Making People Objects

The issue is not about "people objects", but about how we make people into objects. The point is, people are not objects - we are not concretely representable things, with distinct borders or boundaries, who can be reduced to a certain set of essences. Instead, we are relational beings, or even 'becomings'. And yet, at a most fundamental level, we reduce one another into objects for the sake of convenience: not only our 'enemies', whom we more understandably reduce to a set of negative characteristics, but we even do this to an extent with regards to people we respect - they become a set of characteristics we respect, even if one of those characteristics is "having depth"! My point isn't that we should rediscover some proper sense of woolliness in our appreciation of each other, for there certainly are things to be said about one another; but the point is that there is always more to be said. Relational be(com)ings are not complete. Ok, perhaps the same is true about objects - in a sense - because nothing is perfectly constant in an ever changing world. But this truth is more pronounced with regards to human beings. We should not, therefore, reduce people to "the thief who did a particular bad thing", as though divorced from all the unknowns which constitute the person concerned. I might suggest, as a Christian, that Jesus' injunction not to judge others is the epitome of this observation ... and yet there is a sense that Jesus himself does objectify people at times (for he is not an idealised object himself, but a person on a journey, constituted by relationships with other messy people). For instance, is it an objectification to speak of "the poor" and "the rich", as though they are disembodied groups neatly sitting in opposition? Of course, there are clear examples of each, but we must also open ourselves to the complexity of the inter-relatedness, without belittling the purpose of the apocalyptic dichotomy: there remains a use for "them" vs. "us", to highlight the inequalities, the ways in which "they" (or is it "we"?) oppress and belittle "us (or "them"?) We will always do some objectifying, even necessarily, but the point is to recognise and edit it.

Christians listen to others

Perhaps I'm wrong (it's a real possibility!) but this seems to get to the heart of a serious current issue: I believe that, as well as being defined in terms of what they say about their own faith, Christians ought to be known for the quality of their commitment to hear what others say. So when a woman complained that I had not given a "Christian" talk because I had explained some basic features of Islam to a church group, my response should have been (if I had dared to be truly honest) that enabling Christians to "listen to other voices" is genuinely Christian! It seems, though, that the media has done well: Muslims have been suucessfully defined as the wicked Other, the "race" (as this woman put it) which is to be legitimately feared. And of course, we should not dare to learn about the things we fear, because that might challenge the legitimacy of our fear! It is better, obviously, that the world be divided into knowns and unknowns, black and white, good and bad, because then we know where we are. However, is this Christian? Well, yes and no! The black-and-white thread of Christian faith, which can be traced even to Jesus, certainly nurtures a duality: but what is the nature of that duality? It is not "them" and "us", as in "religious others" and "our own kind", but - if we are to trust the traditions of Jesus - is rather more frequently a duality between the Powers-that-be and their victims, between religious/political/economic powers and those who suffer due to them. For Jesus made concerted efforts to re-integrated "the others", lepers and Samaritans and children feared because of their "dangerousness". Which brings me to the "no" - the duality of Jesus, which admittedly allows for a certain kind of dangerous division, is also the denial of other dualities; for we who are insiders are all-too-easily on the outside, and outsiders often display more grace. To follow in his footsteps therefore means openness to the other - within and beyond. Full stop.

If roots could talk ...

In chapter 11 of the prophet Isaiah, a passage used in Advent because Jesus is believed to fulfil such prophecies, there is the image of a tree, even a stump, out of which grows a new branch. It is called the stump of Jesse, Jesse being King David's father, and David being viewed by the Jewish people as the greatest of kings, God's 'anointed one'. Jesus, then, is said to fulfil such great kingship, such 'anointed' status, with renewed purpose. But what it also shows us is that every tree has roots, and roots are the hidden part of a tree - and certainly the 'family tree' of Jesus has its fair share of skeletons (to mix some metaphors), including David - with a very mixed and muddled life, not exactly the idealised construction conveyed - just as every tree has things that continue to shape the new branches but which are buried. So it is with faith, with Christmas: the 'shadow' side of religion, the things we struggle to engage with constructively, because it's much easier to whitewash our religion, to boast about the good bits. Not exactly a Christmas message: and yet may be it is, since the nativity narratives have a shadow side, rooted in a vicious Empire, with puppet kings in fear of a new 'anointed' ... so give thanks that, even though our trees have shadowy roots, even so, new life and hope and joy can grow out of them; one who judges by fairness, equity, with concern for the poor, can even grow out of such violent soil; the possibility of renewal is always there - right in the muddiest of places.

The last word? It's never enough.

It's a good campaign: the United Church of Christ's "God is still speaking" campaign, which uses the image of a comma to remind us that whenever we think God has finished, or whenever we give the impression that it's all buttoned up, God surprises us again! This relates to Jesus, too. He's good, for sure, but he's not enough! That may sound controversial, but it's actually very 'orthodox', because God is not exhausted by God's presence in the life of Jesus; God's parenthood of all peoples transcends God's particular presence in Jesus, and God's Spirit within all of creation exceeds even the outer limits of Jesus' unique representation of God's presence. For me, this is very important: if we didn't accept that even Jesus has limits, we would "idealise" him; we would create an image of him which has the answer to everything; whereas the reality is that any such 'answers' are bound to involve some of our own imagination. I find it much more helpful (following the advice of Stephen Pattison in an article on 'The Shadow Side of Jesus', and Werner Ustorf on 'the disestablished Christ') to acknowledge Jesus' genuine humanity, that he therefore made some mistakes, had to learn, and had a rounded personality, because otherwise I'm following an unreal, almost ghostly teacher, someone less able to help me when I too make mistakes and have to learn. So thank God that Jesus isn't the last word; it would never be enough.

Another world, another language

It's interesting: like many other Christians, I believe that words like 'Lord', 'king', even 'Messiah' and 'saviour', are still relevant; that they can be attached to Jesus; but that it's always important to point out how disruptively those words are redefined in relation to Jesus. So to call Jesus our 'Lord' is to make a seditious point about worldly 'lordship' being all the wrong way up, with its implication of top-down authority, domination, feudalism, a gulf between the ruler and the ruled; because Jesus instead shows us servant lordship, one who suffers in solidarity with the masses, the disgraced, the powerless. Even 'Messiah' is transformed, despite its Greek version being used as Jesus' "second name" (Christ) - because he did not rule or restore things in the military way generally anticipated. I might add that even 'saviour' is shaken by the way that Jesus subverts so much of our Christian dogma imposing on him our desire for one who sorts it all out. For, like it or not, his method has left us with a lot of work to do ourselves! ... So this is the point: with so much subversion generated by Jesus regarding the words used of him, isn't it better not to use them at all? Or, in the case of "the kingdom", doesn't it make more sense to use the Greek "basileia", simply because it prevents easy translation: something new is required; something new is effected by him; something new is possible ...

In search of "balance" (in gender politics etc.)

The story of Jesus visiting two sisters, Martha and Mary (in Luke, chapter 10: verses 38-42), prompts big questions! On the one hand, it's about a teacher dropping in for a cuppa. But on the other hand, it's much more than that - because when Jesus tells Martha to stop fussing (she's busy 'being hospitable', as expected of her), and that she should be with her sister to hear his teaching, there is a double-edge here - not least because of how we read it. I have in mind its gender politics. For is it a man-thing, disproportionately, to revel in this story's critique of busy-ness, as it is all too easy for us to criticise the woman for being busy, since men might often be in the front room with the guest ...? And is it a woman-thing, disproportionately, to feel affronted by this criticism: for busyness is how women are conditioned to be (because of patriarchy)? Of course, such claims risk being overly general; but if there is even an ounce of truth in them, then there is an ideological problem here. On the one hand, Jesus is colluding with male-projected norms - 'it's better to think and learn than to be busy being hospitable' (is it?) - and yet on the other hand, is he commending Mary for subverting the gender roles? Is she a trailblazer for renewing women’s 'roles'?! Whichever it is, it reminds us to be mindful of gender politics – not least because of the need for 'balance'. After all, Luke places this story in the wake of the Parable of the Good Samaritan, so presumably he does not mean us to devalue action. Rather, in order to be Good Samaritans, we may have to subvert our socio-cultural assumptions and expectations, including gender 'roles', to do serious thinking "with Jesus" - and this thinking/acting balance requires constant renewal. And I have, no doubt, overlooked some of my own unconscious orthodoxies, and betrayed some of my own complicity with patriarchy, by how I have explored this double-edged story. So help me too …

More on "1984" - Staying Sane?

Orwell describes the situation of his hero,Winston, like this: 'He was a lonely ghost uttering a truth that nobody would hear. But so long as he uttered it, in some obscure way the continuity was not broken. It was not by making yourself heard but by staying sane that you carried on the human heritage.' Of course, once again, it is easy to over-play our connection with such a situation - after all, we love to be the hero(ine), don't we (or do I speak for myself only?)?!! But speaking in terms of Christian discipleship, there seems to be something poignant in this idea: for the radical critiques of the Powers made possible by Jesus, and the radical ways of transformation energised by his example, certainly seem to be silent or silenced in the face of the sheer weight and inertia of the status quo - whether it is a totalitarian regime, or a reactionary society, or we are enthralled by the politics of fear. All we can do, in the face of it all, is quietly utter our truths, such that we "stay sane". This obviously isn't about resisting mental illness, because as others have observed, who is to say whether mentally ill people aren't more open to "the truth" than the silent majority doing what we do? Instead, the kind of sanity he celebrates is simply that commitment to reality - especially in the face of the pressures to ignore it. In terms of discipleship within our churches, this can often feel counter-cultural, since there is often something "unreal" about the corporate practice of religion - and yet the possibility remains ... and sanity demands that I see my own fears, insanities and logs in my eyes.

Christi-anarchy! (I've borrowed it)

Having just checked out an article on the ekklesia website, I'm reminded of the closeness between Christianity and anarchism, which Dave Andrews captured in the brilliantly titled "Christi-Anarchy: a radical spirituality of compassion." The closeness is because Jesus was a prophet against the powers - religious, social and political - just as anarchy means 'without rulers', so urging us to subvert and overcome the status quo. Again, it's radical, it's revolutionary, and even more surprising: it's biblical! After all, the Old Testament has different strands, monarchical and anti-monarchic, priestly and prophetic, and the New Testament too shows different tendencies, though Jesus seems surely to place himself in the anti-domination stream of the prophets - even Paul, often deemed 'conservative', is actually better understood as a critic of Empire. So, again, this begs questions of the church: how well do we practise this kind of faithfulness and discipleship, critiquing 'the Powers', walking the way of humility, empowerment, peace and compassion? Mmm ... the potential is always there ...

Spreading the word? (liberally)

It's a strange tension: the prospect of this "Jesus-movement" changing the world, of it being something truly radical and revolutionary for the sake of the oppressed and marginalised, can be genuinely exciting ... but I am hopeless when it comes to speaking to people who do not know much about it. In fact, my liberal sensibilities are such that I am very reticent, tending to be very wary of what people will make of it - after all, passion is a bit embarrassing, isn't it?! - and there are so many problems with the Church at large, that it is difficult to invite people to be a part of it ... and on the one hand, I don't lose any sleep about this, because I focus on working with the people already committed to the church, and kind of expect them to invite others! So how, if at all, should I set about becoming more able to say "this story is worth it", "this movement really can make a difference - trust me"? And how especially should I do this without being heard as saying "this movement is the best", because I know only too well that other agencies are making invaluable contributions, and other faiths must always be part of the conversations?

Kairos vs. Kyriarchy! (power to the people!)

The theologian Elizabeth Schussler Fiorenza gives us the really helpful term "kyriarchy", literally meaning 'rule by lords'. But she means by it the very many ways in which some people 'lord it' over others - whether it is men over women, rich over poor, the West over the South, the bourgeois over the underclass, or whoever. What is shocking is the way in which Christians have so often allowed "Jesus as Lord" to be co-opted by the world's kyriarchical structures, even though the very point of Jesus' Lordship appears actually to have been the denunciation and subversion of kyriarchy. To put it another way, we read the Bible and exercise our faith as though all power-arrows ought to point towards Jesus, because he is exalted as our "ultimate Lord", whereas what he was about was dispersing the power-arrows, pointing them towards the relatively powerless. Power to the People! What is so shocking about this for Christians in churches is simply how radical it is: because it urges people to throw off dependency, to overcome our sense that changes are incremental, believing instead in the kairos - that the time for anti-kyriarchical discipleship is right now! Ouch! The New Community is at hand!

Anger Management?

On the day when World Trade Organisation talks have faltered, much to the concern of development agencies, an argument in our church's Bible Study comes to mind. Someone had complained that we're always being told how the world's poverty is "our fault" and we never seem to hear what we've done right ... Well, it's simple - it's because so much of the ongoing hardship of millions of people is because of the intransigence of countries which can afford to make changes but refuse to. So why was this person getting so worked up? It's because the miraculous story of the Feeding of 5000 people raised hard-hitting realisations: things can be done, Jesus expected them to be done, he got disciples involved in seeing them and in doing them, but still we don't like hearing it. I got angry in response - still aware that I don't do enough to follow through on the compassion that is evoked, but angry that such defensiveness can stand in the way of the need for a contemporary miracle. And what would the miracle be? Nothing but managing the anger so to direct it towards building a world in which hungry people are fed.