“If the world hates you, be aware that it hated me before it hated you. If you belonged to the world, the world would love you as its own. Because you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hates you… If they persecuted me, they will persecute you; if they kept my word, they will keep yours also. But they will do all these things to you on account of my name, because they do not know him who sent me.”
(John 15:18-21, New Revised Standard Version, Updated Edition)
“It is no exaggeration that we are likely facing the most critical political movement of our lifetimes,” Reggie Williams, a professor of Christian ethics at McCormick Theological Seminary, told the audience gathered in a St. Paul, Minnesota, church on a recent Friday morning.
We’d come together at a conference called Theology Beer Camp.
I’d been describing the event to curious friends and coworkers as “two days of talking about our visions of a radically inclusive God… while enjoying a variety of craft beers.” The organizers, led by Tripp Fuller, host of the Homebrewed Christianity podcast, took both parts of that equation seriously—and the program they had lined up made it clear they did not limit their vision of theology to the intangible.
And so a panel discussion about the legacy of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German Lutheran pastor executed by the Nazis in the final days of the Second World War, became a place to discern our responses to the accelerating rise of authoritarianism in the United States over the last nine months.
“I feel paralyzed by the weight of the principalities and powers that are in play now,” Jeff Pugh, a professor of religious studies at Elon University, admitted. He and the other panelists lamented the collapse of the Church in which he and many of us in the audience had grown up, its failure to offer effective witness in the face of what the late Walter Brueggemann might call an ascendant Empire.
Similarly, the media, either unable or unwilling to discern the severity of the moment, could not bring itself to tell the public the truth about a world where, as the Augsburg University religion professor Lori Brandt Hale explained, evil presents itself as necessary and efficient with increasing success.
“We are coming to a time,” Pugh warned, “when you may be hiding people in your house.” He paused, perhaps reflecting on the news earlier that week of a raid on a Chicago-area apartment building, then corrected himself: “We are already there.”
This conversation dovetailed with my own mood.
About a year ago, I shared a message comparing Bonhoeffer to the seventeenth-century Friend James Nayler. Several Quakers of Nayler’s generation shared his willingness to follow where Christ the Inward Teacher led, even when that obedience brought scorn, harassment, and persecution from England’s political and religious authorities. But his disdainful description of “a lying faith which persuades the soul of freedom from condemnation but gives it not freedom from sin” resonated with my understanding of Bonhoeffer’s negative framing of “cheap grace.” Neither man had the inclination to accommodate themselves to the ruling forces of their time, and both paid dearly for their faithful discipleship.
Whether you or I believe in the resurrected Christ as passionately as Nayler and Bonhoeffer did doesn’t particularly concern me at the moment. Whatever the contours of our Quaker faith, however, we ought to understand their willingness to set themselves in opposition to a society dominated by a self-styled elite. We recognize that God (or Spirit, or whatever works for you) has pointed us all toward a more blessed community. Jesus cautioned his disciples that those who reject that path, embracing Empire’s empty promises of wealth and power, have no excuse for their sin. (John 15:22).
If we remind our would-be rulers of that truth, by confronting their abuses of power or even just by refusing to join in their worldly pursuits, they will hate us for it—and they will try to make examples of us.
The American government is already shooting at ministers, aiming for their heads.
Something the Episcopal priest Kelly Brown Douglas said later that day stayed with me. The Romans crucified Jesus, she told us, because “he resisted and protested against everything that was an obstruction to a just world.” And his example (including, I’d emphasize, his commitment to nonviolence) should shape the direction of our testimony. “We need to act,” Douglas urged her Christian audience, “like we have a crucifixion at the center of our faith.”
That doesn’t mean we should go out and try to get ourselves shot, or arrested, or executed. But we should acknowledge to ourselves that these things can happen—and resolve to live our testimony anyway, in whatever form it takes, fulfilling Jesus’s commandment “to love one another as I have loved you.” (John 15:12) To bring down the Empire, nothing less will do.
I originally sent what you are about to read as an email directly to Ron. I have decided that I will share it as a public comment.
Because of the length restrictions, I am breaking this into 3 posts. This is part 1.
I think the basic issue is how we live our faith and beliefs, sometimes in everyday encounters.
I am a school teacher (even at age 79). This past week I was assaulted by a student. It was not severe, he was upset at having his behavior corrected and being told his father would be informed. He stood up, pushed into me, shoved me, and cursed me as we left the room without permission. He is an 8th grade boy with serious issues (he is on the Spectrum). The moment he pushed into me I could easily have put him on the floor – while I may be 79, I have been a bouncer at a singles bar and I am a former Marine, and have some training in martial arts. But long ago I decided I would not use physical violence of any kind to protect myself. I am prepared to use force, deadly if necessary, to protect those entrusted to my care, which includes all my students, even if legally some may be adults (as was the case when I was teaching in high school with 8 players on the football team, 5 of whom weighed 300 pounds and two of whom are now in the NFL – it was my legal responsibility to keep them safe.) Despite quick reflexes, I do not find not defending n]myself physically to be a burden. But with a quick mind and something of a tempter it has always been more difficult to refrain from the cutting remark, whether in conversation or in online exchanges (although the latter at least provides an opportunity to review -and reflect – before pushing enter).
This is Part 2:
But what about the micro aggressions that are so much a part of ordinary life? Do I impatiently push my car horn because I am impatient, or is it a gentle reminder to someone who is not paying attention? If I see something I think is wrong do I immediately QUESTION or CHALLENGE it, or do I per Quaker practice, pose a query that give the other person an opportunity to reflect, and PERHAPS back down, or else explain what it is I might be missing?
When I need to correct any of my middle school students, I ask them to step outside the room, given them 30-60 seconds to decompress, then go out and ASK them what is going on. IF I challenge them before their peers they will be resistant to owning their behavior and being willing to admit any errors, but in private it becomes somewhat easier, plus it means that I am also giving myself the opportunity to understand why my reaction might be inappropriate.
My responsibility to others may require that I do something alien to my own beliefs. I have seen that for example in devout Catholic governors who will allow a legitimately imposed sentence of death to be carried out despite their personal opposition because they have sworn to uphold laws including those imposing the death penalty. They cannot legitimately hold their office unless they are willing to do so.
What we know of the Buddha is that he died from eating tainted pork given by a follower that he knew was tainted because he did not want to embarrass that follower. I am not suggesting that as an absolute model to follow, but it is instructive as a goad to reflect on how we react to a variety of stimuli we encounter in our daily lives, While we may not be able to reflect in the moment, perhaps having regular periods of reflection where we examine what we have encountered and how we have reacted may lead us to begin to modify our behavior such that the negative and/or unproductive things we do that are in fact contrary to our espoused beliefs occur less frequently.
And this is the rest of it, Part 3:
One more thought, perhaps seemingly counter to what I have written. In Eastern Christianity there is the notion of the Holy Fool, foolishness for Christ’s sake (Greek: διά Χριστόν σαλότητα; Church Slavonic: оуродъ, юродъ), in Old Church Slavonic the “yurodivny”. One who joins an ascetic order might well be classified as such. So would one such as one Quaker I met at a Pendle Hill celebration who kept his income low enough so that he never paid taxes so that NOTHING that flowed from his efforts would contribute to war in any fashion. People who even on a smaller level forgo what would benefit them in some way are to some degree each a “yurodivny”. Here the first Quaker who comes to my mind was John Woolman. Others wrestle with how they live out their faith, as did William Penn when he asked George Fo how long he should continue to wear his sword.
To my mind, when we truly reflect, we will often know what it is we should do and how we should act. The question becomes how willing are we to do that reflection?
Peace.