Getting Darker with the Other

By Jonathan Callard

Thomas Moore wrote that one way to get through a dark night of the soul is to get even darker. And in the case of the recent presidential election, that made me think of two things.

First, no more apologizing from progressive Christians for being followers of Jesus – a radical revolutionary who preached inclusivity and love for society's marginalized two millennia ago. Organize more. Speak publicly about your faith and what you value. Stop worrying about offending other liberal interest groups, especially secular ones who have a problem with institutional religion – these folks need to recognize the value of faith-based organizations in the fight for justice. Yes, like anything run by human beings over history, the church has at times abused its power and perpetuated oppression. But the time for unity is now. The church – meaning the people of faith, not its buildings and hierarchies – brings a time-tested vitality undeterred by temporary setbacks and the resistance of earthly powers (how can we forget the leadership of Christians like the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., during the 1960's). To be a Christian means to always look to the promise of the resurrection, the life of the world to come.

The second thing is much harder. As progressive Christians, we need to go below our political defenses, down to the dark underworld of our fear. We've already begun to model this in the worldwide Anglican Communion after the controversial consecration of openly gay bishop Gene Robinson. Episcopalians face the threat of schism, but many continue to talk and pray and seek common ground with those on the other side of the cultural divide, knowing that we are stronger together rather than apart.

I work in Berkeley, Calif., where bumper stickers feature “W.” choking on a pretzel, running with his pants on fire, or even superimpose his face on an image of Osama Bin Laden with the caption “Osama Bush Laden.” These ads, while humorous, weaken the moral position of those who adhere to them.

It's been easier to demonize Bush and those supposed red state Bible-thumpers who put him over the top in Ohio. Easy to make them the Other. I work in Berkeley, Calif., where bumper stickers feature “W.” choking on a pretzel, running with his pants on fire, or even superimpose his face on an image of Osama Bin Laden with the caption “Osama Bush Laden.” These ads, while humorous, weaken the moral position of those who adhere to them.

One woman in Ohio who supported Bush told The New York Times after the election, “I have been made to feel by the liberal people that my faith makes me weird. I don't wear my religion on my sleeve either; I'm quiet about it. But I firmly believe that my country was founded on faith, and when I saw the popular vote, it made me feel like I'm not such an outsider, that there are others like me, and a lot of them.”

All of us want to be accepted. All of us fear the Other – the gay person, the deeply evangelical Christian who prays for the souls of non-believers, the Arab, the man who's never stepped foot outside his small Midwestern town.

To begin in this solidarity of brokenness and reach out to the Other is the strongest thing we can do. A faith community based on Jesus' teachings of reconciliation can be a powerful place for both sides to speak their truths, to listen. Not to blur the lines of church and state, but to provide a space for people to talk about their darkness in broad daylight. It's not easy to reach out to some extremists who won't even speak to you because they think you're going to hell for supporting the rights of gays or women's reproductive rights. But hidden behind these noisemakers is the woman from Ohio and the man from Berkeley who want to be part of something larger than themselves.

We need tell the stories of those who have gone deeper and darker, shedding fears for faith. People like the Rev. Rick Matters in the Episcopal Diocese of San Joaquin (Calif.), who voted in support of Gene Robinson's ordination at the 2003 General Convention, despite threats to his personal safety. He paid the political price in his diocese, stripped of many leadership responsibilities by those in power who opposed his views on sexuality. But he chose to stay and continue to minister to his congregation in Lodi, Calif., and engage the dialogue from there.

Jesus became so powerful that he had to be killed off by the authorities. As those in power saw crowds of same-sex couples getting hitched in Boston and in San Francisco this year, they encountered the power of love. They reached for a constitutional amendment to prevent gay marriage, they reached for bans on the state level, anything to stop the influx of the Other.

But as Henri Nouwen writes, those who try to deny prophetic Christians “will discover, to their surprise and horror, that they have only succeeded in awakening many others and that the cry for a new world has grown still louder.”

Several years ago I would have been uncomfortable hearing a Sunday sermon that dragged modern-day politics into the Gospel teachings. Let's leave the Other out of this, let's take a break from the body bags from Iraq and the layoffs and the woman cleaning bathrooms who lacks health care, I would have said. Even now a part of me still walks into church looking for solace only, and not for strength.

We are awake. I'm thirty-one years old. As a straight white male I have access to power that others do not. I've received a good education; I'm able to find work. Several years ago I would have been uncomfortable hearing a Sunday sermon that dragged modern-day politics into the Gospel teachings. Let's leave the Other out of this, let's take a break from the body bags from Iraq and the layoffs and the woman cleaning bathrooms who lacks health care, I would have said. Even now a part of me still walks into church looking for solace only, and not for strength.

But in the aftermath of the last four years, in the wake of our most recent election, I've embraced the darker image of Jesus as a changemaker, the church as a changemaker, each of us as a changemaker. I'm encouraged at the voter turnout for this election, especially among those in my generation and younger. Some worry that first-time voters who cast their lots for Kerry will grow discouraged and not return to vote again; I say that these times provide an opening for progressive churches to step closer to the fore. Not to try to get all my atheist and Jewish and Buddhist and Jack Kornfield-loving thirty-something friends to embrace Christ as their savior. But to strongly model Jesus in challenging authority. To speak out of a framework of faith, something that can hold our hearts when our mere minds and hands meet resistance. Something not bound by earthly time and polls on CNN.  

In engaging the Other, we may be surprised by how similar we are. In getting darker, together, we bring Jesus to life more than any vote for Bush's “moral values” ever could.

BIO:

Jonathan Callard is a freelance writer living in Oakland, Calif., who works as an editorial assistant for The Witness and maintains his own blog . Jonathan's writings have appeared in the Dallas Morning News and various religious publications. He may be reached by email at jonathancallard@hotmail.com .