We meet the 1st and 3rd Thursdays at St. Gertrude's Ministry Center
(6214 N. Glenwood), beginning at 8:00 p.m. Folks are welcome to join us at anytime.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Thanksgiving: A Meditation on the Chicken Incident

A. E. Nee raised a question in this blog last week in which the bestiality of the chicken-on-chicken violence was an illustration, or perhaps an icon through which she pondered the mysterious spectrum of violence revealed to her by the Pace e Bene textbook. To begin with, she explained, a neighborhood cat attacked one of our chickens, but later, other chickens kept pecking open the wound. After a period of isolation when the chicken showed considerable healing, it seemed appropriate to reunite the chicken with the others. But for the second time the chicken was found with open wounds. At this, A. E. Nee forced her frustration under the cold light of reason. She asked, was it instinctual of the chickens, and if so, what about the cognitive dissonance—for one feels certain that such behavior is “violent”. One way out from this impasse suggested itself by implication: could we only speak of their behavior as violent in the limited sense of a metaphor? Going further, she focused on the gradient of intention. Real violence, she concluded, seems to differ from metaphorical violence to the degree it reflects a meditated intention of doing harm to another.

At the outset, most obvious was the fact of a single victim. The victimhood was more complicated because in the scenario their were not only multiple attackers but two classes of attackers. A further difficulty was the limited certainty which we had as bystanders. All of us could look in sympathy at the wounded chicken and curse with indignation at her apparent victimization. Among us, only one had been in a position to swear that a cat had attacked the chicken. Another could confirm recent sightings of a cat, whose identity we all readily accepted as the neighborhood “feral” cat. Indeed, presumably the cat was what we called feral, but what excuse could we find for genus-on-genus violence?

Ascribing blame to the cat, one community member confessed having the will to kill the cat. Upon scrutiny, said member owned the violence of said action and shrugged, rather than recant the effusive statement. Each of us present in the kitchen had complicity, I would argue, because none of us stepped back to reconsider the blame we placed on the cat. Levi Strauss said that a word spoken cannot be unsaid. The expressed intention to kill the cat, for instance, can not be “unsaid”. Nor can our collective failure, by omission, to sufficiently challenge this expressed intention.

I have hope that reflection is a remedy for this complicity. Fortunately, A. Knee raised her question on the blog by which she revisited the obvious facts, including the multiple attackers who, apparently, were responsible for perpetrating violence on the victim. As she pointed out, a cat is a cat; a chicken is a chicken; but humans alone have judgment, and thus we carry responsibility for our actions and failure to act. Real violence pertained only to each of our responses to the wounded chicken. On the one hand, violence sprung from our collective misperception. All of us failed to correctly perceive the situation. Perhaps our perception of the wound met with our inner experiences of hurt. Perhaps our feelings of anger sprung from this transference. Our sympathetic reaction was only human, but what do we mean by “human”? Speaking of our humanity in contrast with animals, philosophers of androcentric persuasion emphasize our capacity of reason. The eventual “birth” of psychology first sprung from the warped minds of privileged men…who would have us believe that specious reasoning is white collared crime compared to emotive irrationality. In this view, we should accept our guilt by correcting our flaws of logic. Why did we hastily ascribing guilt to the cat and then the chickens? Because we fallaciously attributed them with human qualities. As a result of our anthropomorphic sympathy, we saw violence where none existed.

To our credit, I did not sense that any of us felt guilty. At least, not guilt in the sense of a need to relieve ourselves of error. If we felt “guilty” then it may better fit the description of the need to have security or be in harmony with one’s world. I sensed a collective responsibility for the self-evident harm done to the chicken. Whereas it might have manifest itself in one community member’s expression of ill will toward the cat, few of us could muster a rebuke for good reason. We saw the expression as just that, a superficial—if vulgar—expression . In essence, our lack of resistance had everything to do with our relationship with the speaker, whose words we could read in that larger context. Despite the vulgarity of what a linguist might term the “propositional content”, the member spoke for all of us a message of deeper meaning. Violent? No, although the words had a forcefulness, the vulgarity served a greater purpose. It reflected what the community felt at bottom, that like the chicken, we too had been violated. Candor has the power of violence to agitate us; but an insensate verb like “kill” requires skillful use in order to convey a shock and awe that redeems the one who hears it; only then can the candor of a pejorative term or the potency of a cuss word be said to loving. Even then, for a perfection of nonviolence some will still seek an alternative in the pursuit of an unmistakable word. I wish them luck. Evil loves to hide beneath the skirt of a euphemism.

Biologists and behavioral scientists have made needed renovations to the antique notion of guilt. The latter assess the import of our felt sympathy with the bird. They tell us that those of us laying blame on the cat did so flaws sprung from our incapacity to halt the mind from intruding memories. In turn, these set off our unique defense mechanisms. Again, we’re talking about nanosecond responses of our human designs to ward off hurt or perceived aggression. White feathers splattered with fire engine red is a vision that biologists tell us inevitably evokes the brain functions in us most primal. These trigger the body to prepare with instantaneous injections of adrenaline to fight or make flight. Since these override superior brain functions for calculation or discernment, our expression of sympathy has little to do with the behavior that is premeditated, and therefore, in this view, a sentiment to “kill” must be appraised in view of the circumstances. Where these reveal a lack of depth, made apparent by a stark contrast with a consistent pattern, then the sentiment expressed cannot adequately reflect the full humanity of the speaker. On the other hand, praiseworthy and culpable expressions are those revealing a concentrated pretext.

As a diversion consider this: If men and women were fundamentally different, or if they were at least believed to be fundamentally different when the authors of the Constitution wrote: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal…that to secure these rights Governments were created by men.” Can you see where I’m going? Law reflects society. As Thomas Jefferson wrote: “laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. As this becomes more advanced, more enlightened, manners and opinions change. With changing circumstances institutions must also advance.” Fortunately, fewer and fewer hold the belief that men and women are fund_mentally different. I long for the day we take for granted our sameness.

Now consider with me the Eucharist, through the lens of the Feast of Sts. Peter and Paul, as we approach the protest of SOA, one week before Thanksgiving.

The Eucharist confounds people for good reason. Linguists know it has something to do with being good. Among them Noam Chomsky could remind us, truthfully, how it’s meaning stems from the Jewish tradition of Passover. Therefore, before we skip forward to receive communion, with each step we could recall the times of Egyptian repression and then how Moses heralded glad tidings of God’s faithfulness to the Israelites. Every step forward to receive communion can become a way of renewing our memory of the ten plagues, culminating in the ultimate, the massacre of first born, innocents. Thus, to look forward to consume the body and blood of Jesus Christ renews our memory of all antecedent tragedy, to the tenth degree, the loss of innocence. With each step toward the altar we could stare-in-the-face how the crucifixion of innocence has posthumous meaning: in the delivery of the Israelites out of the mano dura regime of Pharoah and eventually into the Promised land…in Christ’s resurrection!

Something to do with being good? Yes, the Eucharist confounds people for good reason. We actually believe that part about good reason, even as we stare-in-the-face tragedy such as the loss of innocence. The Greek minded linguist recognizes, (and here I am using the word “recognize” in a technical sense), goodness in the event of taking communion. Based on the linguist’s sense of “eu”. As we know, the prefix “eu” gives the meaning of “good or well” as derived from the Greek root. The linguist knows this not only intellectually, she knows this relationally in the form of community bonds and stewardship of Creation. Her own thriving sense of the “eu” will also derive from her inner experience of God’s love or perish to the extent she neglects her own sense of self.

In conclusion, a Catholic Church must recall its sense of self. We do this today during the feast of Sts. Peter and Paul by reflecting on two dynamic ways of leading faithful lives. In our own sense of calling we can also reflect a homeostasis and an outward bounding evangelism, which these saints represent. Stay true to our faith in Kairos, in communion, both privately and publically. To the end that Christ led them, both ways for which they are emblems do us this forceful expression. They kill our sense of complacency by showing us the necessity of a life that embraces persecution for the sake of the Kin_dom.

Our lives are lived most fully in appreciation, yet this necessitates confessing sorrow too. As George Washington said in calling for a holiday of Thanksgiving, two hundred years before the Atlacatl Battalion stormed the Jesuit residence at the UCA, we need a day “that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech Him to pardon our national and other transgressions;-- to enable us all, whether in publick or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually; to render our National Government a blessing to all the people”

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Hope in the Apocalypse

To be honest, the genre of apocalyptic literature has always been a bit distant from my experience and communities of faith. I grew up knowing the stories of Daniel in the lions’ den and in the furnace with his friends, but those were merely biblical stories that stuck out in my mind because of their eccentricity. But perhaps that is what the apocalyptic literature intends to be: eccentric, other-worldly, something you will not forget. It was helpful for me to understand where apocalyptic literature came from. Having its roots in the prophets, the apocalypse is a story of living a threatened faith in the face of occupation, intimidation, and domination. Bruggemann walks us through the genealogy of apocalyptic literature and places Daniel within the tradition of prophetic witness that calls Israel to be faithful. As with Isaiah and Jeremiah, so too with Daniel. The task of the day is not necessarily to resist the captivity of the Israelites, but to remain faithful to biblical faith despite of captivity and exile.

Jim Douglass’ poignant observation, “a way of liberation passes through fire,” finds its roots in Daniel. At first, after reading the book of Daniel, it was difficult for me to understand this biblical figure as a model of prophetic faith and resistance to empire, as Dan Berrigan would have us believe. Daniel is quite clearly a friend of the royal court as he willingly engages the kings, offering to interpret dreams. In my imagination, Daniel appears complicit with the royalty, not an icon of resistance. Herein lies the key difference between the prophets of old and the Daniels living who are living in exile: persecution. Isaiah and Jeremiah were admonishing their own people because they were persecuting themselves (and others), but in the exilic period, the Jews are the ones persecuted. Therefore Daniel’s witness, while not necessarily the same style of resistance as the earlier prophets, is similar in that it is call to faithfulness - just as it was with the message of Isaiah and Jeremiah. Therefore, the faith Daniel exhibited was extraordinary. He was a model of remaining faithful to the covenant, even as a friend of the royal court and even if it meant suffering and persecution by the same court. He was steadfast in his conviction that God demanded a faithfulness that was not corrupted by the culture of the day.

Likewise, we find ourselves in a similar situation today that demands a faithfulness in spite of the dominant culture advertising otherwise. Even in churches and places of worship, faithfulness to a biblical faith - one that demands fidelity to God, a welcoming of the orphan and the widow, a critique of nationalism - is not par for the course. If I understand the faith of Daniel, the the Jewish apocalyptic tradition, the co-opting of faith traditions by a mainstream, consumer-oriented and ecologically destructive culture would be incompatible with people of faith. This is why Daniel refuses to pray to the idol constructed by Nebuchadnezzar and continues to pray in the sure face of persecution because of Belshazzar’s laws. The God of Israel, “the living God, enduring forever (Dn 6.26) is not compatible with Babylon and to pretend that YHWH is, is false. The faithful are encouraged by the visions of Daniel to remain committed in their faith and belief that the God of Israel will usher in the Kingdom. Faith, today, seems watered down - diet and caffeine free; not something that will wake you up. Where are today’s Daniel’s, witnessing for the faith as they anticipate persecution? Who are entering the lions’ dens as they urge their friends and strangers to stay faithful, to keep their eyes on the prize and, most importantly, hold on? Who gives us the kind of apocalyptic hope that the Kin-dom of God is at hand and YHWH will save us? Perhaps Dan Berrigan is one of those who might offer hope, but as he wont to say, hope is on the margins. And if our churches and faith communities are not on the margins, aren’t rubbing shoulders with the Daniels of our day, one might well ask about the authenticity of our hope and faith. If we want to be free, we will go to the margins.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Towards a Zaccheus Epiphany

My Zaccheus Epiphany has three strands. Together I consider the Ignatian Family Teach-In (IFTJ), the story of Zaccheus, and my encounter with the monuments of the national capital. The argument boils down into a confrontation between the cosmopolitan approach to change with the Gospel witness of Zaccheus' transformation. When I met a quintessential student at Georgetown, I seriously feared that the IFTJ would make no impact, that it would confirm his yearnings to work within the system (and God help us, even the Department of Death!) Finally, I count on the power of first-hand testimony to overcome our nation's "short-stature".

[Strand 1] Of late, I have quietly belittled myself unawares, even discounting myself from the diminimous role availed to all in our parlimentary democracy. Then I came to Washington DC to attend the Ignatian Family Teach-in, ambivalent about the opportunity to advocate for the close of the SOA/WHINSEC in situ. Yesterday I balked at the prospect of visiting my legislators. Poor planning is not so much the issue as my choices to carry fewer possessions and my increasing distaste for the accoutrements of fashion. Then again, I don’t have a business suit!

[Strand 2] What is my pettish embarrassment in the eyes of God? In the Mass this morning we read from Revelations that God would prefer a heart that runs hot or cold to a luke-warm heart (Rv 3:1-6, 14-22). The Gospel reading offered us an example of such a passionate heart in the story of Zaccheus (Lk 19: 1-10). The heart of Zaccheus burns white hot! He was overjoyed to see the arriving company of Jesus: to overcome the crowd and the limitation of his short stature, he climbed a tree! Then, when Jesus called to him he apparently becomes so moved to the way of Jesus that he rescinded half of his wealth and pledged to repay, four-fold, anyone whom he may have exploited.

[Strand 3] This weekend’s convention prepared over 1000 students of Jesuit schools for an advocacy day in the halls of their representatives. To witness them spurred to action was to view Zaccheus scaling the branches over my head.

Kim Bobo, director of the Eighth Day Center in Chicago, IL aroused her audience at the Ignatian Family Teach-In with a refrain from the letter of St. Paul to Timothy: “For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, love and self-discipline.” I want that spirit but….

I doubted. Students seemed interested about the issues, and in some cases, they came with an earnest desire to tell a story. But how would they be received? A sinking feeling had set in after reading a few commentaries predicting the delay of decisions on the new START treaty, for example, until the new members of Congress are sworn in. Indeed, the desultory news about the interregnum beggars grief for all the unfinished work. Former Senate Majority leader Trent Lott summed up the cowardice and procrastination of his colleagues: “The attitude now is…nah, we’ll do it later.”[1]. This from his 34 years and experience of eight so-called ‘lame duck’ sessions. Today members will hammer out the new organization of leadership, and practically have no more than three weeks legislating before the change. The risk-averse will want to punt their responsibility into 2011, but a few may heed the evangelic students. Hope for undocumented students remains tenable in the form of the DREAM Act. Perhaps, pressed by the audacious witness of many students, especially those who caught courage this weekend to declare their undocumented status, those members may choose to vote their consciences!

When it came to suiting up and storming the congressional offices I deserted and instead walked about the capital accruing a memory for some hallowed sayings. Taken together, they offer a glimpse into the courage evinced by Zaccheus to boldly transform his life. First was the celebrated Gettysburg address of President Lincoln: “It is for us the living to be here dedicated to the unfinished work which they so nobly advanced. It is for us here to be dedicated to the great task remaining to us. That from these honored dead we take increased devotion to the cause which they gave the last full measure of devotion. That these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation under God shall have a new birth in freedom; that Government of the people, by the people and for the people shall not perish.” The president’s manifesto mainly spoke to me of the memory of the massacred and martyred of the Americas, and principally, the testimony of the prisoners of conscience to “cross the line.” Again, I felt moved to take up the great task of exhuming the dead, and burying the SOA/WHINSEC…to rededicate my soulforce to the Catholic Church as a bulwark of the oppressed against imperial militarization.

Next, the hallmark declaration of Thomas Jefferson: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. To secure these rights Governments were created by men…” Thank God he wrote “happiness” rather than …the pursuit of property. And more impressive was how the land owning signatories vowed to sacrifice their capital: “For the support of this declaration, with firm belief in the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.” Not only would they swagger with words but they swore themselves in body, spirit, and like Zaccheus, in monies.

At the Holocaust Museum General Dwight David Eisenhower, Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in Europe was cited April 15, 1945: “The things I saw beggar description…The visual evidence and verbal testimony of starvation, cruelty and bestiality were so overwhelming…I made the visit deliberately to be in a position to give first-hand evidence if ever, in the future, a tendency develops to charge these allegations to propaganda.” Estimable was his willingness to immerse himself among the evil. His knowledge of men’s proclivity for denial of all things uncomfortable would require a staunch testimony. Like Zaccheus, he put himself in a position

President Reagan was cited: “For those of us who went another way, we owe them this: to ensure that we give the dead posthumous meaning, to make sure that from now until the end of days all mankind stares this evil in the face…and only then can we be sure it will never arise again.” The president confirms that the only defense against evil is a perpetual vigil. Like Zaccheus, we must eschew the horizon of the crowd and rise higher to witness truth.

President Bush was cited February, 1991: “Here we will learn that each of us bears responsibility for our actions and failure to act. Here we will learn that we must intervene when we see evil. Here we will learn about that moral compass by which we navigate our lives and by which countries will navigate the future.” The president emphasizes the place of the viewer in the Museum, suggesting the essential importance for peacemakers to always scrutinize history. His metaphor of sea travel differs from that of Zaccheus scramble up a tree, yet in terms of “the compass” every course of a country is set by the conscience of its individual citizens. Therefore, when we conform to the model of Jesus, as Zaccheus did, the compass of our nation must also conform. Just as our conscience helps us to review our day, so the country needs us to review and recalibrate its lawful direction.

President Jefferson had earlier addressed the need for review: “I am not an advocate for frequent changes in laws and constitutions, but laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. As this becomes more developed, more enlightened, and manners and opinions change, with changing circumstances institutions must also advance. We may as well require man to wear still the coat he wore which fitted him when a boy, as civilized societies to remain under the regimen of their barbarous ancestors.” Tight fashions aside, ill-fitting regimes today straight-jacket emerging economies and age-old stigmas of the mentally ill only exacerbate the gap between the rich and poor of society. We need the mobility of Zaccheus to free ourselves from our “short-stature”, to let go of inhibiting core beliefs. The same was said by Peter Maurin “Out of the shell of the old…” and therefore, brave alternatives must break-open the space for individuals to practice authentic community.

All of these speeches give a word that rouses the weary. We need such words today when the zeal of students has retreated back to their homes and legislators vie for centricity. And these words require fulfillment! “God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, love, and self-discipline.”

Finally, we become Zaccheus every time we resolve to change. A man entertained his friends over coffee this morning with the story of a self-loathing woman who was routinely going out, getting drunk, and gaining weight. Then she said, I’m getting it together…she moved to New York…started exercising regularly…and lost fifty pounds. Her blog, Losing Weight in the City, led to a publisher’s book proposal. She would take pictures of the food she was eating…and that’s how it started.” Each of us can reform our lives, and even transform!

The risk-averse legislators of today and the aspirants who staff their offices would do well to pledge their whole being to the defense of our inalienable human dignity. When they stare evil in the face, when they make enlightened resolve for self-discipline, then they no longer will obfuscate the kin-dom of God.

In part, even my doubt about the procedure of Congress has a silver lining. After all, thanks to that Georgetown student's previous internship, members of Kairos could address a higher ranked staffer. Sigh, at least we do have the right to visit our representative…(my Zaccheus epiphany) this recognizes that some testimonies deserve hearing face to face. For instance, reconsidering the students from the Teach-In, one shellacked me with a story about her brother. He returned from the Iraq war with his soul annihilated. Oddly, he never saw active duty. The young woman said the family knew something was wrong when he laughed about the reason. His superior officer accosted him for pointing his gun at everyone, every citizen, and he had refused to act otherwise. She lamented that the brother who had once tended to a fallen owl and nursed it until Animal control came now was aggressive to everyone. He was racist! Her brother could only attribute the change to his training at the SOA/WHINSEC. Another student told me that this training consists in biting off bats’ heads. From nascent orinthologist to blood thirsty predator, his story of devolution is one I pray is heard in Congress.

Did the IFTJ make its mark on Georgetown? When I arrived, students had not heard of it. "Conferences come all the time" one said. Even the friend of ours spent his Saturday evening partying. He was at first unapologetic about wanting to take class with former president of Colombia, now honored by GU as "distinguished professor" Uribe. Then he came to Mass, and afterwards held vigil with the Adios Uribe! coalition as we remembered dead who were systematically dressed in combatant clothing to cloak their innocence. Name after name, soul after soul, I prayed for peace to permeate our friend...or rather, I tried. Jesus' example of loving the tax collector notwithstanding, I would just assume my liberation does not depend on his. But it does...and, dear friend, if you're reading this now--I rely on your hospitality!

[1] http://www.congress.org/news/2010/11/15/a_consequential_lame_duck?p=3

Friday, November 12, 2010

simple questions about complex things...

What does it mean to be violent? That seems like such on obvious question and yet I find myself increasingly reticent to assume the answer. During breakfast I was reading over the “Nonviolence Spectrum” (pp. 30-31, Engage), shuffling quickly through the obvious, picturing my body travelling easily from one side of an imaginary spectrum to to the other, planting my feet in the appropriate place, casually observing that for some situations I’d nonchalantly answer “not enough context.” Suddenly, I was confronted with a situation that I felt was definitely wrong but that I was averse to calling violent. The ease of my responses disintegrated. The image of myself I’d projected onto the spectrum drifted, with a look of consternation, to the center, not knowing where else she could go. Now, some items that I would easily call violent also gave me pause. Yes, the action seemed violent, but did it seem wrong?

I find myself confronted with two questions: “What is violent?” and also, “What does it mean to be violent?” The first being a matter of definition, the second a matter of interpretation and, frankly, judgment. I question too whether I have begun to absorb the perceived ideology of those around me, lumping violence unquestioningly with injustice (and, I think when I say “wrong” as in the above paragraph, what I mean is “unjust.”). Is this pairing helpful or harmful?

I pondered these questions while going out to check on the chickens. Last night we had reintegrated one of the hens who had been separated from the flock to recoup from a cat-inflicted wound. This morning I found fresh blood on her featherless back indicating her sisters had been pecking at her. She had to be removed again. Were the chickens behaving violently? It certainly seemed so, though I knew their behavior was not malicious but rather unalterably instinctual (thus far it seems that our aviary friends are incapable of self-conscious reflection). Without thinking that I was talking about violence I’d had a conversation along similar lines with my 5 and 7 year old friends, Rehema and Bethany the previous night. They were curious about how the one hen came to be injured and why the cat had attacked her. I tried to explain that the cat wasn’t being mean it was just being a cat, that I am not angry at the cat but I do want to protect the chicken.

As is so often the case, reading on provides an answer. According to Pace e Bene, “Violence is any physical, emotional, verbal, institutional, structural, or spiritual behavior, attitude, policy or condition that diminishes, dominates or destroys ourselves or others” (Engage, 33). A question on the following page reflects my chicken-based contemplations, “Do you think that intention plays a role in defining action as violent or not violent?

I am interested in learning of other’s views on these questions. Any thoughts?

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Dear Enemy

In writing you I implicitly argue that you mean a great deal to me. If you were a Rorschach test ink-blot the compendium of the English, Spanish and Arabic dictionaries could not exhaust my search for expression of what you mean to me: in a word, suffering. My heart longs for God too much to devote myself only to you and so, I went to bed last night depressed, saddened. Many nights here at the White Rose I toss in agony, unable to reconcile infatuation, friendship, spiritual companionship or true love from all my love for God who is the one I wrestle all day with and spoon with all these evenings. God is my hero and I follow Him to the cross. His example had repulsed me, though I respected it. But now as I have made steps to take up my cross, new understandings adhere to me as though I were a bee drawn to a flower to whom pollen clings. I long for God and what sticks to me is the SOA action, now eight years! And you ask how it is healing—how is Jesus, a healer, taking up a cross not an answer to your question? The cross is not the action, not the potential prison time, don’t we both agree the cross is U.S. Imperialism, our Hegemony. I am personally taking responsibility for the deaths of hundreds of thousands maimed, slaughtered, disappeared and tortured, surviving with horrific PTSD, disempowered by cruel and inhumane structures of Government—me, a lamb.

Enemy—I hate your doubt, despise your failure to perceive the light, ridicule your vapid assertion that “these acts are sometimes our alternative rigidity, our insistence on continuing to the priests.” How inane that you have this “sometimes” qualification of resistance. I speak as warrior, not as lover, when I condemn your paltry understanding of insidious Empire now enchaining most of the world. How demagogic of me, right? How banal my analysis of the mythical beast. Simple we both may be, but I will pretend to show myself to you, enemy. I will dress up in Christ’s armor, stand before Ft. Benning and innocently enter the base with the memory of my comrades. You would understand; how could you accept rescue while your fellow prisoners await torture! You would be in jail before me I’m sure of it. In fact, I would not be surprised if this very year you too crossed the line at SOA. Why? To be in union with our God, the prisoner of the world’s hegemonic power. We, together can say in plain and unequivocal language, the testimony of our bodies, that our God is an awesome God. Herod, do you hear? Pilate? All you Egyptian pharaoh’s? The time is now. I cannot afford to spare time with the RAW memory of four American women raped and killed in El Salvador. It was yesterday!! It could have been you.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

According to the Prophet Amos

Walter Brueggemann’s comments on the minor prophets point out the poetic nature of the prophets as distinct from the practicality of the “real-world” power elite: the government rulers, church leaders, etc. In particular, Amos, the prophet from the Southern Kingdom was called by God to leave his home and call the people of Israel in the North back to their covenantal faith. How easy it is for us to distance ourselves from the prophets and alienate ourselves from their message. But the prophets are people just like us; Dan Berrigan writes, in Minor Prophets, Major Themes that Amos is a “veritable nobody.” This shepherd - Berrigan calls him “dirt poor...a scrub farmer” - is not theologically sophisticated or endowed with all the privileges of authority that dominant culture requires the experts to have in order to be listened to. He lacks the credentials. “Then Amos answered Amaziah, ‘I am no prophet, nor a prophet’s son; but I am a herdsman, and a dresser of sycamore trees, and the Lord took me from following the flock, and the Lord said to me, “Go, prophesy to my people Israel”’” (Amos 7.14-15).

Invitation; no, command: “Go.” And Amos went - called to a life he could not have imagined or ordained for himself. For him to deny the call is for him to not believe in biblical faith, to cease to live the covenant. The task of the prophet is not to be heard but to speak: “Thus says the Lord....” For Amos and the prophetic consciousness, it is not so much about rebel rousing or causing trouble, but about entering into a life of solidarity - a lived, felt connection with the poor that breaks the prophets heart. The prophet does not come with a political agenda - although biblical faith encompasses the polis - but the prophet is about having faith, keeping faith, restoring faith.

Hence the pathos of both the poet and prophet is a shared characteristic. Not only is it in the best interest of the audience to heed the prophet’s words, but the emotional appeal cuts to the heart of the faith of the people of the Exodus. To be sure, the style of was attractive. The prophet’s faith is no prosaic soapbox: “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (Amos 5.24) Rolls off the tongue bu the content is a hard pill to swallow.

Even for the contemporary hearer of the Word - does the prophet’s message really call us to a turning away from the imperial faith of individualism and redemptive violence? Do we hear the call to a communal faith and restoring the covenant to its primary place of shared life in community? Better yet, are we even capable to “seek good and not evil, that [we] may live; and so the Lord, the God of hosts, will be with [us], just as [we] have said?” (Amos 5:14). The prophets are always ridiculed to the sidelines, but tend to nag at us anyway. These days, in an age of plugging in and tuning out, we must ask ourselves if our faith is a nagging faith. If not...we could be in trouble.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Loving and Hating

As of this morning I've developed a great big crush on Joanna Macy, who was recently interviewed on the radio show "Being" (formerly, "Speaking of Faith"). Over the course of the interview she addresses many of the sentiments that arose during last night's Kairos reflection: being able to express grief and anger without having to follow that with articulate solutions; wildly loving in spite of (sometimes all the more because of) woundedness; the interconnectedness we share with each other, the earth and God; to name a few. She also quotes a lot Rilke. If you are interested I suggested giving it a listen here.

Below are a couple of the poems that really struck me:

"Go to the Limits of Your Longing"
God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.


Book of Hours, I 59


"Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower"
Quiet friend who has come so far,
feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.


Sonnets to Orpheus II, 29