Enslaved African Americans were often resistant by disobeying their “masters,” whether by neglecting their work when not supervised, feigning illnesses, or pursuing education. African Americans in the North were “free,” but without voting rights, full participation in society (the North was heavily segregated), or economic mobility, such that their “slavery” was in nearly all but name.
Many of today’s churches continue to oppress communities of color by operating from a Euro-normative stance which assumes a common Western, white experience. We continue to use symbols of light and dark and avoid serious confrontation with our biblical texts that have been used to promote slavery, sexism, and other forms of injustice. Until we make mainstream a serious, anti-racist approach to our texts and commit ourselves to a balanced, intentional engagement with all members of our communities that seeks to elevate and listen to voices which have remained unheard or underprivileged, this will continue to be the case.
In today’s world, education can still be a major weapon against oppression, especially in the Western World, which values “empirical arguments” and information over emotional pleas. Economic success can also be a weapon of resistance, since in our capitalist society, money often earns one a voice and influence (unfortunately). Our churches can also resist oppression and discrimination by seeking out and lifting up minority voices which have been traditionally ignored in favor of the dominant, Eurocentric narrative, and taking seriously their perspective and engaging the emotional, spiritual weight of our histories. We can also promote biblical literacy in ways that resist oppressive interpretations of our scripture and lift up the liberating power of the Gospel. In Jesus’ radically inclusive ministry, we can find precedent for a world in which all have an equal, valued, loved voice at the table.
Efforts to help American Indians were often effectively damaging. White Americans often brought their western ways of looking at the world to their efforts, misunderstanding the ways that American Indians existed in the world and condescendingly offering solutions that neglected the wisdom and desires of the tribes they were controlling. While efforts to move American Indians to reservations came with an effort to assimilate Native Americans by educating them and teaching them to work wage jobs, it robbed communities of their lands and moved them to less desirable plots. Additionally, it assumed that Western culture and society was ideal and that Native Americans should participate in it. Similarly, efforts to move land to private Native ownership also robbed American Indians of more land that they were not “utilizing” (by Western standards of productivity and ownership) and denied future generations opportunities to maintain such land by creating a system in which Native Americans did not inherit the lands of their parents, but were required to pay market rate for it upon their passing, which most were unable to do because of the continuing disenfranchisement and impoverishment of American Indian communities. More land passed into the hands of white Americans. While these laws and policies had terrible results, they were instituted with a mix of good and bad intentions by white Americans who both sought to “help” American Indian communities and take additional lands from their tribes.
Collier’s plan, in similar ways, worked both as an effort to improve conditions for American Indians and white Americans. While he sought autonomy and self-government for tribes, he also sought to alter their ways of using their animals and land, privileging Western “knowledge” about how they were over-grazing the land over American Indian knowledge that understood the tendencies and seasons of the land through generations of living on it. Through efforts to both protect a government project and maintain the integrity of the land that American Indians were living on, more animals were coercively bought from them, making more and more members of the community dependent on government wage labor projects that were temporary and depriving the community of its resources which could help sustain it in the future.
Today’s churches continue to, with good intentions, oppress and marginalize native populations. Many assimilationist mentalities continue to dominate white American treatment of minority groups, with an expectation that Native Americans adopt Western ideals of dress, educational models, employment, and land use. White Americans also continue to “take” property from American Indians, although today it is more likely to be in the form of intellectual property and cultural appropriation. Religious practices are often incorporated into our ways of worship in ways that attempt to be “inclusive,” but are often seen as another form of theft from Native communities who are accustomed to white oppression and to white folks taking from their abundance and scarcity. Furthermore, such use of American Indian cultural material is often done in a superficial way that does not offer respect nor choice to American Indian communities, but instead operates “over” their communities as white churches and white people make the choices of what to include and how to include American Indian cultural elements without understanding the Native perspective well or thoroughly and without consulting American Indian communities, who often do not wish to share their practices and beliefs, feeling that it is yet another thing that will be stolen from them.
During World War II, the United States practiced racial discrimination while condemning forms of discrimination in other countries. While the hypocrisy of the U.S. government’s positions internally and abroad may seem obvious to us today, many during the time failed to see how domestic policy was fundamentally unequal in its treatment of minority populations. Both African Americans and Japanese Americans faced intense discrimination, oppression, and violence at home while also facing intense pressure to be patriotic despite their treatment. Additionally, many African Americans and Japanese Americans served in the U.S. military, risking (and often sacrificing) life and limb to promote equality and end racism toward Jews.
During WWII, many Japanese Americans were systematically relocated to internment camps. Without evidence that these individuals posed any threat to national security or held anti-American views, Japanese Americans were uprooted from their communities, required to abandon their lives, and placed in camps which were dirty, regimented, and dehumanizing. As a narrative suggesting Japanese were an “enemy race” developed, all young Japanese men were declared enemy aliens in September of 1942. Despite this declaration and the forced relocation and internment of Japanese Americans, Japanese Americans were permitted to serve in the military. Japanese service as translators and interpreters (as well as in combat) made them integral to the U.S. war effort. As Japanese citizens rose to the needs of the U.S. military and helped to liberate oppressed communities abroad, they faced the grim reality that they were second-class people, even threats, in the eyes of many Americans.
Similarly, African Americans struggled with segregation and continuing racism in post-Civil War America. Many activists within the black community drew connections between Hitler’s treatment of Jews and American treatment of African Americans. As the U.S. painted its involvement in WWII as in protection of democracy, African Americans sought to draw attention the the reality that they were not permitted full participation in the democratic system, nor were they treated as equal to their white peers. Even within the military, African American soldiers were treated as inferior and were relegated to service and support duties without opportunity for mobility. The black community was able to mobilize and achieve more equality in government work, not only within the military, but also in factories that were part of the industrial war effort; Roosevelt signed an executive order. While the order did not produce significant change initially, it was an important step and as demand for labor grew during the war, African Americans were ultimately afforded more opportunity. African Americans were major contributors to the war effort, both at home and abroad. Despite these efforts, however, and more equal opportunities to serve their country, African Americans were not afforded equal treatment in society. Discrimination in housing, voting, employment, and public services, as well as thorough segregation, were still realities for African Americans. As the war promoted narratives about democracy and liberation, African Americans became increasingly aware of the inequality, discrimination, and abuse they suffered in American society. Many in their communities still suffered from poverty and systemic racism that prohibited black Americans from participating in the democracy and freedom promoted by American propaganda. African Americans correctly discerned that a racist society cannot be equal.
First generation Japanese immigrants kept their Japanese culture by celebrating national holidays, like the emperor’s birthday, and by planting bonzai trees and other cultural reminders of Japan. Some formed communes. Another reason that Japanese were better able to maintain their cultures was because of the immigration of women. Unlike some other cultural groups, Japanese men often came with their wives or would marry “picture brides." Keeping family structure was a way of preserving culture.
Japanese also assimilated into American culture by adopting the English language and sending children to school and emphasizing education. Despite efforts at assimilation by many Japanese immigrants, they were treated poorly and were discriminated against in employment. They were paid less than their counterparts of different ethnic heritage and were given lesser accommodations. They were also ineligible for the same jobs as their white counterparts. As non-whites, Japanese immigrants were also ineligible for naturalization, despite efforts to Americanize.
Immigrant groups today face similar choices between maintaining culture from their homeland and assimilating into the dominant American culture, which is Euronormative and built for the success of Western values, ideals, and habits. In many domains, it is expected that immigrant groups assimilate and adopt American mores; it is hard to succeed in American society without adapting to certain societal expectations which can be as diverse as language, dress, treatment of time, forms of humor, grooming habits, and eating habits. Oftentimes American culture can conflict with expectations of one’s home culture. This can lead to spiritual and family tension surrounding identity and values.
Irish immigrants in the U.S. were treated as lesser beings, though it seems a majority felt that conditions in the U.S. were better than at home. English occupation of Ireland impoverished and disinherited Irish people; their conditions were only exacerbated by the potato famine. Regarded as savages by their English occupiers, the Irish which immigrated to the U.S. encountered some similar mentalities toward them. While conditions may not have met their expectations, they encountered more opportunity and mobility in the U.S. Earlier waves of Irish immigrants were often hired for unsafe and poorly paid labor jobs, such as those on the railroad or in mines. Working for meager pay and in positions which subjected them to higher rates of injury and death than other laborers, Irish encountered an America in which they felt enslaved and as poorly treated as in Ireland under the English.
Later waves of Irish immigrants would find better conditions. While Irish immigrants weren’t seen as favorably as earlier English immigrants to the U.S., they had many advantages over other immigrant populations who were immigrating around the same time. Unlike Chinese and Italian immigrants, Irish immigrants spoke English and thus had an advantage in American society. Likewise, their “whiteness” gave them advantages over Chinese and African American populations in finding work in an unfairly discriminating society. These tensions, advantages, and disadvantages put Irish often in conflict with other minorities; both sides often felt that the other threatened their prospects for employment. Irish in shoe factories (and others) were replaced by Chinese workers. African Americans often felt like Irish immigrants were taking away their American jobs, while Irish would often feel that African Americans were taking jobs that would better be held by white people.
It is my experience that some tensions and forms of solidarity still exist between marginalized groups today. Prejudice among minorities toward other minorities exist in American culture, perhaps because of similar feelings that their communities are in competition for limited jobs. Perhaps more likely is that forms of prejudice still dominant in American society are often internalized by minorities themselves. Marginalized communities can develop prejudices against their own communities and the communities of others based on dominant forms of discrimination and prejudice that exist in society, its systems, and media.
In both undergrad and grad school, I have been exposed to a telling of history that was absent from even my Bay Area public school upbringing. In attending university and grad school with folks from other areas of the country, it has become obvious to me that my California education has offered a much more balanced view of national history, science, and literature than is offered in many other places in the country. Many students receive a Eurocentric telling of our history that glosses over the crap things that white folks have done in making this country what it is, for better or worse. Also, education systems in other states are far less likely to tell histories that challenge the actions and beliefs of Christians throughout history and currently.
Many folks in the the churches I will work in have come from places that offer sub-par educational standards. Or they come from private school educations that offer particularly biased tellings (or very prejudiced). Or they are from a generation before there was a concern for historical honesty or inclusion of non-white narratives. Or they don't have the level of education that some of us do (I have noticed that high school tellings of history are different than university tellings, mostly by being Euronormative and overly simplistic).
This makes me not only desire a church that can muster a private school educational program (If only progressive Christian private schools were a thing), but also to think that it could be beneficial to a religious community to offer history classes.
Basically I sort of want to be a minister who provides very serious adult education in Bible, history, and religious and spiritual traditions... but most churches stress education for youth and often that education is pretty much oversimplified Bible storytelling.
Basically, someone needs to find me a community that is deeply religious, liberal, and values education...
As a future minister, my task is to take all of the theoretical ways that I interpret scripture and the world and embody them with intentionality. It is one thing to talk about equality and another to live it. Thomas Groome’s suggestion that “we are now Christ’s representatives to each other” he turns in on itself-- this means that I need to consciously think about how I represent Christ, but furthermore, how my parishioners will. It can be easy to step into hierarchical roles that lead us to abandon our “surface” theologies when we step into ministerial or teaching roles. The ways that I manifest Christ’s presence in my life will be critically important, but I must be continuously conscious of the reality that while I must live my anthropology, I must also make sure that I do not grasp it so tightly that I articulate my worldviews in ways that become empire-building over kin-dom-building. Christ will work differently in different people’s lives and I must honor the ways that other people represent him.
It is the delusion of separation that allows us to act in ways that do not treat other beings (other “pieces” of creation) as if they are not part of God and part of us. In essence, sin is cutting the strings of a web; negatively affecting the complex ecosystem that is the unfolding of God. There is a serious weight to this, but one that we take on together in equal partnership and isn’t accompanied by a focus on ideas on individual piety and anti-body rhetoric.
Perhaps my resistance to creed is mostly in relation to the "authority" piece of creed. Perhaps I am having trouble divorcing the practical from the theoretical. My grandmother, in her 80s, confessed to me that she could not believe in the virgin birth and in discussing it with me, it was clear to me how much distress this had caused her over the years. She feared working out the questions because she thought she would lose friends if they knew she believed "wrong." I think it's a tragedy that this might be the kind of thing that kept my grandmother up at night, because her views on the subject had very little to do with her witness (and maybe discouraged it).
I think I can get behind an idea of "my creed," but when it becomes "our creed," I worry about its tendency to alienate. I want the atheist, the monotheist, and the polytheist (etc), to all feel welcome at my church and I worry that a creed might keep one of them from entering.
Perhaps I spoke too broadly originally. I can see how creed can be unifying and life-giving for some communities and people and that the development and evolution of creeds gives us a useful view of history. That history, however, in each of those moments when creed was created, is generally marked by divisions and silences. Aware of the difficulty of divorcing words from their historical usages, I think a creed might have more tendency to elicit harm than good within the kind of community I hope to work as a part of-- one composed, in good number, by those who have been harmed by church traditions or experienced them narrowly, but negatively.
I think each of us is a member of whatever tradition we're a part of as much because of what they are as because of what they aren't. Each time someone tells me that my way (or someone else's way) of being Christian "isn't Christian," I hold onto my noncreedal church and feel so supported by its commitment to theological diversity. I can cherry-pick biblical material with that person back and forth, but there is something about saying, "no, we refuse to draw the lines" (even if they're dotted) that is important to me.
My engagement with theological method begins with my theological anthropology. What is the role of humans? My role? Our role? As a Christian panentheist and process theologian, I would suggest that humans, like all other beings in the universe, are manifestations of the Divine. We act independently, but hopefully with our inherent interrelatedness in mind. Humans are uniquely conscious and analytical, which gives us great responsibility to act in ways that benefit the entire system. God aids us in this journey by luring us toward paths most advantageous to all, to enter into co-creating a better world until we reach a point of harmony. This goal is one I refer to as “Kin-dom.” As a theologian, then, the difference I seek to make must work toward Kin-dom, highlight interconnection, and seek a better world for all. The process of doing theology must begin with questions related to unique contexts in order to be transformative. What is transformational can only be such in relation to its starting point. While we might ask, “Who would care about this work?” I tend to ask instead, “How can I frame this work in a way that elicits care in my community?” My theological method therefore starts by asking, “Who are we and what are we doing here? How might our scripture and tradition help us elucidate God’s lure?”
For my particular context and the spiritual community I am currently a part of, “we” are a collection of people, primarily white and upper middle class, more diverse in age and sexual and gender identities than in ethnic backgrounds, although we are from a variety of different places within the U.S. (and some from outside). While each person brings their own struggles and joys, most occupy a space of “privilege.” We are mostly financially secure, housed, and tend to be heard and protected members of society. We are an old, (150 years) mainline Protestant church (Congregationalist/UCC). As a community, most of us (and the church itself) have tended to benefit from the structures of society that oppress many. I believe it is the work of the Church to uncover its complicity and engagement in reinforcing oppressive hierarchies and prescribed roles that have siloed and segregated communities and fostered a world characterized by extreme imbalance of resources.
I prefer my process to be less prescribed than some, moving between and within "categories" organically in response to the kinds of questions raised and while keeping in mind the lenses offered to me by my academic career (postcolonial, feminist, historical-critical, queer, etc.) and the questions the application of such lenses asks us to consider. Part of unpacking the theologies and worldviews we peddle is the work of criticism and awareness-- of finding how our tradition and theology has been conflated with enlightenment thinking used to promote inequality and injustice (Douglas, 61-64). In considering our spirituality critically, we can hopefully see which vantage points will not be life-giving for all. Starting with criticism allows us to see the direction we might need to move in by what merits resistance.
Given my context and the context of the community I serve and am a part of, it is important to ask how our theologies have been used to, and have the potential to, oppress. Unpacking these paradigms asks us to turn the page in our narrative and to find new ways of finding life in our scriptures and stories that do not reinforce hierarchy. Stuart offers a vision of God as a passionate friend-- transformative in its capacity to offer non-hierarchic, ungendered relationship of mutuality-- that can allow more space for honesty and vulnerability than the problematic relationship of “Father” (Stuart, 56-61). This example elucidates how queer theology can “unstick” us from ways of understanding our tradition, much like Jesus did in his time, by asking us to consider a vantage point outside the box.
Transforming theology requires us to see outside the box that tradition has slowly built over the years (and we therefore hardly notice). Johnson recalls the peculiarity of our tradition and the ways that we have sterilized what is essentially, a spirituality built upon its penchant for oddity. Recalling this and “destabilizing the ‘natural order of things’ can bring some surprisingly good news to light” (Johnson, 59). In unsettling tradition and questioning our theological “givens,” we can find the room to live into our called, authentic lives (71).
Douglas, Kelly Brown. Stand Your Ground: Black Bodies and the Justice of God. Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2015.
Johnson, Jay Emerson. Peculiar Faith: Queer Theology for Christian Witness. New York: SEABURY BOOKS, 2014.
Stuart, Elizabeth. Gay and Lesbian Theologies: Repetitions with Critical Difference. Aldershot, England.: Routledge, 2003.
