editorializing: “our silence is not agreement”

Well, I haven’t posted here in a while, but it’s not for lack of writing. In addition my essay-a-week classwork, I just co-wrote an editorial for the Yale Daily News, on the subject of campus apathy concerning the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

You can read it here if you’re desperate for my latest insights.

It didn’t make it into the editorial, but it’s worth noting that there actually seems to be more Iraq/Afghanistan-related activism just in the New Haven community than among the student body. This is quite the opposite of what I would have expected.

the theology of being at yale

First off, let me apologize for the scarcity of posts lately. I just finished up my first full week at Yale University as a freshman, and thus I’ve been incredibly busy. I’ll be trying to post at least a minimum of once a week though, so don’t tune out completely.

However, the delay in posting has not been mentally barren; rather it has provided me with much to ponder and write about. Thus, I present some scattered thoughts on my first week at Yale.

1. My first Sunday (August 30), I attended a morning service at the University Church at Battell Chapel, which is only a few hundred feet away from my dorm room. I loved it. The service was ecumenically Christian, drawing on multiple Christian traditions from around the world, with a rich liturgy and diversity of music and prayer. I felt  connected to the worldwide Body of Christ, while still being keenly aware of the particularity of being part of a Christian community in the context of the university. The University Church exists and thrives in the middle of this tension: it is both expansively global and self-consciously contextual, uniting the immediate and the distant, the past and present, with an eye towards the future and a vision for the whole world.

2. Yale is a wonderful place to discuss ideas. I am already profiting from being around people who are eager to examine and debate, people who value my (sometimes unorthodox) perspectives even when their own opinions differ. I feel accepted here in a remarkable way: no one is going to reject me because I don’t tow the line, no one is going to say that I don’t belong just because I don’t agree. (This has been my experience in the community as a whole, but I sense it to be true also in the University Church — a wonderful change from my last year in Augusta.) I feel free to be open about the way that my politics are drawn from my faith, and this gives me a unique voice in the ongoing political discourse that thrives here.

3. Returning to the subject of church: I finally received communion again, at the University Church both today and last week. This was the first time I’d received the sacrament since last summer, at the Youth Theological Initiative at Candler. This was somehow appropriate: for the past year, between YTI and Yale, I was adrift, lacking any real faith community to serve as a spiritual base. That was not fun. But partaking of the Eucharist at Yale seemed to me to signify a new beginning: that I am finally at least in the process of finding a community in which to live for Christ.

4. Today, I finally filled out the necessary form in order to register to vote. I decided to register in Connecticut, rather than Georgia, because for the next four years I’ll be much more interested in the local politics of New Haven than in those of Augusta. In addition, I rather hesitantly made the decision to register as a Democrat. I despise the two-party system (which has destroyed much of American democracy); but because Connecticut is dependably blue, the only way to have a meaningful say in who goes to Washington is to vote in the Democratic primaries. Because primary elections in this state are closed, it is necessary to register with a party in order to vote in them. (It’s quite possible that in the general elections I’ll be voting for third-party candidates — but I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.)

5. A final note on the University Church: Last month I described various criteria I would be using in searching for a new church. Remarkably, to at least some degree, the University Church fulfills all of them. This is more than I could have hoped for; clearly God is at work in my life at Yale.

6. Sometime this coming week, I plan to obtain my official New Haven resident’s card. These cards, suitable as a form of identification in almost all official capacities, are provided by the city to any resident, regardless of citizenship or immigration status. In common with several of my new friends here, my primary purpose in getting the card is to express solidarity with residents who are at risk because of the way the American immigration system operates. I believe that these cards have theological and ethical import for Christians, because of our call to solidarity with the oppressed and our own position as a “resident alien” in all the kingdoms of the world.

health care for the least of these?

CNN carried an interesting article recently about Obama’s efforts to reach out to communities of faith in the health care debate. The president is framing the discussion in explicitly religious terms, criticizing those who are “bearing false witness” against both the specifics of the plan and against those who advocate it. Particularly moving was this remark:

These are all fabrications that have been put out there in order to discourage people from meeting what I consider to be a core ethical and moral obligation: that is, that we look out for one another; that is, I am my brother’s keeper, I am my sister’s keeper. And in the wealthiest nation in the world right now we are neglecting to live up to that call.

Obama has often spoken in the past of the importance of the biblical idea of caring for “the least of these”. The paragraph above echoes this sentiment; but unfortunately, Obama also advocates one aspect of the plan that goes startlingly against this ethos. Seeking to reassure dissenters about the acceptability of the proposal, the president has also stressed that the plan will not provide health care to undocumented Americans.

Despite the fact that most so-called “illegal aliens” do in fact pay taxes, the mainstream political discourse in this country (including Obama, unfortunately) seems united, regardless of party, around the importance of excluding this group from health reform. Tragically, undocumented workers are among the most vulnerable in the present system, because of their fragile political status and the legal complexity of navigating American medical insurance. In the fullest sense, “illegal” immigrants are the least of these, those whom we as Christians are called to serve and to be in solidarity with. What we do to them, we do to Christ himself (Matthew 25.40).

Thus, Obama’s public exclusion of the least among us from his health care reform is a manifest failure, a compromise that is unnecessary and saddening. His attitude in this regard goes against an aspect of his faith that he has himself emphasized. Let us hope that he will awake to the puzzling inconsistencey of his words. And let us hope that as the much-needed reform bill continues to advance through Congress, there will be some at least who seek to broaden its scope to truly provide health care for all.

“i think the word is dignity”

Today, I read My Name is Rachel Corrie. This short play, edited by Katharine Viner and Alan Rickman, is drawn from the diaries and emails of Rachel Corrie, an American killed in Palestine while nonviolently defending a civilian house from destruction by the Israeli military in 2003. The play was performed on London’s West End and has seen some limited productions in America, though it has engendered controversy because of its frank attitude towards the reality of the ongoing violence being perpetrated against civilians in Israel’s occupation of Palestine.

The work is deeply moving: a sad yet inspiring look at the life and death of a passionate child who became an equally passionate adult. The text of the play comes directly from Rachel’s own journals and letters (with the exception of a few letters sent to her, and minimal stage directions). Her writing comprises sometimes prose, sometimes lists, sometimes poetry — but whatever the form, it remains throughout poignant and compelling, drawing the reader into Rachel’s world and into the development of her ideas and emotions. At the end, I felt not as though I had met a character on a stage, but had actually grown to know, in whatever small way, the person behind the words.

As Rachel lives among the Palestinian people, she is both surprised by, and admiring of, the way they deal with the horrific realities of their existence. In a letter to her mother, she writes:

I am amazed at their strength in defending such a large degree of their humanity against the incredible horror occurring in their lives and against the constant presence of death. I think the word is dignity.

A little later, she reflects on the possibility that more people will recognize and protest the true brokenness of the world, a fracturing of which the oppression of Palestine is symptomatic, but that extends far beyond the Middle East:

I look forward to seeing more and more people willing to resist the direction the world is moving in: a direction where our personal experiences are irrelevant, that we are defective, that our communities are not important, that we are powerless, that the future is determined, and that the highest level of humanity is expressed through what we choose to buy at the mall.

Rachel Corrie’s tragic death served to stir up public opinion about the situation in Palestine. (Sadly, this discussion was quickly overshadowed in the media by the American invasion of Iraq.) In the ongoing debates about the true nature of the occupation and of the Palestinian resistance, Rachel’s writings offer a valuable insight that is underappreciated in the mainstream discussion. The final pages of the play contain her reflections on the response of Palestinians to Israel’s military activities, and here she presents the argument that, despite the fringe cases of terrorist activity by some groups, the vast majority of the population is continually countering the occupation through nonviolent methods in the truest sense. In a letter to her parents, she writes:

You asked about non-violent resistance, and I mentioned the first intifada. The vast majority of Palestinians right now, as far as I can tell, are engaging in Gandhian non-violent resistance. … These people are being shot at every day and they continue to go about their business as best they can in the sights of machine guns and rocket launchers. Isn’t that basically the epitome of non-violent resistance?

My Name is Rachel Corrie thus offers the reader (of, if you are lucky enough, the audience-member) three things: a poignant look at the life of an inspiring figure; an uplifting reflection on the capacity of the human spirit to deal with injustice — the hope for a better future despite present pain; and an intriguing, if cursory, discussion of the role of nonviolence in the conflict. I give the work my highest recommendation to anyone interested in these issues — but be prepared to be deeply moved and greatly inspired.

the politics of “district 9″: apartheid and exploitation

I went to the midnight showing of District 9 last night (this morning). It was a remarkable movie, one of the best of the year. It wasn’t too heavy on the special effects, it actually had a decent plot (unlike certain other sci-fi films this summer — *cough* Transformers *cough*), and it dealt with compelling socio-political themes. In a departure from my previous “film theology” posts (on Watchmen, Star Trek, and Terminator, respectively), I’m going to focus more on the political message of the film, rather than the strictly theological implications, though the political issues involved are deeply concerned with social justice and thus do have profound theological import as well.

Two key political issues are integral to the plot of the movie: legalized apartheid, separation, and discrimination; and exploitative corporate greed.

1. Apartheid

The film is set in post-apartheid South Africa, where an alien spaceship has coasted to a lumbering halt over the city of Johannesburg. Three months pass before first contact is made, and then it is discovered that the aliens are sickly, malnourished, and lacking leadership and initiative. The South African government ferries them all to the surface, where they are given an area of “Joburg” all their own: District 9. But the movements of the aliens, colloquially called “prawns”, become restricted, and their freedoms begin to disappear under the administration of Multi-National United, the global weapons manufacturer put in charge of the District. The aliens’ “safe haven” quickly becomes a slum.

Thus, in post-(human)-apartheid South Africa, a new system of (nonhuman) apartheid emerges. The lives, livelihoods, and rights of the aliens are ignored daily: forced abortions occur frequently; aliens are shot in miscommunications and disagreements with humans; searches and crackdowns are commonplace.

Implicit in the film are several issues of both political and theological import. How do we define “the other”, and how do we respond to it? What is the basis of “rights”? How do we engage with, accommodate, or respond to unwelcome immigrants?

2. Corporate Exploitation

Multi-National United is the corporation charged with administering District 9 in the film. MNU claims to be operating the District with good of both humans and non-humans alike in mind; but it is soon revealed that the company is actually after the aliens’ powerful weapons, which human scientists have been unable to operate. MNU is a weapons manufacturer and mercenary company, making millions of dollars from the sale of guns and from the use of its private armed forces. It soon becomes clear that MNU values its bottom line much more than the rights (and even the lives) of both the “prawns” and any humans who stand in their way.

Multi-National United thus exemplifies what has become a literary archetype unique to our time: the exploitative, greedy, all-powerful corporation. Like all archetypes, this one has its basis in reality. We see it around the world, in corporations that stretch across national boarders, escaping the rule of law and exploiting local peoples and resources for their monetary gains. The fearful specter of MNU in the film is unmistakably grounded in the real experiences of local peoples around the world (at least outside of the West, which often stands to benefit in the short term from this sort of exploitation).Thus, in its unflinching portrayal of the reality of corporate greed in the world, District 9 strikes at some of the prevailing myths of our exploitative society, and implicitly challenges us to re-examine the way our dollars affect the lives of others.

Conclusion

Like any compelling narrative of artistic merit, District 9 raises questions that clearly speak to the issues of the day. The film offers no neat, clean answers to these questions; rather, it seeks only to present them, for us to ponder, consider, and engage in the context of our own lives. Let us hope that we will treat the film not only as an entertaining and intriguing summer sci-fi flick, but also as a serious exploration of themes and controversies that affect us all and that should be foremost in the social and political consciousness of the Church.

american health care and systemic violence

A young woman, only 17 years old, is sick — dying, in fact. She has already survived cancer, but her liver has been damaged. She needs a transplant. All the doctors agree on the procedure. They sign the necessary forms, and the family is given hope for their daughter’s life. But liver transplants are expensive — and the after-care for them costs more money still. The family’s medical insurance company doesn’t want to lose money. So the corporation delays approval again and again for payment for the necessary procedure, in order that the girl will die and after-care costs will be avoided.

The girl dies. Unnecessarily, disgustingly, criminally. She dies. Because the almighty dollar wins in the end.

This seems overly dramatic, too terrible to be true. But it’s real; it actually happened. The girl’s name was Natalie Sarkisyan, and the insurance company was Cigna HealthCare. This is just one example among many that demonstrates an ultimately irrefutable fact: the American health care system is exploitative and often deadly.

Indeed, health care in America has become a form of structural violence. Like racism, sexism, and other forms of systemic oppression, US medical insurance exploits one group (the patients) for the benefit of another (the corporations). All too often, monetary gain is valued far above the lives and livelihoods of the “insured”. This should be unsurprising: it is to be expected that a system based on the principles of greed (capitalism) would fare rather badly at protecting the helpless and defending the weak.

Christians should be especially alarmed by this, for we serve a Lord who stood precisely alongside the downtrodden (Luke 4.17-18), denounced greed and the excesses of material gain (Mark 10.17-31), and stood against all violence (Matthew 5.38-48). The exploitative, violent system of American health care has in many instances come to embody all that Jesus Christ himself combated. It has become a facet of what Walter Wink calls the “domination system”, a system that in the Resurrection is exposed as being ultimately powerless, even if still fearsome.

We as Christians must hold fast to hope. We must remember the words of Jesus in John 16.33: “I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” [esv]. The Powers of the world do indeed create much tribulation, tribulation which we see in cases such as that of Natalie Sarkisyan. But Jesus Christ has overcome those structures of oppression and evil, demonstrating in his Resurrection the final futility of their attempts to create death and destruction.

As William Stringfellow once wrote, “The essential and consistent task of Christians is to expose the transience of death’s power in the world.” Health care in America has become a system of death; but as a community that attests to the reality of Resurrection in we world, we must continue to expose the transience of that system.

7 theses on health care

Theses on the American Church and the health-care crisis.

1. The current system of health care in America is broken. It is driven by profit, not by people; our application of greed-based capitalistic principles to this basic human need has succeeded only in creating structures that place the financial gain of insurers above the medical needs of patients. This is, undoubtedly, a great evil.
2. The Jesus of the canonical gospels emphasized both ministry to and solidarity with the downtrodden, the marginalized, and the poor.
3. Those among whom Jesus walked included the sick, and indeed in Luke 4:18-19, where the social implications of Jesus’ message become clear, the giving of sight to the blind is listed side-by-side with the preaching of good news to the poor and with the liberation of the oppressed.
4. In America today, the health-care crisis has marginalized many, struck others into poverty, and taken its worst toll upon those who are already among the “least of these”. These are precisely the people with whom Jesus expressed solidarity. We too, as the Church in America, must take their side.
5. Thus, the American Church must unite around the cause of providing adequate health care for all according to their need.
6. Christians of good intent will undoubtedly disagree about how best this necessary goal is to be accomplished. Not all will favor any specific proposal, nor will all be able in good conscience to unite around any specific plan.
7. Thus, in navigating the complexity of this crisis, we must maintain humility while remaining resolute in pursuing justice, mercy, and equity in medical care.

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives,
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.
[Luke 4.18-19 nrsv]

what i’m looking for in a church

For various reasons, I’ve recently decided to permanently leave the church I’ve been attending for some time. Soon (August 28!), I’ll be starting college at Yale, and I’ll be searching for a new community of faith in the New Haven area. Here’s what I’m looking for.

• I’m not limiting myself to a specific denomination, but I’m attracted to Methodist and Episcopal churches. My theology is very anabaptist in flavor on many points, and so I’d love the opportunity to explore one of those traditions. Any of the historic peace churches attract me, for obvious reasons (this overlaps with the anabaptist category).
• I desperately need a congregation that will affirm me as a member of the community even where I openly differ with the majority opinion on an issue: a community that doesn’t make me afraid to disagree, that respects me as the role of “faithful dissenter” where necessary. This isn’t something I’ve encountered yet.
• An emphasis on social justice and poverty work would be great to be around. I’d love the opportunity to grow in my faith in an environment that recognizes the importance of poverty within Jesus’ message and that struggles in solidarity with the oppressed.
• Theological depth in the life of the community would be really encouraging, rather than the all-too-common self-help-style sermon with a Scripture thrown in for good measure.
• I’d like to finally go to a church that spends more time speaking against materialism than against homosexuality.
• A church composed of more than just upper/middle-class white people would be nice; the Body of Christ is so diverse, but our American churches often do not reflect that.

nonviolence and draft registration: the third option

Last December I wrote about my response, as a Christian committed to nonviolence, to the legal requirement of draft registration in the US. I essentially treated the situation as having two faithful responses: non-registration, or writing in my conscientious objection on the registration card. These seemed to me at the time to be the only possible options that maintained the integrity of my ethical commitment.

I was wrong. Tobin D. Jacobrown, a Quaker living in Washington, D.C., has found another option: sue the government. As the Washington Post reports:

A Washington state Quaker filed a federal lawsuit Wednesday alleging that the U.S. government is discriminating against him because it will not recognize his status as a conscientious objector on military draft forms.

The American Civil Liberties Union filed the suit on behalf of Tobin D. Jacobrown, 21, in the District’s federal court. The suit asks U.S. District Judge Ricardo M. Urbina to order the government to recognize conscientious objectors when men register for the draft. …

“A big part of my religion is not submitting to any system that you feel is unjust,” Jacobrown said. “And I think this is unjust.”

Props to Jacobrown for his brave stance and braver actions. Perhaps the most beneficial aspect of this situation is that Jacobrown isn’t just framing his suit in terms of an abstract opposition to violence or a general pacifism; rather, he is explicitly claiming that the draft system creates injustice, and that it is this injustice that his religious beliefs compel him to oppose. Injustice, of course, is the ultimate issue: we must first reject violence because it creates injustice, and we must then embrace nonviolence as a way of living in the world because it fosters justice.

I hope and pray that Jacobrown’s case will be successful and that the Selective Service will indeed be required to accomodate conscientious objectors. But even if Jacobrown loses the case, he will have won the real battle: more public attention will be drawn to the injustice at hand, and more young men who are struggling with their legal obligations will become aware of their alternatives. Public attention gives rise to moral inquiry and theological reflection, and thus cannot but help us in the struggle for justice in America and in the world.

For further information on Jacobrown’s case, check out his webiste “Register for Peace”, or read the post about him on his cousin’s blog,

the “social creed”

Well, I’m back. Swine flu is mostly gone, and I’m finally feeling up for some posting. Sorry for the long delay.

While reading around on Wikipedia about creeds, I came across another creed more focused on ethics than metaphysics: the Social Creed of the United Methodist Church. According to the UMC website, it came into being in 1908 “to express Methodism’s outrage over the miserable lives of the millions of workers in factories, mines, mills, tenements and company towns”. The creed has been revised several times, but here it is in its current form:

We believe in God, Creator of the world; and in Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of creation. We believe in the Holy Spirit, through whom we acknowledge God’s gifts, and we repent of our sin in misusing these gifts to idolatrous ends.

We affirm the natural world as God’s handiwork and dedicate ourselves to its preservation, enhancement, and faithful use by humankind.

We joyfully receive for ourselves and others the blessings of community, sexuality, marriage, and the family.

We commit ourselves to the rights of men, women, children, youth, young adults, the aging, and people with disabilities; to improvement of the quality of life; and to the rights and dignity of all persons.

We believe in the right and duty of persons to work for the glory of God and the good of themselves and others and in the protection of their welfare in so doing; in the rights to property as a trust from God, collective bargaining, and responsible consumption; and in the elimination of economic and social distress.

We dedicate ourselves to peace throughout the world, to the rule of justice and law among nations, and to individual freedom for all people of the world.

We believe in the present and final triumph of God’s Word in human affairs and gladly accept our commission to manifest the life of the gospel in the world. Amen.

A couple weeks ago I wrote about the “creed on health-care reform” published by Sojourners, which is similarly oriented around social/ethical concerns. However, in that post I expressed doubt about whether the “health-care creed” was genuinely a creed, or merely a political statement in creedal form. The Methodist document has no such ambiguity: it is both formally and functionally a creed, for it is actually used in UMC worship services (unlike the health-care creed, which has no liturgical function in any faith community, to my knowledge). In other words, the Social Creed is formative for the Methodist community in an important way.

Needless to say, this increases my growing interest in the United Methodist Church, especially as I have recently decided to permanently leave the Southern Baptist church I’ve been attending for the last couple years. In less than a month I head off to Yale; if anyone has any recommendations for good churches in the New Haven are (UMC or not), I’m all ears. More on that later.