Conversation at lunch yesterday:
Becky: I got Horizons Magazine yesterday, and read your article!
Amy: What article is that?
Becky: The one on No More Deaths.
Amy: They published that in Horizons?!
So... The news is... Horizons adapted a resource I wrote for Presbyterian Women's Justice and Peace committee into an article for their magazine... With a circulation of about 45,000... The issue arrived in mailboxes Tuesday, and hasn't yet been put online. I'm still rather surprised - shocked - excited - all rolled into one. As they didn't tell me they were adapting it beforehand (or if they did, I skipped reading the memo), I was rather bemused for a good portion of the day yesterday, but it's still quite thrilling. I've written for the magazine before, and am currently working on a book review for the October issue, but, beforehand, I've always known I was writing for publication before it was sent in. Golly, what a week!
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Monday, May 14, 2007
Eucharist
This poem shook me today as I read about the organic nature of pastoral care. May it shake you as well.
When the hands that hold the host
Have plunged fingers, with seeds into damp soil,
Or swung an axe in sweat-soaked toil,
There's blessing in the cup.
When hands that break bread in remembrance
Have tenderly birthed a lamb,
Or cradled an infant at midnight,
Life itself is elevated on the altar.
When the soul of a celebrant has known
The sweetness of friendship ripened on love's vine
Been duly crushed by heartbreak, flattened by aching loss,
The wine of the covenant is richly shared.
For the soot of the city,
The pain of the people,
The touch of another,
Stain the tablecloth, yet
Consecrate many hands.
By them, bread is blessed, and rises,
Thus, the corpus contains
Every grain of creation, broken
In bright conspiracy --- transformed.
by Kathleen O'Toole
When the hands that hold the host
Have plunged fingers, with seeds into damp soil,
Or swung an axe in sweat-soaked toil,
There's blessing in the cup.
When hands that break bread in remembrance
Have tenderly birthed a lamb,
Or cradled an infant at midnight,
Life itself is elevated on the altar.
When the soul of a celebrant has known
The sweetness of friendship ripened on love's vine
Been duly crushed by heartbreak, flattened by aching loss,
The wine of the covenant is richly shared.
For the soot of the city,
The pain of the people,
The touch of another,
Stain the tablecloth, yet
Consecrate many hands.
By them, bread is blessed, and rises,
Thus, the corpus contains
Every grain of creation, broken
In bright conspiracy --- transformed.
by Kathleen O'Toole
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Unblock the River of Life
Another post of outside material. I've been in a Revelation mood recently, and it shows. This is a devotion I've written for a PW study trip to the Borderlands coming up next April. I have a month to revise it, if you have any suggestions...
Amy
"Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations."
Revelation 22:1-2
A few days ago, I stood on the banks of the Rio Grande as it traced the Mexican-American border. Where I had imagined a roaring current, I found a cracked and crumbling furrow where once water had flowed freely. Closer up to the headwaters, the water had been diverted into a protective canal that ran about 40 feet north of the dry riverbed. It was as if the Rio Grande itself had become one of the parched and thirsty victims of the desert heat.
I was reminded of another river, in another land wracked by deserts and international conflict, which found it’s way into John’s vision as written in the book of Revelation. After describing the decimation of the earth through nigh unimaginable wars, plagues, and earthquakes, the writer of Revelation tells us of a final healing vision, a restoration of the earth, that accompanies Christ’s second coming. A New Jerusalem is established, a city of peace and righteousness, and in it is found the River of Life, who feeds and nourishes this new city of God. It’s waters are never murkied by mud or dust, and it has the power to heal and renew all who drink of it. Indeed, the tree that grows along its’ riverbanks has a never ending harvest of fruit, and leaves that offer up their medicine to all nations that would come to it. This river, and the tree that depends on it, are manifestations of a wholeness that can inspire and renew our entire world. In them and their presence is the knowledge that hope is never out of grasp, that healing can occur, and that nations can come together and share of the same tree.
The Rio Grande has the potential to be such a river of life for the two nations it divides. While I don’t believe that stopping the diversion of the Rio’s waters will wash away with it’s first rush all remnants of the way our border has been scarred by governmental handling of immigration, I do believe that conversion of a symbol of refreshment and new life into another, dangerous and ineffective, barrier between us and our neighbors is emblematic of the way we have warped the land we share with our neighbors to the south into a tool against them.
While the Rio Grande’s current incarnation is a reminder of the way our border policy has decimated the river and torn apart those who surround its banks, such reality does not correspond with God’s vision of what-can-be. If allowed to flow freely once again, the Rio Grande can become a marker of the international partnership and nourishment that accompany the waters in Revelation. If we learn how to create a more humane, uplifting policy which addresses the border issues that dry up our souls as well as divert our rivers, then we can let the water flow freely again. In doing so, we state that the divisions between us manifested in both borders and barriers of the cultural variety are insignificant. We can wash together in the waters of the Rio Grande, eat of the fruit that grows upon either bank, and let it’s holy flow heal the wounds that destroy us.
Amy
"Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations."
Revelation 22:1-2
A few days ago, I stood on the banks of the Rio Grande as it traced the Mexican-American border. Where I had imagined a roaring current, I found a cracked and crumbling furrow where once water had flowed freely. Closer up to the headwaters, the water had been diverted into a protective canal that ran about 40 feet north of the dry riverbed. It was as if the Rio Grande itself had become one of the parched and thirsty victims of the desert heat.
I was reminded of another river, in another land wracked by deserts and international conflict, which found it’s way into John’s vision as written in the book of Revelation. After describing the decimation of the earth through nigh unimaginable wars, plagues, and earthquakes, the writer of Revelation tells us of a final healing vision, a restoration of the earth, that accompanies Christ’s second coming. A New Jerusalem is established, a city of peace and righteousness, and in it is found the River of Life, who feeds and nourishes this new city of God. It’s waters are never murkied by mud or dust, and it has the power to heal and renew all who drink of it. Indeed, the tree that grows along its’ riverbanks has a never ending harvest of fruit, and leaves that offer up their medicine to all nations that would come to it. This river, and the tree that depends on it, are manifestations of a wholeness that can inspire and renew our entire world. In them and their presence is the knowledge that hope is never out of grasp, that healing can occur, and that nations can come together and share of the same tree.
The Rio Grande has the potential to be such a river of life for the two nations it divides. While I don’t believe that stopping the diversion of the Rio’s waters will wash away with it’s first rush all remnants of the way our border has been scarred by governmental handling of immigration, I do believe that conversion of a symbol of refreshment and new life into another, dangerous and ineffective, barrier between us and our neighbors is emblematic of the way we have warped the land we share with our neighbors to the south into a tool against them.
While the Rio Grande’s current incarnation is a reminder of the way our border policy has decimated the river and torn apart those who surround its banks, such reality does not correspond with God’s vision of what-can-be. If allowed to flow freely once again, the Rio Grande can become a marker of the international partnership and nourishment that accompany the waters in Revelation. If we learn how to create a more humane, uplifting policy which addresses the border issues that dry up our souls as well as divert our rivers, then we can let the water flow freely again. In doing so, we state that the divisions between us manifested in both borders and barriers of the cultural variety are insignificant. We can wash together in the waters of the Rio Grande, eat of the fruit that grows upon either bank, and let it’s holy flow heal the wounds that destroy us.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
While I don't usually have a particularly high opinion of recycled matter being posted to blogs, I've decided to include here the sermon I preached on Revelation a few weeks back. I hope you enjoy it. It recieved a good response from my parish, but I am interested to hear how a wider audience takes it...
I saw Jesus the other day. Or rather - I heard him. It wasn’t anything my senses could perceive, or that those around me could witness. I guess I should explain...
I was seated Wednesday night, a week and a half ago, at the circulation desk of the seminary’s library, mundanely filing books on the shelving cart in precise decimal point order. My co-worker Monica and I were anxiously awaiting the closing hour, when we could tear people away from their exhaustive study of incomprehensible Greek manuscripts, and cast them out into the scholastic wilderness until morning. The night was black; the day was long; I was tired. I felt a slight buzzing in the back pocket of my trousers and was startled out of my rote analysis of book bindings and plasticized labels. There was a note on my cell phone, letting me know that I had missed a call, and that I had a message waiting for me. I caught Monica’s eye, let her know what I was up to, and dashed out into the cold for a short bit to discover what secret was waiting for me to dial it up.
Standing there, on the steps of the Ernest Miller White Library, I punched star - eight - six into my keypad and heard the voice of my dear Aunt Nancy wishing me a "Happy Easter." In her dulcet tones rang a note of healing, a note of recognition, a note of joyful triumph. In that 30 second message, I heard the voice of Jesus because I experienced the power of hope, resurrection, and wholeness that is promised in the Book of Revelation. I could sense the second coming.
Now, healing, resurrection, and wholeness have not always been the images associated with the Book of Revelation, or with Christ’s second coming. Sadly, this particular portion of Scripture has been abused and twisted to instill a thirst for destruction in the practitioners of Christianity. Eschatology, or the study of the end-times, has been misused to further an agenda of death within Christian discussions of what-is-to-come. However, over the course of the Revelation, we see (just as in the resurrection) that destruction does not have the final word.
In order to understand our passage this morning, we need to understand a bit more about the genre in which it was written. The Revelation to John is an apocalypse. You all have probably heard this term banty-ed about in pop culture. Originating as a genre of Ancient Mid-Eastern literature, it has come to popularly encompass any work of art or expression that demonstrates a dooms-day like vision of the future of humanity. It has been applied to warnings of nuclear holocaust, big-budget blockbusters like "Waterworld," and other strange and fearful images that can dominate our ideas of what may be on the horizon.
In it’s original context, an Apocalypse was a piece of literature, written by powerless minority populations, that used fantastic and mythical imagery to give voice to a sense of discontent and oppression within it’s contemporary context. A series of violent and gruesome scenes eventually cede to a vision of God’s triumph within history and the creation of a new, harmonious society. The voice is set in the recent past, so that concurrent readers can associate the "things predicted" with events that have already occurred. Apocalypses use a lot of highly symbolic, dream-like imagery to villain-ize those who are in power at the time, provide emotional support to the oppressed communities that create them, and speak to the importance of
hope in the face of adversity. They were documents created to sustain communities who felt that their very existence was endangered by outside authorities.
Revelation finds itself well within this apocalyptic tradition. Our passage this morning is from its introduction. John begins in with the standard greeting "Grace and Peace to you," which he credits as coming from God, Jesus, and "the seven spirits." As seven was a number denoting wholeness, the "seven spirits" are probably included to represent all those credited as being already with God. He then continues to proclaim God’s dominion over the earth and all it’s rulers, and declaring that upon Jesus Christ’s visible return, everyone will recognize him in his glory and will mourn over the damage they have done to Christ. This section then concludes with the statement that God is the "Alpha and Omega" - the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet, representing fullness and completeness. By stating "I am the Alpha and the Omega," God is stating that all that is finds both its beginning and its end in God. Ultimate authority and power lie with the divine..
It is at this point that the visions begin to take on traditional apocalyptic format. John is called to by Jesus, taken up to the sky, and given messages for seven of the churches in Turkey (again, seven representing that the church in its entirety is being addressed), and after castigating the churches for their weaknesses and celebrating them for their strengths, John is ushered into another region of heaven where he witnesses Jesus, imaged as a Lamb, taking the throne in heaven. Scrolls are presented and opened, and with them, carnage is ravaged upon the earth. A series of surreal images of destruction follow, including blazing stars, giant locust/scorpion hybrids, angels wielding sickles, and all manner of near-hallucinatory plagues ravage the planet. The world we love, and the homeland of the writer John, is desecrated beyond recognition.
In doing so, the writer is providing a vivid description of the havoc we wreak upon ourselves. Metaphorical, fantastic language is used to elucidate the disease, warfare, and pestilence that results from our abuse of each other and the world. Indeed, it is the powerful and the dominant, those most guilty of this abuse, who are most afflicted by the nightmarish turns of events recounted throughout Revelation. Those who are faithful, the weak and powerless, are affected as well, but the church is portrayed as having the strength to maintain itself and it’s belief even as those who have grasped power in the world spectrum are brought down by the events that occur. The church is able to survive, and grow, even as the world around it falls to its knees.
It is this section of the Revelation narrative that has fed the thirst for destruction among some of it’s interpreters. There is a school of thought that disregards the nature of Revelation as a metaphorical narrative to support the oppressed, and instead sees it as a calendar of events to be fulfilled in the future. You may have run across their theories in one of the "Left Behind" novels or the movies based off of them. Because they have invented a concept of "the Rapture," in which those who already believe are taken from the earth before the events of Revelation occur, these thinkers emphasize the destruction of revelation as a meet reward for those that ignored the Christian truth. They celebrate the desecration of their own environment as just retribution for a world in transgression. This is a reading filled with vengeance, which ignores the message that lies central to Revelation, a message of hope in the midst of turmoil
It is in the last two chapters of this disturbing vision that we find the return of Jesus Christ to the earth itself, as predicted in our passage from the first chapter. With Jesus’ arrival, a new heaven and a new earth are ushered in, and we are given a vision of Christ’s dominion which was declared in the opening verses.
This New Jerusalem is said to need no sun nor moon, because it shines so bright that the nations will walk by its light. There is a constantly flowing river of life, which feeds a tree whose fruit is "for the healing of nations." That which had been destroyed and ravaged by the plagues in earlier chapters has been restored and healed into something unimaginable before. The very earth itself is formed into a land defined by its ability to bind up the wounds of others. Healing, wholeness, and resurrection have become a vivid reality. What a glorious vision for the world! What a fantastic celebration of Jesus Christ’s work of reformation!
I’ve got some news for you my friends. This second coming has already happened. We celebrated it a few weeks ago. The power of the resurrection is in its ability to show that death and destruction do not conquer all. Revelation shows us that, although we may see vividly the ravages caused by the worldly powers condemned through the book, these powers and their abuses are not the end. Rather, we must recognize the New Jerusalem in our midst. We must see how Christ has, is healing our society. We must deny our defeat by destruction, and rather recognizes that wholeness is right here. Such a vision may be difficult to see sometimes, but it is real if we live into it.
Let me return to the story of my aunt, who called with that Easter message, that message which rang to me of the New Jerusalem.
It would be inaccurate to say that my Aunt Nancy and I had a strained relationship - rather, until this time last month, we had no relationship at all. My father’s older sister, Nancy moved to New Mexico when I was in fourth grade, and I had seen her once since then 10 years ago. About a week and a half into March, I found myself with a free day in the midst of a committee meeting in Santa Fe. I called her, she drove up from Albuquerque, and we spent the day together, becoming acquainted with each other for the first time in my adulthood. She spoke of the silence within her and my father’s birth family, which had spurred our own lack of communication. She showed how she had fallen victim to the destructive cycles that dominated her relationship with my family. However, she ended the conversation - "We need to stay in closer contact. 10 years - 2 years - is too long. From now on, we must change and act like the family we are." In that moment, my aunt embraced that resurrection and wholeness that came Easter morning and is illuminating the world we live in. She negated the power of corruption and desecration, and instead embrace our ability to live as transformed people.
Indeed, I don't need to go to New Mexico to see the New Jerusalem. I see it every Sunday morning. I see the city descending when those who have been cut out of the church refuse to give up their faith, and still worship the God they know. When I join my pew-mates on vigils for peace or immigrant rights, I taste of the tree whose fruit is "for the healing of all nations." When I drink the wine of communion which restores our community, I am guzzling down the water of the River of Life. I experience the second coming on a regular basis.
May we all discern, as well, ways in which we can recognize and realize the New Jerusalem.
Thanks be to God.
I saw Jesus the other day. Or rather - I heard him. It wasn’t anything my senses could perceive, or that those around me could witness. I guess I should explain...
I was seated Wednesday night, a week and a half ago, at the circulation desk of the seminary’s library, mundanely filing books on the shelving cart in precise decimal point order. My co-worker Monica and I were anxiously awaiting the closing hour, when we could tear people away from their exhaustive study of incomprehensible Greek manuscripts, and cast them out into the scholastic wilderness until morning. The night was black; the day was long; I was tired. I felt a slight buzzing in the back pocket of my trousers and was startled out of my rote analysis of book bindings and plasticized labels. There was a note on my cell phone, letting me know that I had missed a call, and that I had a message waiting for me. I caught Monica’s eye, let her know what I was up to, and dashed out into the cold for a short bit to discover what secret was waiting for me to dial it up.
Standing there, on the steps of the Ernest Miller White Library, I punched star - eight - six into my keypad and heard the voice of my dear Aunt Nancy wishing me a "Happy Easter." In her dulcet tones rang a note of healing, a note of recognition, a note of joyful triumph. In that 30 second message, I heard the voice of Jesus because I experienced the power of hope, resurrection, and wholeness that is promised in the Book of Revelation. I could sense the second coming.
Now, healing, resurrection, and wholeness have not always been the images associated with the Book of Revelation, or with Christ’s second coming. Sadly, this particular portion of Scripture has been abused and twisted to instill a thirst for destruction in the practitioners of Christianity. Eschatology, or the study of the end-times, has been misused to further an agenda of death within Christian discussions of what-is-to-come. However, over the course of the Revelation, we see (just as in the resurrection) that destruction does not have the final word.
In order to understand our passage this morning, we need to understand a bit more about the genre in which it was written. The Revelation to John is an apocalypse. You all have probably heard this term banty-ed about in pop culture. Originating as a genre of Ancient Mid-Eastern literature, it has come to popularly encompass any work of art or expression that demonstrates a dooms-day like vision of the future of humanity. It has been applied to warnings of nuclear holocaust, big-budget blockbusters like "Waterworld," and other strange and fearful images that can dominate our ideas of what may be on the horizon.
In it’s original context, an Apocalypse was a piece of literature, written by powerless minority populations, that used fantastic and mythical imagery to give voice to a sense of discontent and oppression within it’s contemporary context. A series of violent and gruesome scenes eventually cede to a vision of God’s triumph within history and the creation of a new, harmonious society. The voice is set in the recent past, so that concurrent readers can associate the "things predicted" with events that have already occurred. Apocalypses use a lot of highly symbolic, dream-like imagery to villain-ize those who are in power at the time, provide emotional support to the oppressed communities that create them, and speak to the importance of
hope in the face of adversity. They were documents created to sustain communities who felt that their very existence was endangered by outside authorities.
Revelation finds itself well within this apocalyptic tradition. Our passage this morning is from its introduction. John begins in with the standard greeting "Grace and Peace to you," which he credits as coming from God, Jesus, and "the seven spirits." As seven was a number denoting wholeness, the "seven spirits" are probably included to represent all those credited as being already with God. He then continues to proclaim God’s dominion over the earth and all it’s rulers, and declaring that upon Jesus Christ’s visible return, everyone will recognize him in his glory and will mourn over the damage they have done to Christ. This section then concludes with the statement that God is the "Alpha and Omega" - the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet, representing fullness and completeness. By stating "I am the Alpha and the Omega," God is stating that all that is finds both its beginning and its end in God. Ultimate authority and power lie with the divine..
It is at this point that the visions begin to take on traditional apocalyptic format. John is called to by Jesus, taken up to the sky, and given messages for seven of the churches in Turkey (again, seven representing that the church in its entirety is being addressed), and after castigating the churches for their weaknesses and celebrating them for their strengths, John is ushered into another region of heaven where he witnesses Jesus, imaged as a Lamb, taking the throne in heaven. Scrolls are presented and opened, and with them, carnage is ravaged upon the earth. A series of surreal images of destruction follow, including blazing stars, giant locust/scorpion hybrids, angels wielding sickles, and all manner of near-hallucinatory plagues ravage the planet. The world we love, and the homeland of the writer John, is desecrated beyond recognition.
In doing so, the writer is providing a vivid description of the havoc we wreak upon ourselves. Metaphorical, fantastic language is used to elucidate the disease, warfare, and pestilence that results from our abuse of each other and the world. Indeed, it is the powerful and the dominant, those most guilty of this abuse, who are most afflicted by the nightmarish turns of events recounted throughout Revelation. Those who are faithful, the weak and powerless, are affected as well, but the church is portrayed as having the strength to maintain itself and it’s belief even as those who have grasped power in the world spectrum are brought down by the events that occur. The church is able to survive, and grow, even as the world around it falls to its knees.
It is this section of the Revelation narrative that has fed the thirst for destruction among some of it’s interpreters. There is a school of thought that disregards the nature of Revelation as a metaphorical narrative to support the oppressed, and instead sees it as a calendar of events to be fulfilled in the future. You may have run across their theories in one of the "Left Behind" novels or the movies based off of them. Because they have invented a concept of "the Rapture," in which those who already believe are taken from the earth before the events of Revelation occur, these thinkers emphasize the destruction of revelation as a meet reward for those that ignored the Christian truth. They celebrate the desecration of their own environment as just retribution for a world in transgression. This is a reading filled with vengeance, which ignores the message that lies central to Revelation, a message of hope in the midst of turmoil
It is in the last two chapters of this disturbing vision that we find the return of Jesus Christ to the earth itself, as predicted in our passage from the first chapter. With Jesus’ arrival, a new heaven and a new earth are ushered in, and we are given a vision of Christ’s dominion which was declared in the opening verses.
This New Jerusalem is said to need no sun nor moon, because it shines so bright that the nations will walk by its light. There is a constantly flowing river of life, which feeds a tree whose fruit is "for the healing of nations." That which had been destroyed and ravaged by the plagues in earlier chapters has been restored and healed into something unimaginable before. The very earth itself is formed into a land defined by its ability to bind up the wounds of others. Healing, wholeness, and resurrection have become a vivid reality. What a glorious vision for the world! What a fantastic celebration of Jesus Christ’s work of reformation!
I’ve got some news for you my friends. This second coming has already happened. We celebrated it a few weeks ago. The power of the resurrection is in its ability to show that death and destruction do not conquer all. Revelation shows us that, although we may see vividly the ravages caused by the worldly powers condemned through the book, these powers and their abuses are not the end. Rather, we must recognize the New Jerusalem in our midst. We must see how Christ has, is healing our society. We must deny our defeat by destruction, and rather recognizes that wholeness is right here. Such a vision may be difficult to see sometimes, but it is real if we live into it.
Let me return to the story of my aunt, who called with that Easter message, that message which rang to me of the New Jerusalem.
It would be inaccurate to say that my Aunt Nancy and I had a strained relationship - rather, until this time last month, we had no relationship at all. My father’s older sister, Nancy moved to New Mexico when I was in fourth grade, and I had seen her once since then 10 years ago. About a week and a half into March, I found myself with a free day in the midst of a committee meeting in Santa Fe. I called her, she drove up from Albuquerque, and we spent the day together, becoming acquainted with each other for the first time in my adulthood. She spoke of the silence within her and my father’s birth family, which had spurred our own lack of communication. She showed how she had fallen victim to the destructive cycles that dominated her relationship with my family. However, she ended the conversation - "We need to stay in closer contact. 10 years - 2 years - is too long. From now on, we must change and act like the family we are." In that moment, my aunt embraced that resurrection and wholeness that came Easter morning and is illuminating the world we live in. She negated the power of corruption and desecration, and instead embrace our ability to live as transformed people.
Indeed, I don't need to go to New Mexico to see the New Jerusalem. I see it every Sunday morning. I see the city descending when those who have been cut out of the church refuse to give up their faith, and still worship the God they know. When I join my pew-mates on vigils for peace or immigrant rights, I taste of the tree whose fruit is "for the healing of all nations." When I drink the wine of communion which restores our community, I am guzzling down the water of the River of Life. I experience the second coming on a regular basis.
May we all discern, as well, ways in which we can recognize and realize the New Jerusalem.
Thanks be to God.
International Theology of Dissent
I haven't written in a very long while (three months). In part, that's because I've found myself on the road alot and working long hours, and extra writing simply does not come. You can hope for more, as I begin CPE this summer (that is, if there's anyone still out there). I've attached a reflection that I was asked to write for the school newspaper of my Alma Mater, for a special issue on the Central America Study Tour, regarding the ways in which it has shaped my theology. There should be no surprises here. I speak of a fair food demonstration three weeks ago; this afternoon, I had a similar experience at a rally for International Worker's Day. It's emphasis has been echoed in many of my reflections. Read this piece. Challenge it. May it serve as an insight into why I believe and preach what I do.
Amy
Three weeks ago, the sun broke upon picket signs and Spanish chants in the parking lot of the McDonald’s. Local residents gathered to support the rights of immigrant agricultural workers and continue the fight for fair treatment of laborers within the food industry. I was there, one of those bleary-eyed but devoted activists pressuring Ronald McDonald to turn his garish grin into a frown of distress over the mistreatment of his laborers.
I was there because of lessons I learned in Central America about the mandates of faith and their economic repercussions. Five years ago last January, I packed up all the possessions I would need for the next four months in a small green backpack, and showed up at the SeaTac airport to embark upon a journey of transformation with just over 20 other Whitworth students. I came, expecting to improve my Spanish, learn more of the history of my neighbors to the South, and begin my collection of passport stamps. I had begun to learn a bit about their tradition of liberation theology, and had discussed it in both my religion and political science courses. I did not know that these four months would make a convert of me, and shape the future course of my theological education.
Theologies of liberation have, at their center, a concept called "preferential option for the poor," which states that God is always working on behalf of the marginalized within society, to make real a world of greater equity and justice. Birthed out of the pangs of civil war throughout Latin American, I saw God "preferential option for the poor" made real throughout Central America in a manner I had missed growing up Washington State. We walked in the footsteps of Bishop Juan Gerardi, who had been killed for unveiling the horrors of forced disappearances and mass killings among the indigenous peoples. We visited with Father Fernando Cardenal, whose ordination had been revoked because of his role as a people’s educator and government official during the Sandinista administration in 1980s Nicaragua. We toured a seminary in Costa Rica that had long been a breeding ground for those who pursued social righteousness for the sake of the gospel. It was there, seeing the spiritual power of those who had taken a prophetic stance in the midst of conflict, that I was convicted of the need for social action on the part of all those who claim Christ. I learned that to live my faith was to side with those who are exploited within my own social system. I discovered what it mean to live a theology of liberation.
Now, as I see my own ordination as a minister in the not so distant future, I know that theology is not real and genuine unless it is lived. We can claim to love the poor as Jesus loved the poor, but unless we are willing to work for social policy that addresses their needs, our theology is formless and void. Central America taught me that to honor God, I must participate in creating the world I know God desires. In rectifying injustice, we are helping to realize the reconciliation Christ brings to the entire world.
Many of those farm-workers I stood with on that street corner in Louisville were born on the very streets my classmates and I walked five years ago. They have come to the United States with hopes of a better life for their families, only to be victimized by unjust working policies with our own borders. If I do not support them here, I betray the heroes I met in my four months as a foreigner. In doing so, I abandon the theological convictions I discovered in the mountains of Guatemala. Thanks be to God for that lesson. Amen.
Amy
Three weeks ago, the sun broke upon picket signs and Spanish chants in the parking lot of the McDonald’s. Local residents gathered to support the rights of immigrant agricultural workers and continue the fight for fair treatment of laborers within the food industry. I was there, one of those bleary-eyed but devoted activists pressuring Ronald McDonald to turn his garish grin into a frown of distress over the mistreatment of his laborers.
I was there because of lessons I learned in Central America about the mandates of faith and their economic repercussions. Five years ago last January, I packed up all the possessions I would need for the next four months in a small green backpack, and showed up at the SeaTac airport to embark upon a journey of transformation with just over 20 other Whitworth students. I came, expecting to improve my Spanish, learn more of the history of my neighbors to the South, and begin my collection of passport stamps. I had begun to learn a bit about their tradition of liberation theology, and had discussed it in both my religion and political science courses. I did not know that these four months would make a convert of me, and shape the future course of my theological education.
Theologies of liberation have, at their center, a concept called "preferential option for the poor," which states that God is always working on behalf of the marginalized within society, to make real a world of greater equity and justice. Birthed out of the pangs of civil war throughout Latin American, I saw God "preferential option for the poor" made real throughout Central America in a manner I had missed growing up Washington State. We walked in the footsteps of Bishop Juan Gerardi, who had been killed for unveiling the horrors of forced disappearances and mass killings among the indigenous peoples. We visited with Father Fernando Cardenal, whose ordination had been revoked because of his role as a people’s educator and government official during the Sandinista administration in 1980s Nicaragua. We toured a seminary in Costa Rica that had long been a breeding ground for those who pursued social righteousness for the sake of the gospel. It was there, seeing the spiritual power of those who had taken a prophetic stance in the midst of conflict, that I was convicted of the need for social action on the part of all those who claim Christ. I learned that to live my faith was to side with those who are exploited within my own social system. I discovered what it mean to live a theology of liberation.
Now, as I see my own ordination as a minister in the not so distant future, I know that theology is not real and genuine unless it is lived. We can claim to love the poor as Jesus loved the poor, but unless we are willing to work for social policy that addresses their needs, our theology is formless and void. Central America taught me that to honor God, I must participate in creating the world I know God desires. In rectifying injustice, we are helping to realize the reconciliation Christ brings to the entire world.
Many of those farm-workers I stood with on that street corner in Louisville were born on the very streets my classmates and I walked five years ago. They have come to the United States with hopes of a better life for their families, only to be victimized by unjust working policies with our own borders. If I do not support them here, I betray the heroes I met in my four months as a foreigner. In doing so, I abandon the theological convictions I discovered in the mountains of Guatemala. Thanks be to God for that lesson. Amen.
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