I got into PhD work to study spiritual formation, not politics. In particular, I wanted to explore the roots of my Methodist evangelical approach to spiritual formation and how that approach has come more recently to intersect often with contemplative Christian tradition. So, the periods I end up studying often include the 1730s-1850s (since that is when Methodism grew at an unbelievable rate), 1930s-1940s (since Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s work at the underground Finkenwalde Seminary is a similar combination of evangelical and contemplative to what I’m studying), 1960s (since Vatican II and Thomas Merton were both influential in Catholics and Protestants having more influence on one another), and the 1980s-1990s (since that’s when the spiritual formation movement took off).
Even though my subject has always been spiritual formation, there were major political events during each of those periods: the American Revolutionary War, the Civil War, World War II, the Civil Rights Movement, and South Africa’s struggle to end apartheid. The questions of spiritual formation and politics inevitably overlap.
When I study any of these periods, I’m always left with the same question in different circumstances: how did so much of the Christian Church get it so wrong? How did so many Christians go along with the slave trade on both sides of the Atlantic? How did so many Christian churches go along with the Nazis in Germany? How did so many Christians in the U. S. go along with Jim Crow laws and racial segregation? How did so many Christian leaders in South Africa go along with the apartheid system?
And then I’m faced with the accompanying questions: Where would I have been in any of those circumstances? It’s arrogant to assume that I would have done differently than the majority did, which enabled the wrongs to be done. However, those who did differently than the majority were also there, and their stories are inspiring. What contributed to their spiritual formation and helped them become the people who would not go along with the religiously-affiliated wrong? I like to hope that I would have stood up and been a voice pointing in a good direction––and to hope that I might have even done so with some clarity, even if many of my neighbors couldn’t/wouldn’t understand me.
The present circumstances in Israel and Palestine feel to me like they bring the same questions––but now the questions deal with history we see unfolding in front of us rather than in the past we are reading about. This is why I continue to feel that it is an essential point of integrity for me to highlight the voices of Palestinian Christians. As I said previously, a primary voice among them for me is Dr. Munther Isaac, in whom I hear a similar perspective as I have studied in the past from Martin Luther King, Jr. and Thomas Merton.
Therefore, I continue to highlight Dr. Isaac’s voice as he urgently calls for a ceasefire, for everyone to learn to love their neighbor, and for Christians around the world to examine and reject dangerous pseudo-Christian perspectives like this from an American pastor.
Reminiscent of King’s Letter from Birmingham Jail and Merton’s “Letters to a White Liberal,” Isaac’s plea right now is not as much directed toward Christians who espouse beliefs like that of the pastor in the clip above, but toward those of us who want to think of ourselves as more balanced and compassionate toward everyone involved. I’d like to highlight two of his recent comments:
In one of Dr. Isaac’s recent sermons to his congregation in Bethlehem, he said (via a social media post he titled, “Silence is complicity”):
This is how some understand being “spiritual.” They want to appear “spiritual.” They lament the deaths of innocent civilians. They call for respect for the laws of war. They pray for peace. But they do not take clear positions so that they don’t get themselves in trouble. By the way––these are the people we will see after the war, the first to show up for relief efforts. They are silent during genocide and war while praying for peace. Then, after the catastrophe, they give money for relief efforts to appear as good people who do good works, but during the genocide, they were silent.”
On another note just as challenging, in a podcast interview last week (at a little past 40 minutes), he said,
“In twenty or twenty-five years––while it will be too late––you will be apologizing [to] us for not calling out the apartheid realities of Israel, again, pretending to be self-righteous… “ahh, yes, we should have listened to those Palestinians,” and I tell them, “we will not allow you to do this. We told you. You cannot pretend you did not know.” And nowadays when information is available, social media is available, our voice is out there. It’s a decision that people will make: Who do you listen––do you search for voices on the ground? Or are you just fine, comfortable with a narrative that suits you, and suits your desires and interests?”
[By the way, terms like apartheid, genocide, war crimes, and others get used often and muddled in the process, but they have specific criteria and definitions. See this clip for a helpful exploration of the terms from an Israeli-American historian and professor of holocaust and genocide studies.]
To me, Isaac’s words are heavy in a familiar way.
Desmond Tutu’s words were loving and heavy.
MLK’s words were loving and heavy.
Merton’s words were loving and heavy.
Howard Thurman’s words were loving and heavy.
Bonhoeffer’s words were loving and heavy.
Frederick Douglass’s words were loving and heavy.
I want to be certain that my spiritual formation is more reflective of theirs than of the evangelical pastor (above) from my own culture who says that Israel should turn Gaza into a parking lot––and thinks that he has the support of the Bible––and of Jesus of Nazareth!––in such spiritually malformed words and attitude.