A Personal reflection in memory of the Rev James H. Cone
(Rev,) Brian Hart
We cannot truly fathom the significance of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ without recognizing both, that he was an oppressed Palestinian Jew living in a land occupied by Roman oppressors, and that the cross was used as an instrument of oppression of his people. The crucifixion of rebels and other law-breakers, by Romans, in a very public execution was a way to terrorize people so that they would never consider challenging their oppressors. Therefore the cross, used to exact a prolonged and torturous public execution, became a visceral reminder of Rome’s dominion over the Jewish people.
Furthermore, we cannot fathom the significance of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ unless we come to understand that he, a messianic proclaimer of God’s Liberation, also was oppressed by the religious institution to which he belonged; an institution that could not countenance any perspective of the Jewish faith that would challenge the status quo of its religious power structure.
Jesus’ challenge was to give witness to God’s love that was inclusive of those who were made outcasts by reason of a religious prejudice and practice that then became societal norms. Jesus went out of his way to associate himself with idolaters such as tax collectors who collected tribute to the Roman god-emperor; with women who were left with no other opportunities to support their families and so turned to prostitution; with lepers who were reviled as their affliction was declared a “curse” from God; with gentiles – such as the centurion in the Roman army – who were not of the Chosen People. Jesus declared by his actions that the criminal, the sick and the possessed – those reviled by religious authorities – were all embraced by God’s love.
This radical, loving witness of Jesus was turning the pyramid power structure upside down and was creating an enormous scandal for the the leaders of his faith. Jesus, a rabbi, was seen frequently in the company of these undesirables, and people were talking. And to add insult to injury, Jesus went further to declare that those men in prestigious positions of religious authority and wealth would not enter into paradise whereas those people who received Jesus, heart and soul, both in word and deed, would. It’s no small wonder then that these same religious leaders saw Roman crucifixion as a sure way to relieve them of this Nazarene annoyance.
My awareness of these two aspects of the oppression of the powerless – both by Rome and the religious establishment of Jesus Christ and his contemporaries – opens up for me the deeper meaning of the crucifixion, and so too, the meaning of the Resurrection.
I have lived within the insulated walls of the Christian Church. Insulated from any true awareness of how we, both lay people and clergy, continue to participate in oppression of the powerless among us. And by awareness I mean not of the head but of the heart. We, clergy and lay people alike, deny our complicity in abuse of those who are vulnerable; we deny our complicity in mysogeny, in homophobia, in racism, in the economic domination of impoverished people near and far; and we deny our complicity in ecocide. Our chosen naiveté, our willing blindness to our daily participation in these forms of oppression sadly prevents us from joining Jesus on the cross.
“Too much risk” we are told by religious authorities and so we too quickly acquiesce to the “wisdom” of inaction. We can offer a prayer, we might even take up a collection, but we must never, ever, enter into the experience of the oppressed. The true “risk” we fear is not vicarious liability. We fear the risk of loosing our willing blindness; of waking to the truth of how we are the oppressors. And so under the guise of prudence we listen to our lawyers, to our insurers, to our religious leaders. “Too much risk. Best to stay away from what will awaken us to the crucifixions going on all around us. Don’t get on that cross!”
I would rather live in community with those who have been oppressed by an economy that has chosen profit margins over the human need to have meaningful work. I’d rather live in community with people that society has thrown out onto the streets, park benches, vans, shelters. I’d rather live in community with people who, because of their personal histories of being abused as children are now adults struggling with addictions and other mental health issues. I’d rather live with others who have been oppressed, than live within the “risk free” walls of chosen blindness that was my path for too long in the past.
Perhaps that is the love that I hope to express by remaining a priest, instead of accepting the bishop’s need to see me laicized. I want to remain a challenge to the naiveté, the willing blindness, of my fellow Christ followers. I want to love those who participate in these forms of oppressions, of crucifixions, by being the “pain in the ass” that just won’t go away. I want to be the person to whom people say “I could never do what you are doing”, and to reply to them, “well you can, and you can do even greater things!” If we are to truly proclaim Christ crucified, what’s needed first is to wake up to how we, the church, participate in the oppression of our sisters and brothers by our personal choices of “prudent” inaction, and by our fear of risking to love the oppressed, even to the point of joining them on the cross. For it is only from the cross that we are able to see beyond the horizon of our doubt and impotence to glimpse the dawn of the Resurrection.
Brian Hart is a priest in the Kingston diocese