Cone: "God of the Oppresed"

James Cone is a leading black theologian whose book, God of the Oppressed, outlines and shapes what Cone understands as liberation and black theology. I should state at the onset that I thoroughly enjoyed reading Cone’s work. He is an engaging author and gifted in writing; his use of hymns and spirituals was appreciated and added richness to the text. For my theology class, this was one of the books on the list to read, and I was interested in reading this book due to my growing desire to broaden my cultural and racial understandings which began a few years ago.

There was much that I agreed with as I read God of the Oppressed. Cone persuasively argues for liberation theology as he critiques and examines the historical context of both black theology and mainstream, white European theology. Cone states that “there can be no knowledge of Jesus independent of the history and culture of the oppressed” (p. 32) and that “any interpretation of the gospel in any historical period that fails to see Jesus as the Liberator of the oppressed is heretical” (p. 35). The book is very helpful, especially for those who have been raised with an Anglo-European understanding of theology. In the end, while I deeply appreciated Cone’s work, I found myself left without much hope that it really can be changed or that I can do anything to promote change.

In some ways, I was left disappointed and discouraged after reading God of the Oppressed. It was not that I disagreed so much with Cone’s understanding of Jesus and God, but was left unsure of what his understanding means for me as a young white male living in the United States. Undoubtedly, my reading of the text was filtered through my cultural and racial lens, and I wondered if I should even attempt to bring my lens into the arena. While eager to engage in Cone’s work, I found myself wondering if, according to Cone, it is even possible for me to really be a true follower of Christ. Cone states that “the oppressed are the only true Christians,” and while he does in some ways recognize that “it is true that all are oppressed,” (p. 136), he also reminds black people that “just because we work with [whites] and sometimes worship alongside them should be no reason to claim that they are truly Christians and thus a part of our struggle” (p. 222, emphasis mine).

While I recognize that I cannot enter into any dialogue and remove my social, cultural, theological, and racial background, I also find myself frustrated when Cone states that “all talk about reconciliation with white oppressors, with mutual dialogue about its meaning, has no place in black power of Black Theology” (p. 221). I wondered if just as white theologians have often missed the mark, Cone might have moved too far in the opposite direction, leaving a crevasse so wide that it could not possibly be passed, especially for a white man interested in seeing progress in the area of racial reconciliation and still hopes that it might somehow be possible. I do recognize that “[Reconciliation] is not holding hands singing ‘Black and white together’ and ‘We shall overcome,” (p. 219) and strongly disagree to Cone’s categorization that “white people seem to think that they know what is best for our struggle” (p. 220). I do not believe I know what is best for the struggle of blacks, and Cone’s categorization frustrates me much as I assume whites’ categorization of blacks frustrates him.

As a black theologian, Cone spends much of his time highlighting the black experience in the United States. Knowing this, it makes sense that Cone works to define and establish black theology, and yet I think he might benefit from expanding his writing to include others who experience oppression—-women, Latinos, Asians, the elderly, the mentally ill. I absolutely believe that sociocultural factors do impact theological understanding, and it seems challenging to work with a multitude of theologies all specifically focused on one oppressed group’s experiences. I was surprised after reading God of the Oppressed to re-read the back cover and see that there is a quote from The Christian Century that says “Cone has opened the door to a universal theology.” I am not sure Cone himself would propose that he has put forth or that it is even possible for there to be a universal theology, and after reading Cone’s work, it does not strike me as universal, although I do think there are aspects which can and should be applied universally. I believe black theology and liberation theology have much to offer the church, and I am glad that Cone gives attention to the unique historical context of the African-American church and experience. I often think that contemporary evangelical churches (the mostly- or all-white churches that I have mostly attended) have lost much the richness that is part of the Christian tradition.

As I approached the final chapter, titled “Liberation and Reconciliation,” I was hoping Cone might give some insights into how an understanding of liberation and black theology might aid in understanding what reconciliation might look like. After I read this chapter, I found myself more discouraged rather than encouraged. As a white person, I tried to keep an open mind to Cone’s writing, but at times must admit I found myself somewhat put off by the way he wrote about whites and their approach to reconciliation. I would love to ask Cone what he thinks a white male who wants to find some way to fight oppression and injustice would do or what the role of this person would be. I do not believe that whites can begin to lead the move towards reconciliation, but also believe that blacks cannot force or engage in reconciliation by themselves. Perhaps I am completely naïve or am too clouded by my white sociocultural understanding, but it seems to me that there must be some sort so cross-racial communication and dialogue in the difficult path towards reconciliation.

While Cone wrote God of the Oppressed in the 1970s and I cannot pretend to be knowledgeable about the full scope of black suffering and the history of the black experience, I do not personally think that the relationships between races is really much better now than it was thirty years ago. (While Cone gives deserved attention to the issue of slavery, I actually think Cone’s work might be strengthened by examining some of the more subtle aspects of racial discrimination which is prevalent in contemporary American society.) Reading Cone’s work has been a welcome entry into liberation and black theology, and I actually hope to read more in this area as I do think it has much to offer the contemporary church and speaks significantly into the heart of the message of Jesus Christ.

"We rightly sorrow...Yet we rejoice"

My blog is titled "No Man is an Island," which comes from a quote by John Donne at the top of my blog but is also a book by Thomas Merton. I started this blog about 2 years ago, and I had just started this book when I began my blog. Well, I'm now about halfway through the book. Clearly, it's taken me a while, and I'll read a few pages every few weeks. I hadn't picked the book up for quite a while, but last night I decided to grab a book that wasn't for school and I turned to Merton.

Today is the one-year marking of the accident that I mentioned three blogs ago (see "One Year Later," April 14, 2007 as well as post from May 3, 2006). With many thoughts going through my mind last night, this is part of what I read and thought it would be fitting to share here:

"[Christ's] love is so much stronger than death that the death of a Christian is a kind of triumph. And although we rightly sorrow at the separation from those we love (since we are also meant to love their human presence), yet we rejoice in their death because it proves to us the strength of our mutual love. The conviction in our hearts, the unshakeable hope of communion with our dead in Christ, is always telling us that they live and that He lives and that we live. This is our great inheritance, which can only be increased by suffering well taken: this terrific grip of the divine life on our own souls, this grip of clean love that holds us so fast that it keeps us eternally free. This love, this life, this presence, is the witness that the spirit of Christ lives in us, and that we belong to Him, and that the Father has given us to Him, and no man shall snatch us out of His hand" (p. 87-88).

Gerald May

It's no secret that I love to read. It seems I have a constantly growing list of books and an even larger number of books which find their way into my apartment and next to my bed. This summer, I want to establish a list of books to read (I think I read 2 of the 10 books I set for my goal last summer), but I think I should probably just try to finish off some of the half-dozen or so books that I've already begun. It's not that I don't enjoy the books I begin, but simply find another that catches my attention on any given day and allow my attention to shift. But it is true that I do finish some of the books I begin. Over the last two years, I have read three books by one author who has quickly become one of my favorites: Gerald May.

May, who passed away in 2005, "practiced medicine and psychiatry for twenty-five years before becoming a senior fellow in contemplative theology and psychology at the Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation in Bethseda, Maryland." I gather that May grew disillusioned with various aspects of psychology, and I appreciate his frankness in that area. And yet his psychological understanding adds a unique depth to his various writings. Here are the three books I've read so far:

1. The Wisdom of Wilderness: Experiencing the Healing Power of Nature. This book May's final, and it is beautifully written. May explores his own journey into the wilderness, both the literal wild of nature and the most existential wild of his being. He wonderfully weaves these two together as he discusses what he calls the "Power of the Slowing," something I think may benefit us all. One of my favorite quotes from the book is found on the penultimate page, where he discusses how "love dances in freedom." "Love is the pervading passion of all things that draws diversity into oneness, that knows and pleads for union, that aches for goodness and beauty, that suffers loss and destruction. Love is the Power that births and grieves, the laughter that fills the heavens, the tears that water the earth. Love is the energy that fuels, fills, and embraces everything everywhere. And there is no end to it, ever" (p. 189). Knowing that he was about to die as he wrote this book, I appreciate May's honesty and candidness with some very prevalent existential issues.
2. Addiction & Grace: Love and Spirituality in the Healing of Addictions. This book is likely May's most famous, and deservedly so. May draws on his solid medical and psychological understanding of addictions and integrates this understanding into a spiritual framework. The final piece is a must-read for anyone interested in not only a broader understanding of addictions, but also interested in understanding the spiritual components that are at play. This book educates and informs, but also challenges the reader to examine their own addictions. May proposes that we are all addicted as we all displace onto something that which is rightfully God's. It is when we face and understand our addictions which makes grace all that more beautiful. May writes, "To be alive is to be addicted, and to be alive and addicted is to stand in need of grace" (p.11). This work also helps to relieve some of the stigma associated with addictions. As a clinician, my addictions may not be as daily inhibiting or socially problematic as the heroin addict or the alcoholic, but that doesn't mean I don't have my own addictions or stand in the exact same need of grace.
3. The Dark Night of the Soul: A Psychiatrist Explores the Connection Between Darkness and Spiritual Growth. If I have to be honest, this was my least favorite of the three books mentioned here, but I still read through the entire thing in 3 days, which says something. In this work, May examines the lives of Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross, who both lived in Spain in the fourteenth century. Sounds exciting, right? Stay with it. It is common within Christian circles to hear mention of the "dark night of the soul," and May examines it's origins from a historical context, and the examination is often illuminating. When we hear "dark night of the soul," we usually conjure up connotations of depression and darkness, times when we feel spiritually naked and alone. While these connotations may have some relevance, May's description of the dark night is much more complex, and much more captivating. He describes the dark night as a "romance between God and the human soul that liberates us to love one another" (Introduction). In short, it's worth reading.

Well, those are my 3 picks from the author Gerald May. Thanks for reading.

Post-Masters Life...

Recently, many people have begun asking me what my life will look like once I graduate from Trinity with my Master's. Well, first of all, I still have another year left. I'm all done with classes after this semester, but next year I'll be doing my internship. I've got a great site lined up and am excited to get more involved in clinical practice. My internship is at an agency right down the street, OMNI Youth Services. They work primarily with adolescents, but do a lot of work with an adolescent's family as a part of treatment.

So then I should graduate in about a year, May 2008. And yes, I am planning on applying to schools to begin doctoral work. Frightening, huh? I really think I'd like to eventually work as a professor, and to do that, the Ph.D. seems necessary. So over this past year I've been investigating all sorts of programs, and have compiled a tentative list of schools I'll be applying to. Basically, I'm looking at schools that...

1) Have plenty of financial backing
2) Have professors who do research I'm interested in
3) Are in locations that both Joy and I agree to

It's a big commitment if I end up going on (another 5 or 6 years), but it's something that both Joy and I are very excited about and believe we are wise in pursuing at this poing in our lives. So right now I have narrowed my list of schools down to ten: 5 schools I definitely plan on applying to and 5 schools which I want to look at further before I decide either way.

That's just a little update from where I'm at these days. The application process is long and intimidating (it's quite common for a school to get 300 applicants and take about 5...), and it won't be until a year from now that I actually know anything, but I thought I'd just let you all in on just what might transpire in the next year. We'll see.

One Year Later

On April 26, it will be one year since Brad Larson and 4 others from Taylor University died in a horrific accident involving a school van and semi-trailer that flew across the highway median. This year has made me think more about death than any other year, and I randomly yet regularly continue to find myself confronted with thoughts I simply don’t know what to do with. I don’t know how to best comfort those who were much closer to Brad than I. I don’t know how to even try to understand what God was doing. I don’t know how my tears lead to questions which sometimes lead to worship and sometimes just lead to more questions. I don’t know how to have hope when there is clearly still so much despair. And at the very same time, hope is all I do have.

On Easter Sunday, my mind was continually distracted as I thought about Brad, his family, his friends. Joy and I were at a service with twelve-thousand others filling up the Sears Center near Chicago, a wonderfully joyous and reflective service. And in the vastness of the auditorium, my mind kept returning to thoughts of Brad.

It was on Easter Sunday in Boston last year that I last saw Brad. There was a large group of us in Boston together, and it was a wonderful several days. On Saturday night, Easter Eve, I became quite sick, and returned early from the events of the day to lie down. Because I was so sick, I didn’t go to church last Easter: I was in bed hoping for my fever and chills to subside. And although I don’t want to imply that my friends who were there didn’t care that I was sick or didn’t ask how I was feeling, I distinctly remembering Brad being the one who visibly and tangibly showed that he cared. He would regularly come back to the room where I was sleeping, ask how I was feeling, ask what he could do to help me feel better. On Easter Sunday, it was Brad who asked if he could bring me back something for lunch. He brought me a salad, and he was thoughtful enough to have the dressing for the salad put on the side, just in case it might upset my stomach.

Brad was killed about one week later, and since that time, my mind has gone in all sorts of directions. Many times, it just seems wrong to me that he was worried about getting me a salad with dressing on the side when he could have shared his last Easter with his family. And yet, my strongest memory of Brad is one of him serving, one of him checking the bathroom to see if I’d thrown up again or asking if I needed another blanket, and I don’t want to take that memory away.

This year, I found myself thinking over and over about Brad, and my mind instantly turns to thinking of his family and his many friends much closer than I. And as I tried to engage in the service I was in, I began to think about that hope that we do have. And it hit me hard: This year, Brad wasn’t in some Easter service in Boston or India or Wisconsin, but was actually worshipping in Jesus’ presence. It is in this thought that there is hope in despair, and it was this thought that allowed me to engage in a purer worship. I used to think worship only involved me and the Godhead. But what if worship is more? What if it is so much more beautiful and mysterious? What if worship means bringing everything—our memories, our weaknesses, our insufficiencies, our despair, our relationships—as we seek to enter into the mysterious process of knowing Christ more intimately?

In the final pages of Thomas Merton’s book No Man is an Island, Merton writes regarding silence and death: “If, at the moment of death, death comes to us as an unwelcome stranger, it will be because Christ also has always been to us an unwelcome stranger.”

I have no doubt that death did not come to Brad as an unwelcome stranger because Christ was not an unwelcome stranger in Brad’s life. It is with tears that I remember and know that while Brad’s death was an unwelcome stranger to those around him, to Brad death brought forth his presence into eternal glory with a Savior he knew and pursued quite intimately. He is now in the presence of that Glory, in the presence of the Risen Christ.

April Snow

Today is Wednesday, April 11. I was up later than expected last night making some last-minute adjustments to a paper due today ("Alcohol Abuse and Dependence: A Clinical Overview and Christian Appraisal") and either neglected to set my alarm last night or simply didn't hear it this morning. Either way, I woke up, glanced at my clock, and saw the numbers 8:10 staring back at me. My first class of the day begins at 8:15. I jumped up, started the shower, and resigned to the fact that I was going to be significantly late to class. It really was a shame since my attendance this semester is unparalleled in my academic history, but at least my first class wasn't the one where the paper was due.

I'd heard rumors on the news last night that we could get a little snow today. I assumed maybe a flurry here and there, nothing to raise a fuss about, even if it was approaching mid-April. Well, I looked out the window, and it was as if I was back in January. Visions of wondering if my car would start, sliding all over the road, scrambling into a parking place all came to mind. At 8:22, my phone rang. Interesting. It was a classmate, calling to tell me that my morning class, the one I was already late for, was cancelled. What a moment of joy and glee. I finished getting ready, grabbed the coffee and a book, and settled in to read while I watched the snow continue to fall.

I am now at school, ready to turn in my paper in an hour. When I walked out to my car, I did find about 3 inches piled up, and I lamented as I thought about my dear wife getting up at that ghastly time she does each day, trucking off to teach the little children. The snow continues to fall, a wonderfully wet snow. The only question I was left with was, "If April showers bring May flowers," what on earth comes in May when you have April snow? Something to ponder.

"Pan's Labyrinth"

Pan's Labyrinth, which has received notable attention over the last several months, is my new favorite film. I didn't get to see quite as many as the awards-talk movies as I'd like to have this year, but I did see Babel, The Departed, Little Miss Sunshine, and yes, Dreamgirls (which I personally found disappointing). Pan's Labryinth is my favorite of them all (right ahead of Sunshine, which I loved). It's been called a "fairy tale for adults," and it does that which all good tales do: it gives allowance for imagination where symbolism actually works. And yes, key in my mind when it comes to a truly good story, there are times where I see myself more clearly. I see myself in the hope of the characters, the perseverance and dreams, as well as in the ugliness, the frightening.

Pan's Labyrinth did something I so greatly appreciated: it beautifully blended the mysterious and the real, and you are left amazed at how closely the two can resemble each other. Which is the fanciful? Is there mystery in the real and reality in the mysterious? I think too often we separate the two into distinct categories, and I think it's our loss. Yes, it's a foreign film from Mexico that takes place in Spain in 1944, and all of it adds to the uniqueness of this film. There are some intense and graphic moments of violence, and a few outbursts of extreme vulgarity, but the movie does not glorify; this movie unmistakably makes the distinction between evil and good. Such an allegorical movie runs the risk of being dry and unengaging; Pan's Labyrinth succeeds at engaging the audience in both the real and the fanciful, each story as compelling and captivating as the other.

Florida & Ohio State

Just so the public knows, I'd like to announce here that I indeed do have Florida an Ohio St. playing in the NCAA Championship. My bracket took some early hits (Notre Dame and Duke), but as long as Ohio State wins tomorrow night, I'm golden. I love March Madness.

Oh yes, and Happy Fools Day to you and yours.