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.

Undoing Injustice

June 7, 2020

Isaiah 58:1-11

It is with uneasiness, sadness, and a gut wrenching sensation that I am writing about justice. Such existential feeling of “ethical exasperation," which is about injustice—perpetually present in me, has been fueled and augmented by the events surrounding the horrendous murder of George Floyd in the hands of the Minneapolis police—one of too many, some reported and many unknown to the general public—that the whole world witnessed. It has become increasingly difficult if not impossible to hide behind a “veil of ignorance” what has been taking place for centuries on American soil, of which the history of slavery and lynchings continue to be a reminder of the hateful and savage oppression to death perpetrated on black bodies. And brown bodies’ fate does not go far behind; they have been displaced, killed, pushed over the border (or the border crossed over them), oppressed and reduced to hard, cheap labor, their children put in cages, and they endemically suffer the consequences of the expansionist political and economic policies of the United States beyond its borders.

We keep on witnessing the dehumanization of racism; there are inconvenient, colored, different, threatening bodies that instill fear on those who fool themselves under the pretension of a social construction, a distorted ideology, and fantasy of a superior race. But those bodies disrupt the dream of a “lily white” homogeneous world; they reveal that God created a world of color, diversity, and difference and proclaimed that it is Good. The complexity of social issues that undermine God’s act of creating, sustaining, and blessing life for all creation seems to be overwhelming, especially if we look at the powers behind the policies that perpetuate those issues. The roots of racism intersect with classism, sexism, homophobia, ethnocentrism, white nationalism, xenophobia, poverty, and some even more sophisticated forms of discrimination and oppression, like policies that foster the deleterious effects of climate change and environmental degradation, primarily affecting the poor.

So, in the wake of the violent death of George Floyd and the ensuing protests all over the nation and in some notable cities in the world, many prophets have emerged, and we hear a numerous and diverse chorus of voices that cry for justice. It seems pretty obvious what needs to be done and what appears it will happen; the police officer that pressed with his knee on the back of George Floyd's neck for over eight minutes while his victim was pleading for his life, muttering with a fading voice, “I can’t breathe,” will be charged with second degree murder, and his partners will also receive their punishment for doing nothing to stop the crime. Is justice being served? Just partly. At least, in the current system of retributive justice the culprits will receive their desert—what they deserve for breaking the law--and will suffer the corresponding punishment. The foundation of this system continues to be the lex talionis, the law of Talion, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. This understanding of justice and the law may appease protesters and victims and yet what was lost, destroyed, and obliterated is irrecoverable.

But I have been challenged to preach about the word justice therefore I am reflecting and writing about it. This challenge could not have been at a more momentous time, when the cry for justice has become painful and violent. I was kindly invited by pastor Jeremy Richards of the Grant Park Church in Portland, OR to participate in his series of sermons on “words,” or key words or symbols or—as I have interpreted his intention—doctrines in the language of our Christian tradition. And such word is justice! But what is justice?

Such is the title of a book edited by philosophers Robert Solomon and Mark Murphy, who in their introduction of this reader of religious and philosophical traditions about justice, confirm a somewhat perpetual state of debate, dissent, and ambiguity in responding to the question, what is justice? Is justice related to what is right or good? Is it about social harmony? Is justice defined by a fair exchange and distribution of goods? Is it about retribution as mentioned above? Does justice mean equality and protects rights and entitlements especially those related to private property? Is it not justice about liberty? What plagues most attempts to articulate definitions both narrow and encompassing seems to be the deeper question of what criteria can provide a framework to understand what is good or right or on what base entitlement can be justified, what is required for social harmony, or in what ways equality can be sustained. Such is the struggle of philosophical and religious-theological traditions.

Therefore, I am taking a narrow path; I am unabashedly assuming—once again—the already old though always fertile hermeneutical approach that looks at the Bible and theology taking the side of the poor and the oppressed of the world. As a Latin American and Latinx theologian, my continuous reflection and attempts to respond ethically to the emergent challenges compels me to apprehend God as the Liberator of what enslave human beings, from the chains of sin both personal and corporate, from economic, racial, and cultural oppression, from all kinds of injustice, and ultimately from death. Liberation is salvation; and reconciliation; and redemption, a renewal and recovery of life for the whole creation. Furthermore, life, Christian life, is praxis; it is doing justice yet, looking at the present circumstances of our country, the arduous task of undoing injustice. With these lenses I center the focus for this theo-ethical reflection on the passage of Isaiah 58: 1-11 to glean some thoughts about justice. However, I want to clarify that while reading the English versions of the text, in which we find two words, righteousness and justice to translate from the original Hebrew words, in general, in Latin and Romance languages these are mostly translated with only one word iustitia, in Spanish Justicia. I believe that righteousness and justice can be used interchangeably though I am inclined to view righteousness somewhat as the virtue of those who practice justice and the latter as the concrete action of doing good and the ensuing outcomes, though I recognize the legal aspects of the word.

The prophetic message of Third Isaiah assertively assumes God’s “voice” in denouncing the injustice that permeates Judah’s post-exilic society and raises a compelling call to the people to undo the wickedness with which they had sadly treated the poor. The historical context betrays the disappointment of failures, such as when the return from the exile was supposed to initiate a new era of vindication after decades of expatriation and suffering, only to continue under the rule of the Persian Empire with very little improvement of the economic conditions of life. Such limited post-exilic social, economic, and religious redemption and the reconstruction of the temple, unfortunately unfold the crude reality of oppression and inequality prevailing, which the prophet calls wickedness. A clear example of the prophetic preaching of Third Isaiah—truly reforming—is found in chapter 56 where he announces that God says “… to the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths, who choose the things that please me… I will give, in my house and within my walls, a monument and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off” (Isaiah 56:4-5, NRSV). Third Isaiah reveals how undoing injustice requires breaking the structures that perpetuate it.

The prophet is called to “shout out” and denounce the harsh reality of how the sin and transgression of the people affect the social and religious life of the nation and need to be addressed. They are supposedly seeking God and they desire to “know” God's ways as if their spiritual seeking were a deep conviction of the soul, that is, rooted in a relationship of closeness with God as if they understood the intrinsic relation between a life with God and the practice of justice. And the people lift their voices and cry, “Why do we fast, but you don’t see? Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?” (Isaiah 58:3a). The apparently deep, existential, “spiritual” question receives a simple, practical answer, “Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day, and oppress all your workers” (58:3b). It does not matter how much the religious observance of the people shows their commitment to worship; the enacted exhibition of humbleness by lying in “sackcloth and ashes” can only unveil their foolishness. Such worship is not acceptable to God for the simple reason that without the practice of justice there is no true worship.

God has a clear, concrete, and, again, practical way of declaring God’s welcoming and embracing worship, prayer, and closeness, which is expressed in the form of a rhetorical question that strengthens the emphasis: "… loose the bonds of injustice… undo the thongs of the yoke… let the oppressed go free… break every yoke…”(58:6) Justice here is liberation; the undoing of injustice (wickedness), which is not limited to the benevolent an merciful acts of sharing the bread with the hungry, bringing the homeless “into your house,” and covering the naked, restoring lives, what Walter Brueggemann calls rehabilitative justice. It takes the breaking of the yoke, a metaphor for tyranny, domination, and enslavement that reveals, in my view, that all structures of oppression must be undone, and enslaving systems must be torn down. Doing justice is creating the conditions where all human needs are met and the possibilities of the flourishing of life are sought. Such affirmation does not come without ambiguities; building a new world, a different reality, a realm where the sacredness of life, of life in the collective, of life for every sentient being is a supreme value fall, for many, into the category of utopia. Nevertheless, Third Isaiah foresees the utopia of the God of life; the “year of the Lord’s favor” is in the future, not as the end but as the beginning of true justice, and of what Isaiah of Jerusalem pictured as the “peaceable kingdom."

Unfortunately, the people, according to Third Isaiah, are trapped in their own structures of injustice, believing that their worship brings them to a righteous relationship with God. It is safe to assume that many are honest; others, perhaps simply go through the motions. Yet, the prophet reveals what happens even in the Sabbath; they quarrel, they fight, there is finger pointing —possibly threats, and all related to violence because they “strike with a wicked fist” (58:4a). Violence permeates a post-exilic society perhaps because violence, as Rene Girard asserts, is at the foundation of human culture. This does not mean there is no other option to violence in spite of its endemic and enduring influence. The practice of justice, of doing good in the seemingly limited understanding of taking the side of the poor, the oppressed, and the downtrodden is the starting point to discern what is justice before beginning—or continuing—to engage in philosophical speculation about its meaning. Again, such practice, or action, or praxis, will still betray ambiguities. Yet, meeting human needs for abundant life is a necessary undertaking that begins to reveal what justice is. As Gustavo Gutierrez articulates his thought about the value of life, God is the Creator of life and God does justice because God is Holy; God is the God of life. The dimension of the specific action I am calling for is overwhelming. Yet, if Christians are going to contribute to the transformation of the world a historical praxis for life is the narrow path to follow. Black lives matter!

It is obvious that in this day and age the odds of beginning to do justice in a systemic way, of actively undoing injustice, and deconstructing structures of oppression, may seem overwhelming. As Michel Foucault has figured power, it is a ubiquitous set of relations with no center or poles; power is everywhere. Though there might be nodes of concentration of power, it is primarily diffused and can be exerted in many directions. Limited power can be used creatively and, the exercise of power implies resistance. This has become a buzzword in contemporary thought, in popular and academic circles. The beauty of the notion is that encourages praxis; action that is political, aesthetic, and ethical. Foci of resistance can grow and exercise power in the framework of power relations to deconstruct o transform structures from the inside out. This kind of resistance, however, must be peaceful. The narrow path of the concrete action of meeting human needs, of doing justice, of promoting quality of life for every sentient being, can create a clear conscience in human beings of how necessary it is to act at every level. It will not come without losses; in the protection of life very often life is lost. Nevertheless, justice is about life, redeemed, saved, whether human or otherwise; it is the life of the biosphere, of the whole creation, which is eagerly groaning and waiting for God’s redemption. 

Horacio Da Valle

Vida y Testimonio

31 de Mayo, 2020

Hechos 2:1-13

La celebración litúrgica que el calendario eclesiástico indica para todas aquellas personas que buscan una identificación con las diversas comunidades cristianas es que ha llegado el día del pentecostés—o simplemente el recordatorio, claro está. De las distintas lecturas en esta fecha que propone el leccionario común revisado, escojo para la reflexión el relato en el segundo capítulo de el libro de los Hechos. El énfasis sobre la importancia de esta narrativa quizás sea muy difícil de considerarse excesivo; ella exalta el significado singular del momento transición que vivieron los primeros cristianos entre la vida, ministerio, pasión, muerte y resurrección de Jesucristo, y el nacimiento de la iglesia. La manifestación visible de lo que se reconoce como el “derramamiento” del Espíritu Santo ha tenido y continuará teniendo un impacto inigualable en la historia de la iglesia. Utilizando la mismísima metáfora del fuego y su potencial de extenderse, podríamos decir que el Espíritu Santo se ha “desparramado” a lo largo y ancho del planeta en los últimos 120 años a través de los movimientos pentecostales y/o carismáticos que de alguna manera han impactado a la mayoría de las tradiciones eclesiales cristianas. Cabe entonces plantear algunas preguntas cruciales a la luz de las preocupaciones ético-teológicas como las de aquellos que se sienten indignados por las injusticias que se cometen a diario en perjuicio de los más débiles, las minorías y los pobres. Una lista de víctimas puede ser mucho más detallada, pero todas sufren ante la mirada y actitud pasiva de gran parte del cristianismo que conserva esencialmente una estructura que, conscientemente o no, se somete a los designios de un imperio globalizado. ¿Cuál es el impacto de transformación social que el “movimiento" del Espíritu ha producido en general? ¿Puede separarse la vida espiritual que genera el Espíritu de Dios de la praxis (vida) necesariamente resultante? ¿Qué valores éticos intrínsecamente relacionados con la praxis “inspira” el Espíritu Santo en cristianos y cristianas ante los desafíos del siglo 21? La influencia del poder del Espíritu Santo, propongo, debe ser interpretada desde una perspectiva liberadora que afirme la vida.

Las preguntas planteadas son tan sólo algunas entre las muchas acuciantes que recaen sobre la conciencia cristiana ante algunas de las realidades que nos incumben profundamente aunque sería imposible esbozar respuestas en tan corta reflexión. Pero, nos enfrentamos a situaciones concretas que en apariencia emergen abruptamente pero que no hacen otra cosa que revelar lo que ya no puede sorprendernos: la cultura de muerte y violencia subyacente que nos rodea, que se refleja en el racismo, el clasismo, la homofobia y la desvalorización del la vida, incluyendo la biosfera de nuestro planeta. Lo concreto de la violencia y el racismo en Estados Unidos no pudo ser más claro y evidente que lo que las cámaras de los tantos medios de difusión nos proveyeron en esta época de información instantánea. El mundo entero fue testigo de cómo George Floyd fue reducido violentamente por la policía de Minneapolis y cómo, en una actitud de insensibilidad criminal por parte de un oficial, que ejerciendo presión excesiva con la rodilla sobre su cuello, le ocasionó la muerte, sin oír sus súplicas que imploraban con voz ya débil, “no puedo respirar.” Las imágenes son harto elocuentes: el rostro mismo del agente policial refleja un aire mezcla de alivio y sentido del deber cumplido. Una vez más un cuerpo oscuro o de color o moreno ha sido sometido violenta y criminalmente al orden imperante de una cultura de supremacía de la raza blanca, que no es otra cosa que una construcción social ficticia e ideológica aumentada por la retórica política de la casa blanca.

A nadie escapa la conclusión de la lógica de la violencia: actos violentos generan más violencia; como alguna vez afirmara el arzobispo brasileño Elder Cámara, la violencia es como una espiral que cuando comienza va progresivamente en aumento. Lejos de aceptar la violencia que estalla durante las protestas justificadas de ciudadanos de todos los sectores que desean expresar su indignación por el hecho criminal en el cual George Floyd pierde su vida—algo que no es nuevo sino recurrente, la explicación responde a la lógica de la violencia. Pero la violencia no es solución; para mantener la integridad moral de la sociedad y el orden social es necesario interrumpir los ciclos de violencia. Lamentablemente la mayoría de los reclamos de justicia buscan “curar” los síntomas y dejan de denunciar cuales son las raíces del mal; se busca calmar los ánimos para perpetuar algo que es sistémico. El sistema económico imperante es poderoso y global pero, como está demostrando la crisis de salud mundial provocada por la pandemia del Covid-19, es más endeble de lo que muchos imaginan. Como afirmara Michel Foucault las relaciones de poder impregnan toda la realidad pero al mismo tiempo diluyen las concentraciones  del mismo. Las interacciones de poder reflejan las posibilidades constructivas en la resistencia debido a que donde hay poder siempre hay resistencia. Martin Luther King Jr. y César Chavez, los dos profetas mayores de la historia de los Estados Unidos enseñaron a su generación y a la posteridad en qué consiste una praxis de resistencia no violenta. Emulando a las voces del movimiento chicano, ¡sí se puede!

A este marco histórico presente, al que hay que responder con un mensaje profético que denuncia la injusticia y reclama justicia para todo ser humano, es necesario verlo con un sentido de esperanza nutrida por la fe del pueblo de Dios y a la luz del texto del día del pentecostés. Sin negar la realidad difícil que nos rodea debemos meternos en el escenario que pinta el autor en la intersección de la ascensión de Jesucristo, como culminación de los eventos más importantes para la fe cristiana, con el derramamiento del Espíritu Santo y el principio de la iglesia. La narrativa es elocuente: una serie de eventos naturales como una ráfaga de viento fuerte, el sonido de un estruendo, el fuego y el hablar en distintos idiomas convergen para pintar un cuadro sobrenatural de la manifestación divina por medio de la cual se afirman la promesa de Emanuel, Dios con nosotros, la de Jesús cuando declara que no deja a su pueblo huérfano a su partida, y la final antes de desaparecer de los ojos de sus discípulos en la cual proclama que el poder del Espíritu Santo reviste a su pueblo para la vida y el testimonio. Las imágenes que describe el pasaje de Hechos 2:1-13 reflejan lo extático del momento; un anticipo del futuro en cual las barreras de idioma, etnicidad, raza y cultura serán superadas y luego, más adelante, lo profético por medio del sermón del apóstol Pedro. El poder de Dios se hace palpable, visible y disponible por el Espíritu Santo que pone a todos los seres humanos que lo deseen en un plano de igualdad. Si hay algo que nos hace iguales es el Espíritu de Dios que habita en nosotros y nosotras. Lejos de entrar en un análisis exegético de este texto esencial, quiero aquí ofrecer sólo un bosquejo de algunos aspectos ético-teológicos del pentecostés que iluminen nuestro contexto.

En primer lugar, el Espíritu Santo llena de poder para la vida. En este sentido, es necesario entender a la vida en lo colectivo, en toda la importancia de la santidad de la misma como algo sagrado que debe promoverse, protegerse y disfrutar a pleno, precisamente en esa relación íntima con lo divino. Es la vida humana, la vida de la creación, la vida de todo ser sensible. Jesús confirmó el propósito de su encarnación de ofrecer vida abundante, presente aunque imperfecta, y futura, eterna y completa. Por ello, el Espíritu Santo que no es otro que el Dios de la vida nos ha sido dado para amar, esto es, amar la vida, la de toda criatura; este mismo Espíritu es el soplo divino que origina y sostiene la vida de todo lo creado. Por ello, la reflexión sobre esta afirmación y aún más allá, la impresión del poder del Espíritu Santo sobre nuestra razón sensible, la que interpreta las emociones sin ser dominada por las mismas y no es la mera herramienta instrumental de nuestro entendimiento, debe informar nuestra praxis, la de la vida, la social, la política y la estética. El Espíritu da dones, conforme a las Escrituras; hoy más que nunca tendrán peso transformador si se emplean con una conciencia clara para promover la vida en una cultura de violencia y muerte.

En segundo lugar, el Espíritu Santo inspira, da sabiduría e instruye a mujeres y hombres para el testimonio de Jesucristo quien en los evangelios sinópticos dirigió su mensaje, no hacia su persona, su obra salvífica o su divinidad, sino hacia el inicio del reino o la nueva realidad o el nuevo orden de Dios cuya consumación esta en futuro. Es decir, su mensaje fue un llamado a sus seguidores a ser testigos del reino en el contexto de un imperio violento, opresivo y poderoso como el romano. En esa situación el testigo (en griego martys) expone su vida y, como en muchos casos a lo largo de la historia, la pierde. Los testigos se transforman frecuentemente en mártires aunque no pierdan la vida necesariamente. Pero sufren la presión, críticas, burlas, amenazas, e insultos y en muchos casos el ostracismo cuando alzan su voz promoviendo valores contrarios al sistema que acepta “principios” cristianos cuando se alinean con el imperio. Jesús dejo muy claro que su testimonio o mensaje o evangelio era inspirado por el Espíritu de Dios en él (Lucas 4:18). Estas eran y son buenas nuevas de liberación. Por ese testimonio, Jesús fue un testigo a punto de perecer como mártir ante el juicio de su propio pueblo pero todavía no había llegado su hora de martirio. Ser testigos de Jesucristo y del reino de Dios en su poder transformador y subversivo para los “principados y potestades" de este tiempo no es tarea fácil. Como afirmara el gran teólogo aleman Dietrich Bonhoeffer, la gracia de Dios no es barata; el favor divino se sometió a la cruz, al auto-abandono para la redención y liberación de toda la vida incluido el planeta.

Finalmente, la iglesia es tal, el cuerpo de Cristo, por el Espíritu Santo con el que ha sido sellada y que le da poder. Por ello, no puede ser una institución o una estructura que que se rinda a la cultura global en el cual el planeta en su totalidad es convertido en un mercado donde se oprime y sacrifica la vida humana por el afán del consumo y la acumulación de riquezas. La iglesia debe encarnar los valores del reino de Dios y levantar su voz como los profetas que denunciaban el pecado en su totalidad pero enfatizando también la perniciosa incidencia social de éste sobre la vida de hombres y mujeres sometidos y sometidas a la opresión y la pobreza. La iglesia es la comunidad de Espíritu y, por lo tanto, el mensaje del evangelio el cual tiene como misión pregonar en el poder del Espíritu, son buenas nuevas de liberación, liberación del pecado, de la opresión y de la esclavitud, y en última instancia, de la muerte. La iglesia, como comunidad del Espíritu promueve la vida, no la muerte; la paz, no la guerra; promueve la no violencia, el diálogo, la solidaridad y sobre todo, el amor incondicional para con todo ser vivo.

Horacio Da Valle

A Season of Witness

May 23, 2020

Acts 1:6-11

In this unexpected, uncalled for—for most unprecedented—unimagined season of the Covid-19 pandemic, the traditional liturgical celebration of the Ascension of Jesus should be a matter beyond its often merely formal observance. Preaching, teaching, and the practical implications ensuing should broaden in the current circumstances the timeless God given gift of hope, nested in God’s ineffable Grace. The good news, the gospel of God’s rule, or realm, or reign—both present and active in this day and age and at the same time a promise in the horizon of a future consummation—is always good news by word and deed that nurture such hope. Hope, in spite of the pressure, the anxiety, the uncertainty, the struggles, and suffering that this present world-wide health crisis entails, is what enables our continuous human striving for life. And the good news of the gospel is about the continuum of life because death has been defeated once and for all in the resurrection of Jesus; the gospel is and has always been good news about life.  Hoping during this time of coronavirus, however, does not mean turning a blind eye to the harshness of a stark reality; on the contrary, it prompts us to act in ways consistent with that hope as we have witnessed many men and women—deservedly called heroes—responding to the call to provide the services necessary to save lives and combat the deadly virus in every necessary sphere of action.

Hope is deeply rooted in the hearts and minds of the disciples gathered together with Jesus at the site of the Ascension according to Acts 1:6-11. What has transpired in a few weeks in their lives is an experience of agony and ecstasy, from the horrendous event of the cross to the jubilation that the resurrection and the victory of life over death brings about. Luke represents this eventful moment in the interplay of the disciples with Jesus at a point of closure and in transition to what follows in the book, culminating with a climatic vision of Jesus' departure from their midst and the eschatological promise of the parousia. The narrative heightens human hope and offers some theological underpinnings for Christian praxis (life), which I am briefly sketching in light of some contextual aspects both in the first century and in our present time. At the core of this reflection is the notion of mission understood as praxis of resistance.

The Lucan stage is climactic; the resurrected Jesus has gathered his followers and friends to the opening of a new horizon, the promise of a different future that will require time and work to take shape. The seeds have been sowed and the signs have appeared. Jesus in Luke’s gospel—the volume preceding Acts—has signaled through his teaching and proclamation what is the core subject to which his ministry points to, which is the reign or the rule of God. This new realm is shaped in the tension between the present time and the future to come; Jesus said, “The Kingdom of God has come near to you” (Luke 10:9, 11, NRSV). He established the proclamation of the good news of the kingdom as the purpose of his ministry (Luke 4:43), and he consistently taught parables of the kingdom, focusing his preaching and teaching not on his person—whether human or divine—but on this new reality both present and future. Furthermore, the healing, exorcisms, the feeding of the hungry, and all of Jesus deeds—without diminishing the intrinsic value of these—point to the affirmation of God’s rule, which had been God’s design since the days of Israel’s tribal confederation: a theocracy. Beyond the challenges and controversies that this ancient vision might entail for 21st century onlookers, it is nevertheless crucial to assert that to speak of God’s rule or kingdom, whatever shape it may take, such reality must be permeated by God’s values and direction; values which do (must) not contradict the plurality of religious voices, and which do not necessarily are in tune with institutional religion. Jesus, in his epochal, initial proclamation of the kingdom (Luke 4:16-30) encounters the opposition of his own townsfolk when he lays out his mission—and of the church—of bringing liberation to everyone; he is proclaiming God’s preferential option for the poor, the oppressed, the incarcerated, and the anticipation of the future, the “day of the Lord,” the expected and desired jubilee in which God’s shalom will be fully realized. The resurrected Jesus that gathered his disciples at the site of the ascension is the same that treaded the dusty roads of Galilee, Samaria, and Judea with words and deeds of resistance to the harsh rule of the Roman Empire and its local clients.

This resurrected Jesus, at the point of departure, the closure of his life and ministry on earth, calls his disciples to be God’s witnesses. They have a pressing question; they are concerned about the restoration of the Kingdom of Israel at that time. Jesus answer is disappointing. On the one hand, it is not the chronos, or the point in time for a righteous reign on earth, the Israelites' dream of a Theocracy lead by a righteous monarch, an idealized David, which is not what Jesus proclamation of the kingdom is about. On the other hand, the kairos, the season of the consummation is still be unknown and in the the future. Neither of these are revealed. However, it is the kairos to witness; of becoming fully aware of the signs of the kingdom that the the disciples have witnessed and the task of its proclamation by word and deed. It is a time for a Christian praxis (life) of “enfleshing” the values, signs, and principles of the kingdom.

This task of being a witness (martys) does no come without risks. In the original Greek of the New Testament the word can also be translated as “martyrs,” which in fact is the meaning that it acquired when early Christians are persecuted, not for their religion, but for their subversive proclamation and mission to the synthesis of religion, politics, and social relations in the cultural environment of the Roman Empire (Cf. Acts 2:14-36). As witnesses they face the dire prospect of appearing in courts and submitting to inquiry, judgment, and sentencing—often to execution—which in fact Christians lasted until the conversion of Constantine and foundation of Christendom. Until then Christian witness to Jesus and the gospel involved a praxis of resistance, resistance to the oppression, enslavement, violence, and death of a sanguinary empire.

But as Jesus promised, the disciples are not alone, they are not “orphans;” they are going to and indeed they received the power of the Holy Spirit, which is the paraclete, the comforter, and yet the dynamys, the Power of the Triune God vesting them for such praxis of resistance. All who believe are empowered to witness to Jesus, the gospel, and God’s kingdom. The understanding of the the function, or the work, or the empowerment of the Holy Spirit, however, needs to be clarified. First, the power of the Holy Spirit is not for the claim of personal possession of any individual, or institution, church or churches. It is the same Spirit the breathes life into every human—and every sentient being, and it is a gift that God in God’s sovereignty grants.

Second, the power of the Holy Spirit provides spiritual gifts for the ministry (praxis) and these are a special providence from God, not “supernatural,” but a natural occurrence of divine action by the Creator, the same Spirit that was moving upon the waters in the story of creation. If signs appear to be extraordinary, which in many cases they are, it is because of God’s prerogative, as Creator Spirit, to define or redefine the so called “natural” understanding of the world, which is a human construction. We humans do not decide what is natural; the world is God’s in the unfolding of all events, both “natural” and historical. Therefore, spiritual gifts are to empower human praxis in its aesthetic, political, and ethical dimensions; for worship, for building the body of Christ, and for witness in the publica arena.

Third, the power of the Holy Spirit (the Comforter) is power for endurance. The reality of the world and its socioeconomic fabric with the intersection of institutionalized evils such as racism, classism, sexism, ethnocentrism, xenofobia, homofobia, police brutality, the oppression of immigrants ad refuges, the abuse of children, and a pervasive culture of violence and death, begs for a transforming Christian praxis—the witness to the kingdom of God, a new order of love, peace, and justice. Endurance is also necessary to abide amid environmental and climate crises, the outcome of human—and Christian—abuse and rape of God’s creation. There is no way to neither avoid or satisfactorily explain suffering; yet there is power to endure its endemic presence. Furthermore, it is the power of hope and for hope.

Finally, the power of the Holy Spirit is power for resistance and for inhabiting the relations of power that permeate the global world of late capitalism. Changing the conditions of oppression and injustice in the world is a daunting task. There are overwhelming powers that offset each other and create a stasis in which power is diffused and, according to Michel Foucault, can be creatively inhabited and productively resisted. A praxis of resistance in the power of the Holy Spirit can bring change. It can advance the deconstruction of structures of violence and death prevalent in the American culture. Seeking peace and justice for everyone is at the heart of the gospel of the kingdom of God of which we, with a clear conscience, are called to witness. It is preaching, prophetic preaching, not a process of communication and Western inculturation to reach the ends of the earth, which has historically colonized the “evangelized." It is joining God in reaching out to every human being making the good new happen.

The passage of the ascension in Acts ends with the epic image of Jesus leaving his disciples in a dramatic way. The culminating moment is enhanced by the presence of two human figures that with a rhetorical question that enhances the climax, indicate that they must not remain looking up (or back) but they should look forward, into the future, until the second coming. In the meantime the mandate is compelling, “You will be my witnesses….” We are God’s witnesses by the power of the Holy Spirit for a world transforming praxis, the hope that sustains us and the labor that urges us.

Horacio Da Valle

Hope in the Air

Hope in the Air

1 Peter 3:13-18 - Year A - Sixth Sunday of Easter

I was pleasantly surprised and encouraged as I watched the recently launched online TV show SGN—meaning some good news, a sort of talk show hosted by John Krasinski. And, of course, good news are much needed in this time of Covid-19 and the prospect of a gloomy and uncertain future, which pretty much no one alive today has experienced something like it. What is encouraging about the show, is the genuine expressions of hope displayed by John and participants, both celebrities and regular folks, all interacting—to the surprise and excitement of people being able to connect their favorite famous men and women. In the specific episode that brought encouragement to my heart, I sensed that hope was in the air. Krasinski performed an online wedding gathering family, friends, the cast of The Office almost in its entirety via one of the onscreen telecommunication systems, and, of course, we, the audience watching on TV. In the privacy of homes for a short period of time we were able to witness the celebration of a wedding with tears, excitement, and joy, and the promise of love and hope in the future. There are “some good news” amid the ongoing pandemic.

Amid the harsh reality of people becoming sick and dying, the prospect of an economic downturn, the loss of millions of jobs, and the way in which this crisis affects everyone, especially the most vulnerable and the poor, a word of hope is necessary. The first letter of Peter does provide a message of hope in the midst of suffering. The author is addressing an audience spread throughout the confines of the Roman empire; women and men members of the church or churches are under the overwhelming social, political, and religious pressure of such an oppressive empire. It is not necessarily a persecution, yet their commitment to their Christian faith and values puts these believers more than at odds with the dominant culture of their time.The  situation prompts Peter to address the question of suffering, suffering because of their profound commitment to being unconditional followers of Jesus. Something that reminds us that an uncompromising belief and commitment to the liberating work of God, in Jesus Christ, and through the Holy Spirit, might (or should) put us at odds with the mainstream culture of our time. In fact, in the global world of late capitalism, immigrants, refugees, and most of those who live under conditions of abject poverty survive (or not) undergoing extreme suffering. It is way beyond the typical maladies of affluent societies; anxiety, emotional stress, and trauma, with the sometimes indelible marks they imprint in the lives and bodies of the poor of the world, are exponentially greater. This struggle for survival is more than the social pressure that committed Christians can experience for assuming the values of the Kingdom of God with the potential stress and the difficulties encountered in the attempts to accommodate to the dominant culture. The poor suffer because they are hungry, homeless, sick, abandoned, and oppressed, yet, the Christian poor know how to celebrate life--and can teach a good lesson to the well to do believers of America.

Suffering, therefore, goes much deeper than social pressure. The depths of human suffering and the question of why there is so much and how often appears so unjustly distributed has no satisfactory answer. And Peter offers no theodicy. In today’s Lectionary passage (1 Peter 3:13-18) he simply offers some pointers as how we can undergo the pressure of the times, cope with the present suffering, and at the same time encourage others. Let me share a couple:

First, we cannot fail if we do good, not once, or twice, but all the time. Peter says, “who will harm you if you are eager to do what is good? But even if you suffer for doing what is right, you are blessed.” The wide range of attempts to articulate what means doing good in our present situation can be overwhelming, especially when we are confined to stay home in quarantine. Yet, there is so much that can be done at a distance; our God given creativity and imagination can help us come up with ideas of what to do for our neighbor and doing right in this world is no rocket science: God takes the side of the immigrants, the poor—especially women and children, and the oppressed; God “thwarts the way of the wicked” (Psalms 146:9). The spreading of the coronavirus is affecting at a much higher degree the poor throughout the world and, so it seems, being on the right side of things is not a difficult choice, is it? But we might only be able to take baby steps. As a start, we can regard others as more important than ourselves (Philippians 2:3) by being mindful of their health and wear a mask when we go out. It is not about protecting ourselves; the masks can only prevent us from doing harm to others. It is, perhaps, just a symbol that we care. So as Peter suggests, let us not be intimidated by those who claim their right not to wear a mask; let us do good by caring. And this is just a token about what it means to do good but a starting point nevertheless.

Second, in times of crisis, or disaster, or pandemic, or war, or perhaps “whether the time is favorable or unfavorable” (2 Timothy 4:2a) as young Timothy is charged, we proclaim the message, the good news of Jesus Christ and God’s realm, God’s future of love, peace, and justice. The current Covid-19 crisis is a special time to witness to our hope. Peter, calls the believers in the dispersion throughout the empire to account for the hope that is in us. And the powerful reminder comes at the end of today’s lectionary passage: “For Christ also suffered for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order to bring you to God.” The weight of the event of the cross in all its profundity is a liberating act that cannot be emphasized enough. The cost is painful and beyond measure; God’s self abandonment at the cross opens the gates of life; real life, which for the time being does involve suffering, though it is better to suffer doing good than falling into the trap of evil, which also entails suffering. Witnessing is not easy in our time and culture and we very often hear of people being abused by “gospel” preaching from folks who don’t get it and end up slapping folks in the face with “answers” or prescriptions they don’t want to hear. Peter’s admonition is handy: our witness must be done with “gentleness and reverence.” So, again, doing good we cannot fail; and doing good with gentleness and reverence, and no fear, will bring the message across; the message of liberation for all, the oppressed and the oppressors.

This is a time to live our lives in fullness in spite of the constraints of the shelter-in-place and the restrictions imposed to protect ourselves from the reach of the coronavirus. We can read, write, pray, walk, contemplate the greatness of God’s creation, paint, dance, play with our dogs, allow our cats to play with us (if they please), have Skype meetings, study, watch movies and, very specially, encourage one another another on account of our hope in Jesus Christ. We can do good helping those who are in refugee camps or out of work; supporting doctors, nurses, health workers, and other essential workers. Suffering will still be there but The Living God is with us. And last but not least, as Paul was admonished when commissioned to the ministry, remember the poor, which the Apostle declared he was eager to do.

Horacio Da Valle