Transcending Duality: A Book Review of "Evangelical Theologies of Liberation and Justice"

For most of us, if we are to approach a collection of essays our Western inclination is putting on our binary lens where we either agree or disagree with each essay.  Then at the end, again in our binary mode, we will do the math for those that we agree with and those that we disagree with and that will determine our opinion, good or bad (again binary) of what we have just read.

In Evangelical Theologies of Liberation and Justice the Peshat is found in its title with “liberation” and “justice,” both overarching Biblical themes that Mae Cannon and Andrea Smith, the book’s co-editors, are passionate about.  Despite the narrow focus of the book, liberation and justice in an Evangelical context, the diversity of the voices is remarkable.  Given this, perhaps the Remez and Derash for Smith and Cannon is “If we can get you to forego a few of your binaries, our job is complete.”

In light of this dualism it is worth highlighting this story about Cannon that took place over several days in 2014.  Cannon who is an executive director of an NGO working toward a secure and just resolution to the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, was at the Israeli Embassy in DC in 2014 where she was advocating for a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas during the Gaza War.  After this meeting an active-duty Israeli Army serviceman said to her, “I know you mean well…but, even without intending it, you are inadvertently serving as a handmaiden for Hamas.”  Then a few days later meeting with a Palestinian NGO in Jerusalem, she heard this from a Palestinian leader, “I know you mean well…but you are inadvertently supporting the bombing of innocent Palestinian children.”  This demonstrates Cannon’s ability to stand in the tension of binaries.  This tension is further displayed in the diversity of essays both through the authors themselves as well as their theological positions pertaining to liberation and justice.

Therefore, if the reader is able to embrace Remez and Derash, that is, to step into the tension that it is perhaps more paramount to wrestle with what it is that they do not agree with rather than immediately going to a place of needing to debunk it, then they will discover a treasure in Evangelical Theologies.

Jonathan Wilson Hartgrove, in his recent Reconstructingthe Gospel shared a story of being asked the following question, “Where does a middle-class white person like me find a role…?”  Hartgrove’s answer is, “almost always, not out front.”  This idea from Hartgrove is embodied with Cannon and Evangelical Theologies. Moreover, it is the second book in succession where Cannon has decided to lift the voices of others, with A Land Full of God being the other. Most books are written through the exclusive lens of one author.  We need more books like Evangelical Theologies that lift the voices of those that are often not given a platform.

I have already recommended Evangelical Theologies to friends and will continue to do so.

One Reflection on Participating in Civil Disobedience

I was recently part of an action for social justice standing against racism, particularly Israel’s treatment of children, but also including our treatment, on the US border in the South, of those fleeing persecution in their own countries seeking asylum here in ours.  Part of this action presented the option of putting our bodies on the line, that is, risking arrest, with another option for “jail solidarity” where we not carry IDs and refuse to give our names, giving instead the name of a Palestinian child who has been a victim at the hands of the Israeli Army in the context of a military occupation that has lasted for more than a half-century.  This action did not result in any arrests, however, I am still processing the conversation I had with two men of Arab descent, Mohammed* and Hanna* as we were leaving our final organizing meeting.

They both were pumped up and excited for the action when Hanna exclaimed, “I was born for this!” with Mohammed saying, “Me too.”  I looked at them both and said, “I was born white and privileged, I was not born for this.”  It was a somewhat jocular, but also very honest and equally serious response.  They both agreed that this was a good response from a white guy as we all chuckled.

After the action I would get home and process this brief exchange a bit more.  Why would our experiences and approaches to this action, Hanna’s and Mohammed’s contrasted with mine, be so diametrical?  I attempted to step into Mohammed and Hanna’s shoes.  They were both born with browner skin than me, and they were both born of Arab descent, both are things that are far too often dehumanized in our culture and society.  I believe their exclamation of them being born for this action of civil disobedience was that it goes directly against the system that oppresses them—it is a way for them to take the power back.  Whereas, for me, there is no power that I need to take back.  I was born with that power merely for the fact that I am white and male.

As my wife and I sat down to have dinner last night, still processing the day’s events, my prayer was for me and Helene to recognize our power with being white.  Despite, really trying to move away from binary ways of thinking the past couple of years, I believe that a binary picture is worth presenting here.  We really have two options with our power as people with white skin in the context of where we position that power.  Do we place it above where it continues to push down and oppress and really operates from a place of fear where we need to be the ones in control or do we place it underneath with the purpose to lift up?  Of course one could say we can remain neutral.  To that I would quote Dr. Martin Luther King who said, “History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people…There comes a time when silence is betrayal.”  Neutrality is positioning your power above. 

Positioning our power underneath can be scary because it says that I am willing to relinquish control, it says that not everything is about me and my comfort; it says rather than God being the servant of my desires, I am trusting God’s desire for Shalom that is inclusive and restorative for all humanity.  In other words, God is not called to serve me, I am called to serve Her.

My jocular and honest response was true, I was not born to relinquish my power and openly risk being arrested, but as a follower of Jesus, I am called to it in the hopes that the Mohammeds and the Hannas of the next generation will be born with the same power as I was born with; born into a world of inclusive Shalom rather than a world of exclusive Empire.

*Names have been changed to protect anonymity.