on those. People are employed to do this and spread the word to others. Similarly, Raw Story and Right Wing Watch (along with the Southern Poverty Law Center) are established to watch out for outrageous actions on the conservative side. When we subsequently become outraged and share stories on social media, we are doing exactly what those organizations hoped would happen.

3. My Spirituality, Faith, and Justice class is reading Christena Cleveland’s Disunity in Christ. As I’ve written before, this is an excellent application of social psychological research to issues confronting the Body of Christ. Early in the book, Christena titles a section “We Are Unique; They Are the Same“. Because we have contact with people like us, we’re aware of the great degree of diversity of thought present in our groups. Because we don’t have contact with others, we find we can easily categorize them. So I can read a comment from a religious broadcaster and immediately dismiss him as being a fringe voice that doesn’t represent evangelicals I know (even those I disagree with). But someone outside the evangelical fold will see him as representative (or fear that he is). If I don’t know public educators, I can easily dismiss them as all being secularists who are engaged in Christianaphobia. But even secular educators often jump the gun and might be rebuked by their secular colleagues.

We do not have to play into the dichotomies represented in the PRRI data. But it will require a much more developed sense of general patterns and outliers. It will require a willingness to give people the benefit of the doubt before hitting “Share” on Facebook. It will require actually thinking of others as well-intentioned, even if misguided.

It will require us to listen to the other and learn something.

 

Thoughts on Ferguson: Living the Nightmare

I was in Canada when the news of Michael Brown’s shooting in Ferguson broke on my media feed. I was aware of the rough outlines of the story, thanks to updates and retweets by many friends on twitter. I haven’t actually watched any mainstream media coverage as it tends to make me pull my hair out. So my information comes inductively from the internet, primarily from progressive and POC friends. Other voices seemed silent.

I’m not the only one to notice this pattern. Yesterday, my friend Ryan Thomas Neace wrote “From One Middle-Class White Person to Another: Why We Struggle to Get It.”  He talks of the isolation we have from those different than ourselves. More importantly, he describes the differing realities the issues of race and class construct in American Society:

As a middle-class, white person, the fact that I have to try to imagine what it would’ve been like if a police officer rolled through my neighborhood and shot me or one of my teenage friends is telling in itself.  It means I do not have a frame of reference or standard of comparison from which I can draw to construct Mike Brown’s story in my own life.

As Ryan argues, we’re far more likely to expect Officer Friendly to come visit our classrooms than to see an Officer as Potential Threat.

As I reflected on Ryan’s post, I found myself thinking of Alan Noble’s Atlantic article on Evangelical Persecution. Alan’s thoughts are further elaborated in an interview he gave with American Baptist Press (along with others). It’s evident that American Christians do not know persecution when compared with Christians in other countries like Iraq. (By the way, we should be as concerned about Shia on Sunni violence as we are Isis on Christian — we don’t just root for our team when it comes to justice.)

Still, the persecution mythology is alive in many quarters. A little bit of internet research finds cases where local police departments come and arrest pastors “in front of terrified church congregants”. The story explains that the arrests were staged and that the pastors were arrested for “defending the faith”. They would then be put on trial and have to prove they were REAL Christians. Add to this the fear that the state would FORCE pastors to marry same-sex couples. Or that THEY want to take away our rights to worship as we please. Then there are all the isolated stories of uninformed school teachers or principals who put limits on student expression or the local zoning commission who interferes with a house church.

In all these cases, it is secular authorities set against the religious faithful. The religious faithful must remain true to God regardless of circumstances and in spite of the fact that they no longer believe in the legitimacy of the state apparatus.

To pick up Ryan’s question, “we fail to get it” on one level because we have to try to imagine scenarios where we’re oppressed by officials of the state. But for those worried about religious persecution from secularism, we have imagined it all too well.

The people protesting in Ferguson have been living the imagined persecution scenario for a long time. 

They know what it’s like to be arbitrarily picked out and subject to intrusive questioning with an assumption of “guilty until we determine otherwise”. This is the reality behind Driving While Black, New York’s Stop and Frisk practice, differential drug sentencing, and the like. Not for everyone, of course. But for enough friends and relatives for everyone to have the knowledge of the possibility.

Fifty YearsThis picture from the Huffington Post shows the striking and disturbing parallels between riot police lines in 1963 and those in Ferguson last week.

I have never seen a line like this. But folks in the protests in Ferguson received training in how to stand non-provocatively. Not all got the message. Some isolated shots were fired. Stores were looted. But the overwhelming majority of protestors in Ferguson did none of those things. They stood for justice. The expressed their rights to freedom of assembly and freedom of speech. They cleaned up storefronts that had been damaged the night before.

They did these things precisely because they have doubts about the legitimacy and altruism of the police force and the state government. They know that the scales are tipped against them and that self-control is essential when confronting that imbalance.

A year ago, the Pew Research Center did a study of attitudes toward institutional arenas when it came to issues of race. Blacks and Whites in urban, suburban, and rural areas were asked if certain institutions were less fair toward Blacks than Whites. Institutional arenas were from police, courts, work, stores, schools, health care, and voting. The chart below summarizes the perceptions across all institutional arenas (scores range from zero institutions discriminating to seven).

http://www.pewresearch.org/files/2013/08/FT-racial-fairness-02.png
http://www.pewresearch.org/files/2013/08/FT-racial-fairness-02.png

Only 1 in 10 urban Blacks thought there was no institutional discrimination compared to nearly half of all suburban Whites.

This, as Ryan observes, is what we don’t get. For us, the institutions work as intended. For “them”, they cannot begin with such assumptions — the world is just too dangerous.

We like to imagine scenarios that have the state calling us out for our faith as a badge of our faithfulness. The citizens of Ferguson know too well that the state calls people out regardless of their motives or their faith but because of their race, class, and neighborhood.

Too often, the coverage of events like Ferguson seems to be looking for ways of justifying the legitimacy of the state’s action. That’s why news sources post troubling photos (check out the hashtag #IfIWasGunnedDown to see how this happens) and use words like “thugs” to make sure that we have good cops acting against bad actors.

As I was finishing this post, Christena Cleveland added this remarkable piece: The Cross and The Molotov Cocktail. Here’s a paragraph that puts the Pew data in its visceral context:

As someone who has walked alongside black men, witnessed their suffering firsthand, lamented with them and fought for justice with them, I can see why black men who have lived under the oppressive boot of society for their entire lives would decide to stop turning the other cheek, to refuse to see the police as anything other than the Red Coats, and to reject “respectability.”

If we were to face serious persecution as evangelicals (as unlikely as that is in our contemporary environment), you can be sure that there wouldn’t be pictures of happy families accompanying the roundups. You can be sure that we would be called names and marginalized in hundreds of ways. It is certain that we’d have little recourse against the power of the state with all of its hardware and assumed legitimacy.

Maybe we need to identify with the protestors in Ferguson to see what it means to stand for justice.

Doing Unto You Before You Do Unto Me

http://shop.lego.com/en-US/King-s-Castle-70404
http://shop.lego.com/en-US/King-s-Castle-70404

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve been trying to explore some sociological dynamics of evangelical structure. I offered a summary of that argument in my presentation at the Wesley conference in Idaho. I’ve been doing a lot with wall metaphors: both in terms of how we construct isolating barriers and how we might tear them down.

Since I got back from Idaho, I’ve been pondering another implication of the wall metaphor. I think it helps explain the Industry Evangelicalism patterns I’ve been writing about. It also may explain a lot about how we do discourse within contemporary society. Whenever I get one of these ideas in my head, it feels like I’m constantly reading stuff on Facebook and Twitter that connect to the current hypothesis. The may be mistaken interpretation on my part, but it might just allow for a more careful unpacking of the social psychology at play within our varied group identities.

The picture above is Lego’s King’s Castle Siege. It illustrates how battlements were created to protect townspeople and nobles against the onslaughts of outsiders. But here’s what I notice: the construction of defensive positions actually allow offensive actions to be taken against the marauders. The rhetoric of defense is such that it winds up justifying first-strike capabilities.

This was true because the actual damage from a siege doesn’t involve battle but rather starvation. The point of the siege isn’t necessarily to overrun the walls but to cut off supply lines and isolate the kingdom. This results in two driving dynamics: demonizing the enemy and acting first before they gain a foothold on the walls.

Once the battlements are built, the kingdom is isolated from potential enemies. That brings safety but also allows one to imagine the worst possible motives of those enemies. Social psychologists refer to this as “fundamental attribution error” — I know my motives but yours are suspect. In fact, it’s likely that I’m imputing my darkest motives onto you because that’s how I imagine what you’d do if successful. This imputation then justifies any action I might decide to take because your imagined attack would be so much worse than my actual actions.

As I said, there are lots of other illustrations in social media of how this plays out. Alan Noble wrote this on Facebook today:

Theory: when someone becomes the face/ symbol/leader/figure of a radical movement which perceives itself to be oppressed, that person has very strong incentives to becoming increasingly radical in language, rhetoric, and position. To the point of absurdity.

He had a particular example in mind (Richard Dawkins) but one could easily put other players in the same position. In fact, Alan has previously done some wonderful work calling out the exaggerations of Todd Starnes and others who delight in cherry-picking isolated infringements on religion as illustrations of “what the world is coming to”. In a recent twitter exchange with Laura Ortberg Turner, I reflected on the linkage between persecution and prosecution — that somehow people will be arrested for their religious convictions. As I write this, Westboro Baptist minister Fred Phelps is near death. His particular form of striking aggressively to stop the visigoths approaching the gates has become legend (even though Christians have seen this as too extreme).

We see the same thing in the political realm. Jon Stewart’s continued takedown of Fox News imputing the worst possible motives to food stamp recipients shows the same pattern. One must imagine the takers and then strike out against them. But the motives imputed only characterize a tiny percentage of those affected.

Joshua Dubois, author of The President’s Devotional, wrote a fascinating piece today about Dr. Ben Carlson. Joshua describes the important role model Dr. Carlson provided for young black men for a generation and how that got transformed into a voice that justified outrageous comment in support of partisan position. It’s an example of how staying inside the battlements provides self-justifying rationales but at the price of the potential positive impact on all those outside the walls.

In Disunity in Christ, Christena Cleveland devotes early chapters to how easy it is for us to demonize out-groups and describes the rich (and depressing) social psychological experimental research that illustrates the tendency. As I wrote in the tearing down walls piece, she ends her book with solid insights on how to reverse those patterns.

As I was working on this post, Frederich Buechner (or at least the people that run his Facebook page) posted this quote from Brian McClaren’s 2012 book.

Yes, something good still shines from the heart of our religions – a saving drive toward peace, goodness, self-control, integrity, charity, beauty, duty. And something shadowy struggles to overcome that luminosity – a hostile drive, dangerous, resilient, and deeply ingrained, a black hole in our identity that needs an enemy to help us know who we are and how good we are.

My point is that building battlements has certain predictable results. Once we’ve got the walls, we begin to imagine who might be lingering outside. We worry about what they might do. Then we act to prevent them from doing that thing we imagined. We’re self-justified in the process — just imagine what might have happened had we done nothing!

But we imagined the impending attack. It kept us behind the parapets. It stopped us from engaging with those different than ourselves. That’s true whether it’s conservatives in the walls afraid of what liberals might do or liberals worried about conservative rhetorical attacks. It’s true whether we’re conservative/fundamentalist evangelicals imagining what will be on The Cosmos tonight or the scientific community worried about creationist legislators.

This week Christ & Pop Culture had a piece by Bradford William Davis titled “Why We Argue Like Jerks“. He points out that we don’t like asking good questions, that we do not seek to understand, and that we don’t like risking being wrong. In short, we fail to deal with the other as he/she really is but instead how we imagine him/her to be. We do battle in our imaginations, feeling victorious because we once again held our imagined foe at bay.

Maybe it’s the building of battlements (great for ages 7-12!) that’s the real problem. If we didn’t have battlements, we wouldn’t fear the siege. We wouldn’t imagine the enemy over the hill. We wouldn’t imagine the awful things they intended. We wouldn’t demonize them and look for means of attack (defensively, of course).

We might just get that Golden Rule right.

 

Tearing Down Walls

berlin-wall-tearing-downMy previous post explored the challenges of the Tower of Babel. Drawing upon the work of Brent Strawn, who argued that the motivation for the tower-builders was a combination of pride and fear, I suggested that contemporary issues within evangelicalism represent walled enclaves created for the same two reasons.

I had hoped to get this post up earlier, but was held up by two factors. First, I wanted to finish Christena Cleveland’s Disunity in Christ, so that I could apply her lessons about overcoming social psychological barriers to intergroup interactions. Second, MY BOOK CAME OUT. So I was a little distracted.

In this post, I want to take my argument from the last one a little farther. I ended that piece echoing Reagan’s call to “tear down those walls”. Now I want to explore how we might do that.

Christena’s book, while speaking to issues of multi-cultural worship, looks much more deeply at issues of divisions across groups. These may be racial or ethnic groups. They may be separations between evangelicals or mainliners. They may be divisions between one group of evangelicals and another group of evangelicals (the central theme of my twitter feed lately). They may be separations among groups of high school kids (all the other divisions may simply be grown-up high school antics!).

It is not simply a critique of the “homogeneous church principle”, although that is there. It’s really an examination of why that principle works so well. The truth is that it depends entirely upon what we social psychologists consider to be errors in classification. These errors encourage us to overvalue those like us and undervalue those who are different.

After introducing the problems created by division, Christena works her way through dozens of Disunitysocial psychological studies. While these don’t deal directly with contemporary religious groups (that research needs to be done!), they are informative just the same. She shows how groups misjudge those outside the group by assuming that “they’re all alike” (while recognizing individuality within our groups). She writes of the tendency for groups to exaggerate their own abilities or orthodoxy (the Gold Standard effect).  She shows how group interactions impact our sense of identity, introducing great concepts of BIRG (Basking In Reflected Glory) and CORF (Cutting Off Reflected Failure). There is a chapter on cultural conflict, which suggests that competition over cultural dynamics results in fear and ambiguity (always a problem in social psychology).

In a myriad of ways, social psychological processes solidify the very walls that I wrote about in the previous post. And it is easy to see both pride and fear present throughout her argument.

She closes the book with solid recommendations on how to begin the hard work of bridging the barriers we create. First, she suggests that cross-cultural contact is essential. Individuals from different groups that can connect around common interests can find more similarity that they might expect. Second, leaders are critical in providing an understanding of why we need to bridge our separations. Key to this process is giving a biblical and theological foundation that shifts our focus to common identity issues. Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Life Together is an excellent guide for where we find identity. Third, a commitment to justice for all parties is essential and will require privileged groups to go the second mile (that’s part of the definition of privilege). Finally, Christians need to embrace the interdependence Paul describes in his body imagery in Romans and Corinthians. We simply cannot operate without each other.

Cover

I also deal with issues of community in my book, though mine is not as research grounded as Christena’s. I argue that we must see our differences as the issues that provide strength. But drawing heavily on Scott Peck, I acknowledge that confronting those differences is painful and stress producing. It gets worse before it gets better, sometimes lots worse. But the other side of what he calls Chaos is Emptiness. In Parker Palmer’s words, we quit trying to fix each other. We don’t brush our differences aside but we make them the raw material for new discovery. We are not alone in this process: the Holy Spirit is working in our midst to allow us to see from another’s perspective. Only when we stop the fighting do we discover what commonality and community mean.

Bonhoeffer says that we cannot MAKE community happen. It is a gift from God. While he was talking about living in the monastery with Christian brothers, the general point still holds. We can find ways of living with difference that don’t require the construction and maintenance of walls.

What does this look like in real life? How do we avoid being driven by pride and fear? What can we do so that every issue isn’t a test between my group (upon which my identity rests) and your group (which is threatening that identity)? How can I focus on our commonalities rather than our differences?

For most of the past two weeks, my social media streams have been dominated by laws proposed in Kansas and Arizona regarding businesses and service to same-sex couples. If I reflect on the various stories (many of which were very well done), they still fell victim to the kinds of issues Christena discusses. One side sees a threat to religious freedom. Another group sees bigotry and bias. Other groups call out hypocrisy in selective enforcement.

But none of these dealt with the full range of the issues. First, it’s interesting that in both states the legislation did not become law. Maybe it would be best for us not to fight about the prospects of something happening until it was actually happening. Second, it’s important to acknowledge that civilly recognized same-sex marriages are uncomfortable for some people as they work through their own thought processes. Third, recent data shows that knowing same-sex couples significantly changes viewpoints toward marriage equality. So there is something about seeing the other as a real person instead of a stereotype that changes things. Fourth, it is important that we listen to the Holy Spirit to recognize the Image of God in the other; whether than other is the bakery owner or the couple buying the wedding cake.

At the end of the day, bridging walls comes because our trust in Almighty God is greater than our trust in our own Brickmasons.

 

Ripping Down Towers of Babel

Brueghel-tower-of-babelThe picture to the left is Bruegel the Elder’s take on the Genesis 11 story of the Tower of Babel. In the scripture, we’re told that there was only one language and the people came together to build a city with a great tower that would reach to the heavens. In response, the LORD comes down to check it out and confuses their languages and scatters the people across the nations.

I’m not a biblical scholar — I’m a sociologist. So my first inclination is to treat this story as a cosmological allegory of “why the people down the road don’t talk like us”. It’s the kind of story that fits within an oral tradition explaining to children why things are the way they are.

But I did do some quick internet research and was pleased to find this entry from the Oxford Bible Studies Online. I was pleased for several reasons. First, the author is Brent Strawn from Candler Seminary at Emory and I’ve been friends with his father and brother for several years. Second, because the piece also used the Bruegel painting as illustration. And Third, because Brent’s analysis is directly applicable to the issue of religious group boundaries I’ve been exploring for several months.

Brent suggests that there are two interpretations of why the tower was a problem. One option is that it has something to do with pride. Building a huge edifice would let everyone know that these were cool people who had things together. He goes on to say that this chapter stands in stark contrast to the calling of Abram; there it is God who does great things through people. The second option Brent explores is the role of fear. They needed the city to protect them from being scattered across the earth (as was God’s plan). The “hunkering down” as he calls it, is in resistance to the world as they found it.

As I said, I’ve been reflecting on the ways in which evangelical groups build artifices to separate those on the inside from those on the outside (for samples, see here and here). And I’ve come to a useful image that helps explain the process.

We tore down the Tower of Babel and then used the self same bricks to build enclaves of our own desiring.

And we did it for the same two reasons the Tower was built in the first place: Pride and Fear.

Pride comes in when we attract hordes of followers to show that we are right. Zack Hoag has consistently exposed the ways in which the evangelical church (both conservative and progressive) have been seduced by the culture of celebrity. I am not immune. I want page views, retweets, Facebook likes, and recognition. I want people to tell each other about my writing. I want to have access to publishing empires that turns a lecture series into a book and a set of DVDs.

We build our enclaves because it allows us to sit inside our secure walls and lob critiques at those walled enclaves down the block. We hope that doing so will prove how smart we are, how right we are, how close to God we are. Especially if we can demonstrate that by comparison to those wrong-headed folks next door.

Rachel Held Evans posted a great piece today discussing what it feels like to be on the receiving end of the critiques lobbed over the wall. It’s a story of hurt and misunderstanding, of false accusation and presumption. But it also contains some deep introspection to make sure that parallel assumptions don’t result about other groups.

I’ve been reading Christena Cleveland’s Disunity in Christ. It’s a wonderful book (not surprisingly, it’s chock full of good social psychology!). I’m only partway through, but already the implications are powerful. We find comfort and identity through our groups within our walls. But that very comfort and identification contributes to our misreading and misunderstanding the other groups. Our pride causes us to overstate our own position and not really listen to others.

If pride makes us overstate our correctness, fear calls us to demonize all opposition even if we can’t name them. We build our walls so high that we don’t know what’s out there. We just know it can’t be good because it’s not what we have in here.

This post was prompted by one shared by Peter Enns over the weekend. It was about a conference announcement about a regional meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society. The brochure is titled “The Liberal Seepage into the Evangelical Culture” and shows a scary wolf in sheep’s clothing. I’ll let the word “seepage” go for now (sounds like a medical problem). But the very identification of “evangelical culture” as a thing is the very essence of wall-building. See, THEY are infiltrating into the space WE have created for ourselves. Even if our concerns about them are based on irrationality and exaggeration.

In the words of Elmer Fudd, Be afwaid. Be vewy afwaid.

Fear take us funny places. It makes it easy to do things or say things about brothers and sisters we would not otherwise do or say. Because somebody has to. Otherwise, how would we protect the walls from intruders? Don’t you know what the stakes are?

Christians aren’t motivated by pride. Christians aren’t directed by fear.

We are following in the way of the Christ who sacrificed his status and position to inaugurate a new way of living through death on the cross and launching of a Kingdom at hand. We have an assurance running throughout scripture that we are not alone but have the very God of the universe with us.

What happens if we tear down our walls? I’m still working on this but I think we find that we are able to engage those around us. We find them reasonable people who ask interesting questions, who have fascinating life stories, who have real struggles. In short, we find them to be people created in the image of God. People who, if we take Matthew 25 seriously, are both representatives of Christ and perhaps unaware Kingdom-builders (“When did we do that?”).

In short, trusting Christ and his Kingdom journey means that we don’t need walls and boundaries. Because God is already at work building the Kingdom. We’re just along for the ride to offer water when asked.

I’m also reading Prodigal Christianity by David Fitch and Geoff Holsclaw. Their writing both resonates with my thinking and makes me feel like they’ve already said it better. The central thesis of their book is the God went into the Far Country (where we live) and we are called to do likewise.

Going into the Far Country requires trust in God and deep courage. In that way it becomes a matter of testimony to the Greater Story of which we are all apart.

As Mr. Reagan said to Mr. Gorbachev, Tear Down Those Walls!

Reflections on Christena Cleveland’s “Black to School” Series

For the past three weeks, Christena Cleveland has been running a series she has called “Black to School”.  She invited black students to reflect on their experiences interacting with predominantly white classmates.

I’ve found the series fascinating for two critical reasons. First, I’m teaching Race and Ethnic Relations this semester. Second, and much more importantly, the students had all attended Christian colleges.Students

She started with an unnamed student from a Christian college in the suburban Midwest. The second was from DeLisa who attended George Fox. Rashad was at Geneva. Nikkita from Seattle Pacific. Drew from an unnamed Christian college in Pennsylvania (I could make some good guesses on which one). Joy from Westmont.  Finally, there was Jelani who transported from Portland (“the whitest major city in America”) to North Park in Chicago. Their stories are unique to them and yet cut across institutions. Some of their experiences result from the homogeneity of the evangelical populations that feed the colleges. Lack of exposure to difference causes insensitivity (which is why students felt it was okay to touch Joy’s hair).

Other experiences reflect less defensible patterns. To assume that black males must be musical or athletic. To assume that black students are experts at hip hop or dance. To isolate black students in class or make insensitive remarks. To joke about perceived threats from athletic black men.

The stories from these students break my heart. I can’t imagine asking any student to deny a part of identity. The sense of isolation they feel in the midst of Christian community is devastating. How can this be the case when we’re committed to a vision of Church that makes no separations (Galatians 3:28)?

Christian colleges have long recognized the need to become more welcoming to diverse populations. We create diversity task forces and focus on recruiting minorities. We take pride in seeing our percentage non-white increase over the years. These are good things, but the focus on demographics doesn’t address the issues of institutional culture.

The reality is that we’ve set the bar too low. We look at histories in which students of color were discouraged from attending at all or where interracial dating was seen as norm violating.

Pew conducted a recent study on racial progress. In general, they found that whites felt that progress was being made on racial issues because past injustices were past. We take pride in not having separate bathrooms or poll taxes or segregated schools. It lets us think that because we don’t do those things anymore we’re making great progress.

The Black to School stories remind me that the bar is really much higher. But it’s not those students who have to clear the higher bar.

It’s me and folks like me.

At a CCCU Sociology gathering nearly 25 years ago, I heard a remarkable presentation by Ray DeVries, then of St. Olaf  and now of University of Michigan medical school. He spoke on Structural Evil, but quickly shifted from large scale issues like poverty or racism to the small-scale issues. The small-scale issues were the patterns of interaction that reinforced advantage for some and disadvantage for others. It’s easy to avoid being seen as racist. It’s hard to be open and welcoming to all we contact.

Here’s where my Race and Ethnic Relations class comes in. I agreed to pick up the class about a month ago, but I’ve taught it several times before. This time, however, the class feels strange to me.

When I lived in San Diego, we went to the Safari Park run by the San Diego Zoo. You got to ride around in little vans and look at animals in their “natural” habitat (if you ignore the fences that kept the lions from the zebras and so on).

And now we come to the hyenas. Here are the giraffes! There’s a herd of gazelle!

Most Race and Ethic books work like the Safari vans. After some introductory theoretical material, we look chapter by chapter at different racial or ethnic groups. Here are the Hispanics. There are the Asians. Here are the Blacks. Over there are the Native Americans!

Each chapter looks at some historic patterns and then shifts to contemporary challenges for each group. But this runs the risk of setting that bar low again.

It’s awful what we did to Native Americans. But we no longer relocate people from their native lands, do we?. We seriously exploited Chinese immigrants when we build the western railroads. Isn’t it great that we don’t do that anymore? Can you imagine what it was like to have segregated schools? Thank God, now all we have are schools characterized by residential isolation (sarcasm font needed).

We then look at the patterns of economic achievement (or lack thereof), prison incarceration (or the avoidance thereof), family patterns, educational prospects, etc. We become aware that there are major gaps between whites and either hispanics or blacks. But we seem unaware of how those impacts play out.

We set the bar too low because we don’t pay enough attention to the stories like those that Christena brought forth. Or this testimony this morning from Osheta Moore. Or this heartbreaking story from Grace Sandra.

I’ve been trying to avoid reading comments on blog posts lately. The insensitivity of those denying someone’s story (maybe you could tell that differently, maybe you’re making too much of that slight) is hard to take. It’s as if these stories of being isolated, misunderstood, abused, or taken for granted don’t count. As it only the big stuff matters.

This is where Ray DeVries’ talk messes with me after a quarter of a century. I know that I can’t ignore those stories without diminishing the experience of real people. What other definition of structural evil can there be?

All this causes me to think deeply about this course I’m teaching this semester. The Race and Ethnic Relations course seems to invite consideration of Racial or Ethnic groups as reified structures. It’s as if we’d call the course RACE and ETHNIC Relations. I’m coming to see that we must, especially in Christian colleges,  come to see the course as Race and Ethnic RELATIONS. If it’s the latter, there’s no way I’m off the hook. It would make me responsible, either directly or indirectly, for every one of the stories shared by Christena’s friends.

And that’s as it should be.

Because I am.