Saved (or not) from the storm

 Mark 4:35-41

Surviving (or not) the Storm

This familiar passage of the gospel of Mark awakes in us the marveling, or perhaps the questioning the its historicity or feasibility of the story, related to the miraculous power Jesus displays to calm a storm in the Sea of Galilee. It is a powerful storm unleashing violent gusts of wind and shaking the boat where all thirteen people are in while attempting to cross the lake, to the point that it is filling with water and nearing disaster. It is no minor thing in the account of the author of the gospel the fact that the disciples--some of them fishermen and seasoned in facing the elements involved in their trade, including dealing with sudden storms--are overtaken by fear at the possibility of perishing to the uncontrollable forces of nature. But what about Jesus? Surprisingly, he is in the back the boat and yet, comfortably laying his head on a pillow, remains oblivious to the situation, sleeping and calmly resting in the middle of the storm. Near desperation, the disciples go to Jesus and question him, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" (Mark 4:38, NRSV) Responding to their fears and recrimination, Jesus quickly commands the wind and the sea to be still and then the storm ceases and the sea is "dead calm." In turn, it is Jesus who scolds the disciples on two counts: their fear and their lack of faith.

The problem addressed in this passage, I believe, has not much to do with being afraid about that what we cannot control or not having enough faith to believe that under ominous circumstances we will be able to overcome. Indeed, I am convinced that neither is about God's divine action that in a puntual situation will act powerfully or miraculously to rescue, save, or deliver humans from the forces of nature. After all, how many climate and weather events take place, like tsunamis, floods, fires, earthquakes, and mudslides that take many lives, innocent lives, lives of devote Christian believers and those of other faiths, without God (or any other god) acting? Furthermore, why should we expect a miracle of divine action when we, Western, educated, affluent Christians, must be by now fully aware how much our footprint impinges on climate change and its catastrophic consequences?

There is no question, however, that faith is essential for life and God's power in Jesus is life-giving power, and God can use that power to save lives. The biblical testimony is compelling in its call to trust God--the kind of faith that expects deliverance from evil, including that of the forces of nature. So it is fair to pray and cry out for help in times of trouble. Like the psalmist we can say of God, "My refuge and my fortress; my God in whom I trust" (Psalms 91:2). But more than coming to the rescue, God, the transcendent, far from being distant--and for many, oblivious to the human situation--is deeply and lovingly involved in the processes of life, life that encompasses the whole universe. Then we can trust in that involvement to help us "walk through fire;" to go through the "darkest valley... [and] fear no evil; for [God is] with [us]... (Psalms 23:4). However, not always, as the common human experience can testify, God will deliver us. Not everybody we pray for gets healed; our prayers do not slow down hurricanes all the time or perhaps very seldom do; I doubt that prayers will miraculously dissipate the green house effect that over the years has contributed to global warming and climate change with its increasing catastrophic consequences: extreme natural events becoming more frequent, more intense, and longer. And Yet, the promise of Emmanuel must be continuously embraced: God is and will be with us. Not that we forsake our responsibility to act in good Christian conscience to curb emissions and slow down the warming of our planet because God will walk with us leading us victoriously "through fire" and delivering us from the devastating consequences of climate change. Perhaps, we will be able to hang on like the disciples "rowing over turbulent waters" and God might come to the rescue because we trust God, and yet not tempting God believing that we can force God's liberating hand. Nevertheless, whatever the outcome of our journey, "Jesus is in the boat."

The passage addresses the question of faith, faith in Jesus. After all, Mark is an evangelist that writes to convey good news; and Jesus is the good news. He is embarked in a journey that takes him through the difficult path of defeating the forces of evil that oppress human beings, which in the historical context of the gospels are represented by the powerful Roman Empire. It is a journey that will end up in the cross, where Jesus carried a world of sin and suffering on his shoulders for the liberation of all creation. His exuberant display of power is a testimony to his contemporaries; those in the boat that call on him to do something lest they all perish, as well as the other boats scattered over the lake during this fierce storm, witness to that unequaled saving power, life giving power. It is no surprise that those in the boat ask the question, "Who then is this, that even the sea and the wind obey him? (4:41) Such power must be promising. The poor, the oppressed, the sick, and all those who suffer now learn that there is hope, that they can trust Jesus because he has power to liberate the downtrodden. And yet, in this age of global empire as throughout human history, we still see many human beings empty handed, suffering, and perishing. Can Jesus defeat the powers of evil as he mightily controls the storm in the Sea of Galilee? Throughout the scriptures, there are ambiguities about divine action. In fact, the question of suffering is permanently unanswered, and the justification of a God that allows the wicked to prosper and the righteous to perish remains an unresolved challenge. Nevertheless, God's involvement, presence, and action in creation is still a loving redemptive work that prompts us to pray in hope, "In your righteousness deliver me and rescue me; incline your ear to me and save me. Be to me a rock of refuge, a strong fortress, to save me... For you, O [God], are my hope, my trust, O [God] from my youth" (Psalms 71: 2-3; 5, NRSV).

Horacio R. Da Valle

La redención de las víctimas

Hechos 8:26-40

Introducción 

En su comentario sobre el libro de los Hechos, el teólogo Willie James Jennings llama a los eventos relatados en la historia de la iglesia naciente, una revolución espiritual. Todavía esta fresca la experiencia de los discípulos de como el horror de la cruz es transformado en gozo por el encuentro con Jesús resucitado, y el advenimiento del Espíritu Santo energiza a la nueva "comunidad del camino" con un ímpetu inusitado. Hay un fuego espiritual que mueve a los testigos de todas estas cosas a comunicar esa transformación que tiene que ver con el reino de Dios--el nuevo orden anunciado por Jesús, un nuevo orden que es revolucionario y que tiene implicaciones políticas, económicas y sociales. Claro está, esta es una revolución que está suspendida entre lo que ya presente y lo que todavía tiene que acontecer. Pueden verse señales a lo largo de la historia donde Dios revela instancias de esta nueva realidad, pero, al mismo tiempo, Dios sigue creando y recreando al mundo y a la humanidad para que se preparen para el futuro, es decir, el futuro eterno de Dios. A la vista de este panorama alentador, grandes expectativas pueden ser anticipadas: la iglesia comienza a avanzar y avanzará en los siglos subsiguientes, con paso firme, no sin luchas, con victorias y derrotas, con el proyecto misionero de proclamar las buenas nuevas del evangelio haciendo discípulos a todas las naciones. Pero, a la luz del encuentro entre Felipe y el eunuco etíope en el camino que desciende de Jerusalén a Gaza, ¿qué significado podemos hallar en este evento algo inusual, evento que se ha entendido en gran medida como evangelístico y misionero? 

I. Dios toma la iniciativa en favor de las víctimas 

El pasaje que se encuentra en Hechos 8:26-40 revela un encuentro inusual: Felipe, llamado a ser diácono/siervo para servir las mesas en la comunidad del camino, recibe revelación divina a través de un ángel con el mandato de dirigirse a un camino desierto, un camino que se extiende más allá de lo conocido, de lo familiar y de aquello a lo que resulta más fácil acomodarse. Allí el evangelista se encuentra con un personaje distinto: no es judío, ni griego ni romano; no es alguien que pueda ser encasillado dentro de la "normalidad," de la audiencia que hasta entonces era evangelizada: como diría Pablo, "[el] judío y también el griego." (Romanos 1:16c) El eunuco etíope viene de adorar en Jerusalén y lee el rollo del profeta Isaías en su búsqueda que es espiritual, pero también existencial y que no puede estar exenta de un profundo deseo de justicia. ¿Por qué Lucas, el historiador, le presta especial atención a este caso puntual de evangelización en el avance misionero de la iglesia primigenia? Me animo a afirmar que el relato refleja la intención de Dios, del deseo divino, de su opción preferencial por los oprimidos, de alcanzar a aquellas minorías sexuales, raciales y culturales, representadas por este funcionario de una corte real, que a la vez es esclavo. La revolución del Espíritu en Hechos refleja el amor de Dios por las víctimas y el evangelio es buena nueva de redención y liberación. 

Esta iniciativa divina debe haber sorprendido a Felipe porque además de ser enviado a un camino desierto, le tocaba vivir en aquel momento inicial de la iglesia, en el cual algunos o muchos entendían que el evangelio era sólo para los judíos. Se necesitaba la providencial revelación divina para demostrar el potencial transformador del evangelio de Jesucristo en la intención y la iniciativa de Dios de que todos los seres humanos sean salvos. El deseo divino es que mujeres y hombres de todas las edades entren en la paz de Dios, a la vez ideal y concreta, presente y futura, por ahora imperfecta y cuando el tiempo llegue, será perfeccionada para la gloria de Dios. El eunuco es el foco de la iniciativa divina de ir más allá de lo familiar, de la zona de confort y de imponer las condiciones necesarias para recibir el evangelio que redime y libera. El funcionario de la corte etíope no es el clásico "pecador" que debe arrepentirse, aunque, por supuesto, también debe hacerlo como cualquier ser humano. Este hombre busca en las escrituras hebreas una palabra de esperanza desde la posición, la situación y la perspectiva de las víctimas. Regresa de Jerusalén; había ido a adorar, pero conforme a la ley judía es muy probable que no haya podido entrar al templo de Dios en la ciudad santa (Deuteronomio 23:1). El eunuco experimenta en su propia carne la discriminación que sufren tantas víctimas sobre la faz de la tierra por esta causa, la de haber sido castrado, o por muchas de las formas en que los seres humanos somos oprimidos. La iniciativa divina redentora, liberadora tiene muy en cuenta a las víctimas. 

II. Dios propone cruzar barreras en la labor misionera 

El ángel envió a Felipe a un camino desierto; un sendero marginal, fuera de lo límites de pueblos y ciudades, una especie de frontera entre lo familiar y lo diferente. La iniciativa divina era precisamente cruzar esa frontera que todavía representaba una barrera, la barrera que separa a grupos privilegiados de otros que no lo son. El movimiento de Jesús y sus discípulos, para ese entonces conocido como "los del camino," es un grupo de gente sencilla, del pueblo, que ama a Jesús y que va aprendiendo al andar ese camino. Con Felipe se derriban varias barreras: la barrera de la exclusividad religiosa; la de la discriminación de las minorías sexuales y raciales; aquella que nos separa a los seres humanos cuando nos encerramos en nuestros valores culturales; y, principalmente, el velo que cubre nuestra mirada y no nos permite ver la opresión que sufrimos y vemos sufrir a otros en los sistemas imperiales o coloniales, que todavía dominan el mundo global de nuestros tiempos. El eunuco etíope conjuga en su cuerpo toda esta suerte de características de discriminación, opresión e injusticia. 

Pero, Felipe tiene buenas nuevas para el funcionario etíope. Si tiene un plan de acción, éste es irrelevante; es el Espíritu de Dios el que lo inspira y lo dirige al encuentro. Siguiendo esa directiva del Espíritu se acerca al carro y oye la lectura de un pasaje que le es familiar: Isaías 53:7-8. Felipe simplemente ofrece la ayuda que puede dar: facilitar el entendimiento de este pasaje a su interlocutor; la explicación de un texto que habla del siervo que sufre como cordero que es llevado a la muerte sin abrir su boca, que padece humillación, a quién no se le hace justicia, y acaba en la muerte, pero, sin embargo, su generación, la de los que lo aman y lo siguen es innumerable. Lucas interpreta que este siervo que sufre es Jesús de Nazaret y que su sufrimiento ocurre en la cruz, donde Dios culmina su obra redentora para la humanidad y la corona al levantarlo de entre los muertos.  

 Este texto los Hechos de alguna manera ha inspirado la labor misionera cristiana por generaciones. Después de todo, este hombre es de Etiopía, una nación mediterránea en el cuerno de África, donde predomina la raza negra, que ofrece a la perspectiva del mandato bíblico un gran campo misionero. Pero la aceptación del evangelio por parte del eunuco no puede limitarse a su experiencia meramente espiritual enfocada en una esperanza extraterrena, independiente de la realidad humana contextual, como lo que ofrece primordialmente mucha de la labor misionera evangelística. La iniciativa divina es que el avance del evangelio derribe las barreras de discriminación, desigualdad e injusticia. Según la ley, el eunuco no podía entrar al templo, pero, si leyó el rollo del profeta Isaías en su totalidad debe haber sido impactado por lo que está escrito en el capítulo 56: 3-5: "... [no] diga el eunuco; he aquí soy árbol seco. Porque así dijo Jehová: a los eunucos... yo les daré lugar en mi casa y dentro de mis muros y nombre mejor que el de hijos e hijas; nombre perpetuo les daré, que nunca perecerá." Dios recibe a la humanidad en su quebrantamiento y las identidades humanas son respetadas. El creador de los cielos y de la tierra buscó alcanzar a este hombre perteneciente a lo que hoy llamamos una minoría entre minorías. Dios tomó la iniciativa, no para solamente salvar su alma, sino también para hacer justicia a su cuerpo, a su situación y a la totalidad de su vida. 

 III. Dios desea redimir a las víctimas 

 En última instancia, la inquietud del eunuco etíope se concentra en el interrogante, ¿de quién habla el profeta cuando menciona los padecimientos del siervo que sufre? De una forma implícita también, ¿qué significa este sufrimiento? y, ¿por qué y para qué sufre? Una respuesta clásica de la teología protestante, basada en alguna de las teorías de expiación más utilizadas, suele ser que Jesús pagó con su muerte en la cruz el castigo del pecado que la humanidad merece por su culpabilidad, y así satisfacer la justicia divina. De esta manera, la redención alcanza a aquellos y aquellas que se arrepienten y por la fe reciben a Jesucristo. Más allá de la indiscutible necesidad del perdón de los pecados, la cita de Isaías que Lucas utiliza se enfoca en el sufrimiento del siervo, sin mencionar el hecho que él "cargo con el pecado de muchos." Creo que esta omisión del evangelista e historiador es intencional. No se trata de ignorar la realidad del pecado personal, sino que, se mira a la cruz desde la perspectiva de las víctimas. La cruz no es el lugar donde Dios abandona a su hijo demandando el pago de una deuda para satisfacer la justicia según la ley. La cruz implica la humillación, no sólo del hijo, sino la del Dios Trino que se somete el horror del sufrimiento de tortura hasta la muerte y se identifica con las víctimas. Los oprimidos, los inmigrantes, los refugiados, los discriminados por su sexualidad, o por su raza, nacionalidad, o cultura son invitados a la comunión divina que es igualitaria en virtud del sufrimiento del Hijo de Dios que redime, libera y hace justicia. 

Conclusión 

El eunuco etíope, al llegar a un lugar donde había agua, pide ser bautizado. Nada lo impide; todo obstáculo que pueda obstruir el acto bautismal, el inicio e incorporación de este hombre a la comunidad del camino, queda superado. Si él había sido victimizado en su andar como persona minoritaria, o dejado fuera del templo, o discriminado de muchas formas, ahora ha hallado en Jesús el compañero para el camino de la vida, sin necesitar renunciar a su identidad, sino siendo sanado de las heridas que por ella pueda haber sufrido. 

En la vida y ministerio de la iglesia, Dios toma la iniciativa y dirige a su pueblo, por la revolución que inspira el Espíritu Santo, a proclamar las buenas nuevas del evangelio completo; a cruzar toda barrera y a encarnar una misión liberadora para las víctimas que han padecido y padecen injusticia desde la fundación del mundo. 

Horacio R. Da Valle 

Gresham, OR, primavera de 2021 

Ethical Indignation

Ethical Indignation(1)

Jeremiah 20:7-13

Not long ago, a colleague and friend of mine was characterized—apparently because of his postings in a social media outlet—as always being angry or of being an angry person. My response in the ensuing exchange that took place was that, amid the dire outlook of our present crises and the weak action, or non action or the divisive message and measures of our government officials, faith practitioners speak and denounce injustice boasting ethical indignation. Reflecting on the uncovering of unresolved conflicts and the omnipresence of racism that current events have recently betrayed, some of us, contextual theologians, and in my case from the Latinx perspective, are also aware that we do theology (and ethics) out of ethical indignation. This claim has—though not exclusively—Latin American roots, coming from a continent in which the concept of economic dependence that informed the reflection of liberation theologians in the 20th century has now been somewhat blurred. Such dependence is no longer that of economic power-states controlling the economy of underdeveloped nations. It is now the submission of individuals, communities, and countries to depend on the rules of the market that currently permeate the whole planet—the surrender to a global empire in which we are all defined by economic exchange and nearly half of the population lives in abject poverty. It is under this overwhelming power of empire that faith practitioners, pastors, preachers, teachers, and prophets minister, preach, teach, and denounce out of ethical indignation; and some of us do theology and ethics. The overarching theo-ethical message—at the risk of oversimplifying it—is turning to the rule of God and the call to build the future together with God, the God of life; a future of love, peace, and justice for all living creatures, including the earth itself. 

I sense in my reading of Jeremiah 20:7-13 that the prophet is experiencing ethical, existential indignation, which is reflected in the somewhat angry questioning to God about the impending doom looming in the imminent future of his nation, about which Jeremiah has been called to prophesy. The prophet’s lament begins with an invocation of complaint; Jeremiah pleads his case “denouncing” God’s “seduction” to lure him into the prophetic office to which he feels too overpowered to respond. Sadly—and this seems to come from the prophet’s core—he is angry because he has become the laughing stock of a nation that mock him plagued by their unbelief, and engaged in “denouncing” the “terror” the prophet is spreading all around. Jeremiah's message is harsh and unappealing, “I must shout, ‘Violence and destruction!’” It is a word of “reproach and derision all day long” (Jeremiah 20:8, NRSV). Yet, as much as he tries, he cannot avoid mentioning God or speaking in God’s name because "something like a burning fire” is consuming his bones—a metaphor that portrays his anger. Is Jeremiah angry with God for the inevitability of the foreign northern invasion and the destruction of Judah’s life, as they know it? Perhaps. Yet, the underlying gut feeling or sense—both pathos and ratio—points to his witness of the self destruction that God’s people are bringing upon themselves as the source of his indignation. The covenant between God and Israel should be clear and enlightening: abiding in the precepts of the Torah implies walking in the light of God and basking on the blessings attached to its obedience; disobedience prompts the curses of the law, described in no soft terms in Deuteronomy 28:15-45. The sin of the people as a whole is also exposed with clarity in Jeremiah’s overall witness; it is the oppression and abuse of the poor, the idolatry in which the gaze is fixed on human created objects of pleasure and desire, not in the true source of life, and the overall forsaking of the covenant founded on the rule of God.

However, Jeremiah’s lament on what he sees as a bleak future for his nation and his people still exhibits a note of hope, but not so much because he trusts that God the “warrior" will respond with just retribution to evildoers—who perhaps brought upon themselves the “punishment” that is intrinsically related to their unjust actions. Rather, the hope attached to the prophet’s lament is the utterance of God’s active deliverance of the life of the poor from evildoers that prompts him to “sing to Yahweh,” and “praise Yahweh.” Whether Jeremiah is anticipating God liberative action in the near future or focusing on a distant eschatological horizon, this utterance from the prophet is a sign of relief; just a sign because he continues thereafter with his sour lament. Nevertheless, amid the prevalence of injustice, violence, and death, the promise of liberation from the God of life stands for the poor and the oppressed.

Jeremiah’s experience deals with the inevitable vanishing of the glorious days of the Israel of the Davidic kingdom due to the sin of forsaking God’s covenant, and reflected in the moral decline of what is left of the once prosperous united nation. If they had dreams of being an empire, the shattering of that expectation has been in the making for quite some time. We need not assume—it is not my personal claim—that 21st century onlookers should make a direct correlation between Judah’s sin and God’s retributive justice in the punishment of the forthcoming exile. I suggest that it is a slow and prolonged exercise of self destruction by the people. Even if we assume God will plainly punish disobedience, the self-destruction that takes place in the context of sixth century BCE Judah is the result of forcing God’s hand. God has been very patient and, perhaps, the inevitability of the invasion of the northern foreign power happens because when the people abandon the covenant they renounce to God’s blessings. In short, nations and societies that abandon their people to poverty and oppress in a variety of ways different sectors of the population; nations whose gaze has been blinded by the brightness of any object or experience of temporary satisfaction, which they desperately attempt to grasp in their fetishism; ultimately, peoples and people who subscribe to a culture of violence and death, forsaking the blessings of the God of life, love, peace, and justice—are on a path of self destruction.

We no longer live in an era in which empires are defeated and conquered by other empires. The global reality of the 21st century betrays the inescapable totality of a world-wide-market-empire in which everything is commodified. Human life is valued according to hierarchies driven by race, ethnicity, gender, class, and sexual orientation—categories that do not exhaust the grounds of bigotry and discrimination—and therefore, “John” has much better chances than “María” to survive and flourish, especially if the former is located at the heart of the global empire and the latter in the fringes. Self-destruction is rampant in societies like the United States of America, when policies favor some and abandon others; when many children are left behind in an educational system geared to benefit the economically and racially advantaged, and the children of immigrant refugees are separated from their families and kept in concentration-camp-like cages; when the ideology that health care is a privilege prevails; when the police openly and blatantly, and completely devalue black lives by murdering young men and women; when the overall thrust of American society propels the flourishing of an oligarchic minority on a course of distancing itself more and more from the rest. Indeed, we are on a path of self destruction when we are led by an ignoramus who defies the most basic principles of moral integrity; principles that are actively ignored by the president’s Christian supporters. Yet, this is no judgment on individuals—though if anyone gets offended, let it be so: this a theo-ethical reflection out of the indignation fueled by the factual data that reveals the ongoing abuse and destruction of human lives, of other forms of life, and of the biosphere, which endangers the future of the planet and hinders more than ever the possibilities of life flourishing for all.

Jeremiah’s lament, however, does not obscure the prophet’s faith and hope. He is confident that God “tests the righteous” and sees “the heart and the mind,” and that justice will prevail—his retributive version, however, which in its pervasive prominence might be questioned in our contemporary scene, yet unquestionably divine justice. We can resort to a theological understanding that highlights God’s love, mercy and grace. Grace, however, is deeply related to the metanoia of the “heart and mind;” a turn in intentions and actions that transforms life completely. In Jeremiah’s historical experience it is unavoidable to accept his utterance of God’s action of retribution in the “trial” of the oppressors and those who abuse the poor. In the same vein, present day prophets might find solace and provisional peace of mind to ease their ethical indignation in their liberative praxis, which in the process of re-structuring life to the shape and values of God’s rule uncovers structural sin and the immediacy of a time of reckoning already transpiring. 

Horacio R. Da Valle

(1) I borrow this concept from Korean-Brazilian theologian Jung Mo Sung. See his “The Human Being as Subject: Defending the Victims,” in Latin American Liberation Theology: The Next Generation, ed. Ivan Petrella (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2005), 2.