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.