Paralysis: Some Working Thoughts

It is a strange thing as a human, as a white woman, and as an aspiring theologian and Bible scholar, to be silent and paralyzed in the wake of tragedy: of Michael Brown (and all those who remain unnamed), of ALS, of ISIS, of Israel-Palestine, of the Ukraine and Russia, of Syria... of countless places around the world. It is telling that I watch from behind a computer screen, offering silent swearing prayers to a God I'm not sure is listening as I am increasingly desensitized to my BBC and Al Jazeera newsfeeds.

I have doubts about my - or anyone's - ability to stand in solidarity with people whose lives are wracked by injustice and warfare. The pictures on the news, while they may inspire emotional or empathic responses, inspire compassion from afar. It remains distant and - in many ways - untouched. What I mean by this is that it seems there is little change to how one sees one's neighbors. Connection via newsfeed inspires theology from above rather than theology from below. The development of theologies from a distance, from the perspective of the news consumer, from the perspective of lives too busy for one's neighbors, while they might be helpful, establish and maintain distance between us and those around us. Suffering and injustice surround and sometimes touch us, but I wonder how they change us.

What does theology from below look like in this situation? In what way do faith and - from the Christian perspective - the cross speak into these situations? It is easy to write, to think, and to comment on what is happening in the world around us, but it is difficult to reimagine the world. It is difficult to see the world in hope - real hope - that does not offer simple platitudes, or Facebook status updates in lieu of connection with those around us. It is difficult to realize that there are many ways in which I cannot stand with those who are caught by the systems of injustice because I will never be called upon to stand in the way in which they do. It is even more difficult to realize that these same systems have benefitted me in ways of which I remain unaware. 

The irony that I write this from behind my computer screen is not lost on me. Like pinching myself to make sure I'm awake, I want these words to circle back, confront me, and remind me that I willingly and unwillingly participate in systems of injustice. I want these words - this confession - to not just say something, but to do something.

I cannot stand in the stead of one who has experienced the terrors of racial profiling, ethnic cleansing, gentrification, systemic poverty, discrimination on the basis of gender identity or sexual orientation... or a whole host of other issues. I'm not even sure to what extent I can stand with them. I do not think, however, that paralysis is the posture of faith. Instead, I think it is confession that drives to the heart of the matter:

I am in bondage to systems of injustice and oppression from which I cannot free myself. I have wronged others in thought, word, and deed, by what I have done and by what I have left undone. I have not valued those who are different from me as I value myself. I believe Christ  stands in, with, and among those who suffer, and for his sake and the sake of the world, I ask for mercy and peace, that we might all be liberated from fear that paralyzes, in order to live faith that tells the truth: we are all broken, we are all human, we are all beloved, and our lives, our bodies, and our souls matter.

May my newsfeed inspire me to look at the world around me differently and, for this little corner of the planet, may I learn to love deeply those to whom I have been bound. May I work toward living out the belief that there is no God-forsaken place and no God-forsaken people. If I cannot stand, may I approach in the posture of prayer, in the posture of confession, in the posture that sees the world from below.