Evangelism--Forcing Doctrine or Reflecting Love

Miguel De La Torre

Last June, I taught a class at the Indonesian Consortium for Religious Studies as a Fulbright scholar on the Gadjah Mada University campus.

The vast majority of my class is Muslim.  The class I am leading is on the discipline of postcolonialism; specifically the impact of the Christian missionary venture upon the people.

For the Indonesian people, the Christian missionary came in the form of Dutch Reform.  I came to teach; but instead am learning from those whom missionaries seldom bother to hear. 

The real question is not if the subaltern can speak; but rather, when she or he does, will anybody listen.  I, at least, am trying to listen. 

But to do so, I must suspend my religious and Western arrogance and exceptionalism, which assumes I know best.  In a very real way, I must carefully hear what the victims of colonialism are saying about me and my cherished Christian beliefs. 

As a Southern Baptist, with a Masters of Divinity from Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, I learned that I have been called to spread the good news to the so-called heathen and pagans of the world—defined as anyone who is not a Christian, and in some cases, other Christian groups who don’t believe in the same doctrines and in the same way as I do. 
       
Matthew 28:19 is a foundational text of my and many fellow Baptists’ theological belief system.  “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.”

And yet, as I hear the stories and histories of the colonized, even those who are Christian, I hear how much damage Christian missionaries have done to the culture, to the self-worth of the people, and to the country as a whole. 

If I am honest with myself, the worst thing that could ever have happened to the Indonesian people was Christian missionaries washing up on their shores. 
     
How could the Gospel message of peace be so destructive?  Whenever the Gospel message of love is wed with the colonial message of conquest, what is produced is a satanic pseudo-religious offspring that justifies the thief of the indigenous people’s resources and labor. 

The Christian missionaries who came to Indonesia followed the economic conquerors that arrived to establish the spice trade in 1595. 

For evangelical conquest to occur, the indigenous Indonesians had to be constructed as inferior. 

The objectification of the indigenous people for their Christianization to occur motivated people like Rudyard Kipling to admonish the colonizer to “Take up the White Man’s burden . . . to serve your captives’ need . . . your new-caught sullen peoples, half devil and half child.”

As I previous said, the worst thing that happen to the Indonesian people (as well as all other colonized people of the world) was the preaching of this type of Christianity, which fused and confused Western Christianity with white supremacy. 

Rather than preaching Jesus (forcing of our doctrines and beliefs upon all nations), we should be Jesus (implementing the radical love shown to all through a deep commitment to the justice Jesus exhibited throughout his ministry).

St. Francis of Assisi has often been credited with stating, “Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words.” Whether he said this or not is unimportant. 

What is crucial is that evangelism must cease to be an exercise designed to get the “unbeliever” to believe the same doctrines the evangelist believes, and instead becomes sharing the Good News that the one who is made non-person by the colonizer has personhood because they are created in the image of the Creator. 

All that has life they possesses worth and dignity. The Good News is that both the dispossessed who have been stripped of humanity and the possessor of oppressive power need to hear a word about liberation and salvation. 

Such a liberative word can move them from being the colonized “other” or the colonizer toward the discovery of their redemption, even if that faith identity is based on a different religious or spiritual worldviews than the one bringing the good news.

If indeed a tree is known by its fruits, then they should know we are Christians by our love; not by the love we say we have while contributing to the dispossession and disenfranchisement of many of Earth’s inhabitants.   

Maybe the Great Commission of Matthew 28:19 has less to do with getting people to accept the same belief we hold and more to do with sharing – through action, not words – similar acts of love and compassion as Jesus. 

Maybe spreading the good news is not doctrinal but rather revealing the message of love, the same way Jesus did: by feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, healing the sick.

Let us who call ourselves disciples of Christ learn to be Jesus, not talk about him.

*This blog first appeared in Ethicsdaily.com.

The Global en lo Cotidiano

Loida I. Martell-Otero

One of the characteristics of US Latina theology is its understanding of the importance of lo cotidiano—the spaces of the everyday—for theological reflection. It is in such spaces that one sees both the evidence of sin as well as the experience of grace come full circle. My last blog was meant to demonstrate how I do Christology from the spaces of lo cotidiano. I wanted to demonstrate an evangélica theological locus and method that I believe I model in the classroom. In that sense, that reflection was very much related to the question of pedagogy. Here I seek to explore explicitly the relationship between lo cotidiano and transnational pedagogy.

One of Palmer Theological Seminary’s faculty members, Dr. Al Tizon, links the global with the local by using the term “glocal.” I believe that we make a grave mistake to think that transnational or global only occurs “out there.” The erasure of fixed borders, the economic collapse that has taken place in so many geographical spaces, military incursions, colonialism, and neocolonialism, together with the immigration laws of this country that have more to do with xenophobia and economic greed than with legal concerns have led to the formation of islands of the “global” in our local communities.

We have whole communities of people who live in the USA, often without documentations required by federal immigration laws, in fear of being violently deported. They do not speak English well or at all, nor interact fluidly with US-dominant cultures. They tend to form isolated havens where they maintain their linguistic, cultural, religious, and social traditions. Their children live in porous spaces—seamlessly crossing the borders between their parents’ territory and that of the US location they now call home. These are the new “glocal” communities.

Many of them are not pastored by clergy from our Christian churches because seminaries are too busy preparing ministerial leaders under the old paradigms of either/or: either they serve in the US or they serve overseas as “missionaries.” Theological education needs to begin to pay attention to what is happening in lo cotidiano and realize that there are new paradigms to which it must respond. How can we better prepare our seminary students to become transnational leaders who can effectively care for the international communities that reside in our midst as well as overseas?

Lo cotidiano makes me aware of another aspect of global pedagogy. It is one that cannot take place simply as part of a curriculum that is attentive to the lesson plan of a given professor in a given classroom space. Such an approach can isolate the “global” into a reified and isolated space, reducing it to an “issue” that takes place among a laundry list of other “issues,” such as racism and poverty. It can be an overwhelming experience that leaves students feeling powerless.

By the time they graduate, many of these students, while conscious of the issues, feel ultimately that they can do very little that is effective. It is akin to their experience of learning about the Trinity—a formula they repeat, but not something that they believe ultimately transforms their lives or their ministerial praxis. It seems to me that to be effective, a pedagogical approach that engages a global and transnational world must be more than a class, or a book list, or even just a “mission trip.” It must be all of these, and more. It must engage students at the level of lo cotidiano. The whole of their seminary journey must be permeated with awareness of global realities, much as we have made students aware of inclusive language: it must be done in a way that changes not just how they think about the global and the local, but how they live this out in the very fabric of their lives.

Such a pedagogical approach cannot be the purview of solely one interested faculty member. It must be part of the commitment of the whole institution; it must be in the institution’s DNA! Palmer’s motto has been “the whole gospel for the whole world for whole persons.” The “whole world” part of our motto has made the global part of our DNA. Students are made aware of global issues not just in the classroom, but also in chapel worship services, through special events that include sharing of meals, in mission trips, and in special faculty presentations. A number of our faculty are from international communities, and keep us abreast of particular events from their countries. Our international students are also an important part of our community whose conversations in our common dining area make “the global” part of our daily lexicon/ nuestro hablar diario in lo cotidiano.

These then reinforce the shape of the overall curriculum along with specific courses focused on global and contextual theologies. Some entail trips—thus far to Nigeria, Israel, Palestine, Central and South America—while others use film and documentaries. Students who enter Palmer often graduate acutely aware of global concerns, and how those global concerns impact the local and vice versa. A few have changed their concentration tracks or upon graduation, adjusting their vocational goals to align with these global concerns. As I watch my colleagues and hear our students, I am grateful that I have learned from them as much as, or perhaps more, than I have taught. I realize once again how much wisdom there is when one pays attention to the spaces of lo cotidiano. It is in those spaces that I have learned to reflect not only upon Christology, but also to be acutely aware of the global in the midst of our local communities.

* Professor Loida I. Martell-Otero is Professor of Constructive Theology at Palmer Theological Seminary, the Seminary of Eastern University at Wynnewood, Pennsylvania, and is coeditor of Teologia en Conjunto: A Collaborative Hispanic Protestant Theology with José D. Rodriguez.

Try Jesus

Loida I. Martell-Otero

Last Christmas season, a sign at a store caught my attention. It simply read, “Try Jesus.” Yet what do the words of this oft-repeated phrase mean? The word “try” itself can mean a variety of things. It can mean to put on trial. Perhaps it is when one tries another’s patience. Then again, “try” can mean testing something or putting on a garment to see if it fits, as in “try it on for size.” And what of that catch-all name “Jesus?” It seems to me that the phrase requires one to ask: “which” or “what” Jesus? Thus “try Jesus” is not as innocuous or self-evident as the shopkeeper who placed that sign might have originally thought.

Consider, for example, the Jesus represented by the consumer spirit that is so heavily espoused by corporate interests: the blue-eyed, aquiline-nosed papier-mâché product pasted on Hallmark card sentiments. This is the Jesus that is pushed upon us through incessant commercials and propaganda that say that if we buy enough merchandise we will be blessed with a stronger economy and brings work to a nation with a growing unemployment rate.

Of course, these subliminal and overt messages that push us to higher debt and to continuous cycle of purchasing bigger and better things for less and less cost do not encourage us to look too closely at the labels or the consequences of what we purchase. One day I decided to go into my closet and look at the labels of all the articles of clothing in there. They indicated that they were made in Thailand, Vietnam, the Philippines, China, and so on. What we do not understand is that purchasing these items does not help our economy. What it does do is continue to enrich corporate interests that exploit the nameless and faceless in maquiladores south of our borders and the women and children who work inhumane hours in inhumane conditions in sweatshops in the Pacific Rim and Asian countries. This is one way of “trying Jesus.”

Jon Sobrino in Jesus in Latin America compares the “crosses” of the millions who die daily in Latin America due to poverty and oppression to the cross of Christ. We try Jesus—that is to say, we put Jesus on trial—when we participate mindlessly and are complicit in the continued exploitation of the world’s poor as we continue in this mindless consumer mentality that has become such an integral part of American life.

Perhaps the Jesus to whom the slogan referred is the Jesus that became the justification for the colonization and exploitation of so many countries by the “Christian” nations of the North Atlantic. The assumption of Manifest Destiny, the bombing of Hiroshima, the war with Mexico and later with Spain, the continued incursions into Latin America, and the continued wars against people of color in the world—including Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan, and Iraq—are all claimed and done under the cloak of religious language.

The post-Enlightenment hubris that justified the racist and xenophobic policies that led to the genocide of Indians in the Americas, the exploitation of brown people south of the border, and the colonization of peoples in the Caribbean has not abated in the postmodern world. Postmodernism has not erased colonialism or neocolonialism, nor has it helped abate sexism or other -isms. These are not separate issues but intertwined. In But She Said, Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza refers to them as “multiplicative pyramidal oppressions.” It is part of the language and posture of empire.

In a 2004 essay in the New York Times Magazine, Ron Suskind reported on how President George W. Bush’s administration used religious rhetoric to squelch any debate or opposition to the decision to invade Iraq. Bush believed himself to be “on a mission from God.” Suskind further reported that a Bush aide described the US as “an empire now” which created its own realities. If the report is accurate, such a blatant malformation and misuse of the foundational principles of Christianity to justify war and empire-building also “tries Jesus.” It must try Jesus’ patience to see his name used in vain in such destructive ways.

Perhaps what we need to reflect upon is the Jesus of the Gospels, the one who walked with the poor and the forgotten. This is the Jesus who sought out people at the margins—those rendered invisible by the social structures of their time. Gustavo Gutiérrez in We Drink from Our Own Well defines spirituality as “following Jesus,” by serving the poor and forgotten of our time.

Orlando E. Costas echoed this spirit of trying Jesus in his book, Christ Outside the Gate. Written in 1982, his book already protested the use of Christianity as “Christendom,” as a cloak for empire building. In the book’s epilogue, he cited the scriptural text Hebrews 13:12 to remind us that “Christ remains outside the gate” where the forgotten, the oppressed, and the marginalized reside, where there is no justice and where often there is no hope. It is there that Jesus beckons us to join him. It is there that we are invited to “try Jesus.”

* Professor Loida I. Martell-Otero is Professor of Constructive Theology at Palmer Theological Seminary, the Seminary of Eastern University at Wynnewood, Pennsylvania, and is coeditor of Teologia en Conjunto: A Collaborative Hispanic Protestant Theology with José D. Rodriguez.

A Cautionary Tale of Theological Education in a Global and Transnational World

Nami Kim

Under the banner of globalization, some mega-sized churches in the Republic of Korea (South Korea) have invited charismatic, bilingual (Korean and English) male ministers in their forties and early fifties who have been leading congregations in the United States as the successors of senior pastors upon their retirement.  The large to mega-sized churches have also sent out pastors and missionaries to the United States for the purpose of “planting” churches that bear the name of their mother churches in Korea as well as for further missionary training in various mission organizations.  

Along with heteropatriarchal male prerogatives, fluency in English has become a prerequisite for leading a large to mega-sized church, or for getting a full-time teaching position in a theological institution in South Korea, a “regional Protestant superpower.”* This is a reflection of the larger Korean society in which the command of English is considered to be one of the most valuable skills for an individual to climb up the ladder of success.  

Accordingly, having a degree, or at least a certificate, from a U.S. academic institution on one’s resume is often considered a ticket to a higher rung in the social hierarchy. Networking among Korean alumni of U.S. universities, including graduates of U.S. theological schools and seminaries who have settled in Korea, has also become crucial social capital for advancement.  When deans or professors of their alma mater visit, all alumni are mobilized to welcome them. A few U.S. seminary professors even proudly share how much they enjoyed visiting Korea because of the level of hospitality they received from the alumni. Transnational connections and networks are firmly established in the name of advancement of theological and pastoral education.

Some critical voices have been raised regarding the function of U.S. higher education in producing transnational elites in the financial sector. What about U.S. theological education? What are the responsibilities of U.S. theological institutions that have inadvertently contributed to producing transnational elites who have become a privileged class in a postcolonial society and who would carry church ministries and theological education in the global South in ways that continue to support neocolonial, heteropatriarchal, and homophobic practices of dominant Christianity rather than resist and challenge them?

Reportedly, accredited theological institutions in South Korea annually graduate about 6,000 ordained or ordination-track people, and many of them are left wandering in the so-called clergy job market. In a heteropatriarchal church context, it means that qualified heterosexual women (not to mention LGBTQ individuals) are rarely considered to be viable candidates for pastoral leadership. Religious power and privilege wielded by a small group of (male) ministers and those who benefit from such power have become enormous in Korean Christianity.** As the number of ethnic minority churches and students in theological institutions grows in the U.S., this question of accountability of U.S. theological education seems equally applicable to the American context as well.

Theological educators both in the U.S. and from/in the global South need to critically rethink what are the ways in which theological education can become liberatory instead of serving as a tool of reinforcing hegemony in a global and transnational world.  Theological education should be able to contribute to transforming church power structure that is governed by a neoliberal market economy, hypermasculine developmentalism, and heteropatriarchy. It is not enough to emphasize the importance of critical theological education that can serve as a critical voice and as an emancipatory praxis in a global and transnational world.

Certainly, it is not fair to lump all ministers and professors educated in the U.S. into one group as if there were no power differentials among them and as if the kinds of theological education they have received were homogeneous. No doubt there are people who seek to make prophetic changes in current church politics, theological education, and the larger society in both the U.S. and in South Korea through their ministry, teaching, and activism.  However, those of us who have been educated in the U.S. academy are all implicated in the complex web of this power structure. Therefore, it is our responsibility to ask where we stand, while critically examining our complicity, and assess how we can commit to challenging the dominant power structure from which we have benefited. This is the crucial yet difficult, and even painful, task that we face; but before it’s too late, let us remind one another of the necessity of our task.    

^*Paul Freston, Evangelicals and Politics in Asia, Africa, and Latin America (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 61.

**See Nami Kim, “S(e)oul Search: The Changing Religious Landscape in Seoul and Its

Implications for Defining ‘Asia,’” ASIANetwork EXCHANGE: A Journal for Asian Studies in the Liberal Arts 18, no. 1 (Fall 2010): 40-52.

*Professor Nami Kim is Associate Professor of Religious Studies at Spelman College at Atlanta, Georgia.