The Raven Foundation

Do you believe in violence? I don’t intend this to be a glib question with a simple answer. Rather, I hope it will evoke the complexity surrounding our decisions as individuals, groups and nations about whether or not to employ the power of violence to achieve peace. I’d like to briefly flesh out that complexity by putting the present day situation in Syria in conversation with the Gospels. It is Holy Week after all, when Christians retell the story of the use of state power to execute an innocent man known as the Prince of Peace.

At the beginning of Holy Week we find the road into Jerusalem teeming with pilgrims heading into town for the Passover festival.  The road as well as the Temple itself was under tight surveillance by Roman troops who were looking for any excuse to execute a few pilgrims as an example of Roman power. I cannot help but think of the oppressed Jews of ancient Palestine when I read about the violence in Syria today. Then as now, people who feel oppressed and under the threat of violence must decide what they will do. To not decide, to do nothing at all, is to invite continued oppression. But whether or not they should resort to violence is no easy decision.

Some first century Jews believed that only armed rebellion would liberate them and eventually they did rebel. There was a war with Rome and in 70 C.E. Jerusalem was destroyed and the Temple burned to the ground. In the name of peace, patriotic and religious Jews violently rebelled against an Empire that was also claiming to be acting in the name of peace. Yet Jesus counseled his fellow Jews against believing in violence as a way to achieve peace. In word and deed, he witnessed to love and forgiveness, even unto death. His disciples must have wondered how the love and forgiveness of a troublesome minority at the far edges of the Empire would be greeted in Rome. Probably with derision, perhaps as an invitation to further oppression, for history offers too many examples that the refusal to use violence is perceived as weakness, as the mark of an easy prey. No doubt the Syrian rebels are faced with the same calculations.

In a New York Times article about the Syrian conflict, you can hear the echoes of the disciples’ choice between violence and forgiveness. The government of Syria is dominated by the Alawite sect of Islam. Sunnis feel threatened and have been subject to shelling and sniper attacks. A Sunni doctor from the town of Qusayr quit Syria’s ruling Baath Party to treat rebels and civilians injured in the attacks. One patient he treated later died and,

…as the doctor walked to visit the body laid out in a nearby mosque, he was asked if he worried that young Sunnis would take revenge on the Alawites.  Monitors and news reports have cited evidence of revenge killings of [Alawite] security forces. “No,” he said as he trudged through a darkening peach orchard. “Our religion teaches us to forgive.” Beside him another Qusayr resident, Abu Khalil, disagreed. “Should we forgive until there are no Sunnis left alive?” he asked.

The questioner seems to think the answer is obvious, that forgiveness has its limits. Yet Jesus might ask in return, “Is it better to retaliate until none of you are left?”

As part of the comfort Jesus offers his disciples before his arrest and execution he says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives.” (John 14:27) If Jesus gives peace not as the world gives, not through violence, then how? René Girard says that Jesus left us with “a terrible choice: either believe in violence, or not; Christianity is non-belief.” It is a terrible choice, indeed, because the way of non-belief in violence is a path fraught with risk. The Prince of Peace himself, even as he whispered forgiveness of his executioners from the cross, was destroyed by the vengeful power of violence. Yet Christians profess not just the death but the resurrection, insisting that Jesus defeated the power of violence for all time.

Is the Christian belief in the power of forgiveness absurd? Is it more prudent and wise to believe in violence?  There are no easy answers to these questions. But as we move into Holy Week I hope you can join me in a prayer about violence as Christians walk to the cross with the Prince of Peace: May God strengthen the world’s non-belief.

Is there any rational reason to believe in miracles? The question is not about belief in miracles per se, but the reason behind belief. Lots of times the question of miracles involves the search for a rational explanation. If you find one, then bingo, you debunk the miracle and score another triumph for reason. Recently I experienced a miracle trifecta in New York City’s St. Patrick’s Cathedral: mass was being said at the central altar; to the left was a really impressive nearly life-size crèche complete with adoring camel; and to the right was a chapel dedicated to the appearance of Our Lady of Guadalupe to a Mexican peasant in 1531. Transubstantiation, incarnation and visitation – easily debunked miracles, right? Yet there I was all dewy-eyed and verklempt receiving communion, lighting a candle at the crèche, and joining the crowd adoring Our Lady of Guadalupe because it just happened to be her feast day (coincidence or miracle?!). Had I taken leave of my senses and given in to some emotional, romantic experience of the presence of God or had my reason come along for the ride?

The question of rational reasons to believe in miracles might seem to be off the table from the start as a contradiction in terms. Yet I do think that there is a very rational reason to believe in miracles, a reason rooted in the very mundane reality of this world. At Christmas, angels (another easily debunked miracle!) announced that the mundane reality of the world was about to change. They proclaimed that a Messiah had entered the world as a little child to bring peace on earth. Really, now?? That would be a reality shifter of volcanic magnitude! The reality of this world is definitely one of not-peace and the idea that it could be transformed by a child, well, that would be a miracle! I couldn’t agree more! What I’d like to propose is that the reality of not-peace is sustained by a powerful, totalizing logic which would take a miracle to disprove.

Here goes: the desire for peace on earth is nearly universal, yet peace has been an elusive dream. Why is that? There always seems to be one more obstacle to peace, one more evil villain who must be defeated before peace can reign on earth. The job of good people is to be vigilant against evil and, if possible, to learn to identify evil before it can do harm to innocent people. This is the current quest of our own Department of Homeland Security, FBI, CIA, Department of Defense and so on. The logic of good versus evil requires them to identify evil and destroy it by any means possible, all in the service of goodness and peace.    

This logic is familiar to us and it permits the use of violence by good people in the name of peace. I have written about this many times before, so it will not be surprising when I point out that everyone who employs violence is doing so in the name of some ultimate good or another. Goodness is defined using me and my aims as the standard, of course, and evil is always located somewhere outside of me and my community. If goodness is always me-orientated, then anyone who opposes me, my goals or desires is by definition evil. Do you see how totalizing this is and how completely logical? If you begin with the premise that goodness equals me and evil is that which opposes me, then every “me” on the planet can self-identify as good and justify the destruction (figuratively or literally) of all the evil others out there who get in my way. We see it in domestic politics, international relations, and our own personal relationships when others seem to be willfully intent on obstructing our desires. They can be none other than evil by virtue of their opposition to the good – moi! This logic prevents us from seeing the truth that our enemies are using the same logic to define themselves as good and we as evil. All parties to a conflict use this logic to justify their use of violence so no one employing violence is self-identifying as evil. It is the good people, at least in their own opinion, who are doing all the bad things. Paradoxically yet logically, we find ourselves very busy creating a world of not-peace in the name of peace while never doubting our own goodness! A real predicament, isn’t it?

So what is the way out of this logical system? We could try to reason our way out, but ironically we have reasoned our way into it so successfully that any challenge to the system fits neatly into it: challenge my goodness or use violence against me and I have proof of your wickedness. Yet if I challenge your goodness or use violence against you, magically this is evidence of my commitment to the good. So anything that could crack open the logic at play here can’t come from within the system itself. A successful challenge would have to come from outside the system and appear other worldly, outside of our everyday experience – in other words, a miracle. A miracle that allows us to see ourselves in the face of our enemies and our enemies as children of God. The miracle can come to us in and through our mundane experiences: a birth, a meal, a message of love. When it comes, the logic of good and evil and of violence in the name of peace is revealed for a lie and peace becomes possible.

I believe in miracles because their existence challenges our reliance on logic and reason, which is an absolutely good thing given how much trouble logic can get us into. But miracles have a logic of their own, the logic of the possible impossible. In fact, the idea of a miracle might actually have some support from mathematics, the language of science. In the early twentieth century, the mathematician Kurt Godel discovered what he called the theorem of incompleteness which is the proof of a paradox, that there are true but unprovable statements. True but unprovable: maybe that’s what miracles are. You see, it was very reasonable for me to be verklempt at St. Pat’s and for all of us to be a bit dewy-eyed at the sight of the babe in the manger. Miracles make sense! Peace is possible! Merry Christmas!

Tony Perkins, president of the Family Research Council in Washington, begins his recent article for CNN entitled My Take: Jesus was a free marketer, not an Occupier by stating that “One of the last instructions Jesus gave his disciples was ‘Occupy till I come.’”

The quote is from the Parable of the Ten Minas, found in Luke 19:22.  There are economic overtones in the parable – a mina was about a month’s wage in first century Palestine.  Perkins uses the parable to discuss modern economics.  Anachronistically, he claims that Jesus endorsed the free market.  The free market, of course, is a modern concept, so Jesus could not have been a “free marketer.”  Perkins then uses the parable to denounce the Occupy Wall Street movement, a movement that he claims, “take(s) over and trash(es) public property” and “engage(s) in antisocial behavior while denouncing a political and economic system that grants one the right and luxury to choose to be unproductive.”

Perkins explores the parable and the Occupy Wall Street movement from a spiritual perspective.  While I appreciate that perspective, his spiritual interpretation of the parable is false.  By their very nature, parables are mysterious.  Parables are like riddles that contrasts two worldviews.  One worldview could be described as the kingdom of violence; the other is the Kingdom of God.  Jesus confronts us with these worldviews and asks us to pick which worldview we will live by.

Jesus told the Parable of the Ten Minas near the end of his life.  He knew that the political and religious elite would soon kill him, and, in telling this parable, he tried to prepare his disciples for his death.  Jesus prepared his disciple for his death in parable and in straightforward teachings.  For example, in the previous chapter of Luke (18:31-33), he told his disciples that “the Son of Man” (a term he frequently used to describe himself) would be “handed over” and that his persecutors would “mock him, insult him, spit on him, flog him and kill him.”  Luke tells us that “The disciples did not understand any of this.  Its meaning was hidden from them, and they did not know what he was talking about.”

Two thousand years later, we need to ask ourselves, “Do we know what Jesus was talking about?”

Jesus starts the parable by saying, “A man of noble birth went to a distant country to have himself appointed king and then returns.” Perkins assumes that the king is Jesus, but is he correct?  While Jesus does refer to himself as “the Son of Man,” he never explicitly refers to himself as a king.  But we do claim that Jesus is king – a different kind of king.  Jesus transforms our understanding of “king.”  He is the true King who doesn’t lead his army in violence and warfare.  Jesus had nothing to do with the kingdom of violence.  Rather, according to Luke 6:27, Jesus is the true King who leads his disciples in the Spirit of love, a love that embraces even our enemies.

That changes everything, including our interpretation of parables.  Instead of Jesus referring to himself as a man of noble birth going to a distant country to have himself appointed king, could Jesus be talking about the actual king of Judea – Herod?  In fact, this is exactly how the Herodian Dynasty received power – from a distant country called the Roman Empire.  As Jesus continues the parable, the king behaves exactly as you’d expect.  He is good to the two servants who live up to his expectations by earning even more money for the already rich king, and he punishes the third servant who fails to earn the king more money.  In fact, Jesus ends his parable with this alarming, and prophetic, statement, “But those enemies of mine, who did not want me to be king over them – bring them here and kill them in front of me.”

Perkins is wrong to assume that Jesus is the king in the parable.  Jesus is not the king; rather, he is the third servant.  When Jesus teaches to “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those mistreat you,” he flips our violent worldview upside down.  It is not the kingdom of God that rewards those who are good and punishes those who are bad.  That reciprocity describes the kingdoms of violence, the kingdoms of this world.  Jesus was not enslaved to that violent reciprocity; rather, he freely loved all people.  Jesus did not kill his enemies who did not want him to be king over them.  It was Herod, Rome, and the religious elite who killed Jesus.  They killed him because after Jesus occupied the Temple (Luke 19:45-46) they thought his movement was antisocial as he denounced their political, economic, and religious systems.  Jesus responded to their violence with nonviolence and love: On the cross he prayed that his persecutors would be forgiven (Luke 23:34) and in the resurrection he offered peace to those who betrayed him (Luke 24:36).

What does this mean for the spirituality of the Occupy Wall Street movement?  The kingdom of violence infects every aspect of our world.  Jesus challenged that kingdom with the Kingdom of God’s Love – a love that embraces the cosmos, as the Gospel of John says.  There are certainly aspects of our economic and political systems that are spiritually destructive and exploitative.  The movement is right to critique those aspects.  The spiritual problem with the movement is that it has divided 99% of us “good people” against 1% of those “bad people,” who have not lived up to our economic and political expectations.  That division is the result of the spirit of violence that Jesus came to deliver us from.  If the OWS movement wants to be effective, it must seek to include its perceived enemies.  Because if we really want to make political and economic change, we need to be in this together.  All 100% of us.