I attended the Conference on Jesuit Higher Education and its Commitment to Justice. One of the keynote speakers was Margaret Farley, a retired Christian ethicist from Yale and a woman religious. Farley asked the question about what attitudes of mind and heart are conducive to just encounters with the other. She then provided a compelling justification for forgiveness as crucial for just relationships with the other. To forgive requires that we decenter ourselves, to let go of something within us to offset our worse forms of indifference, greed, and self righteousness; these are the preconditions of recovering respect for one another. It also means at times the need to let go of something in ourselves, such as our anger and resentment, and something of ourselves, such as our self-protectiveness. Overall, I agreed with her assessment that forgiveness can restore just relationships in meaningful ways but in my gut I felt uneasy with this. The overwhelming positive response to Farley's presentation kept me from voicing my concerns publicly.
My discomfort became crystallized when a question was posed to her: If it is true that there is a need to decenter the self to forgive and accept forgiveness, what do you do with those people whose sense of self is diminished, even destroyed, at the hands of persistent institutional oppression, such as racism, sexism, or heterosexism? They might not have enough of a sense of self to come to the point of forgiveness. Farley acknowledged that the need for forgiveness is harder to understand and offer when the abuse is structural or institutional. Moreover, she insisted that forgiveness should not be a therapy for the victims. Instead, the victims of oppression need to find some way to heal the self and recognize their human dignity before they can come to forgive those who have been the perpetrators of their oppression. She suggested that the church community can play a significant role in that healing process.
But how does this healing take place? I agree that community whether the church or other is important to begin that healing process. But what attitude of mind or heart must the oppressed develop that will enable them to find such healing, to get to the point where they can offer forgiveness?
Years ago, another Christian ethicist, Beverly Harrision, wrote an essay that spoke about the power of anger in the work of love. Her point was that anger is not an outlaw emotion in the face of injustice. Rather, it is the appropriate response to conditions of oppression and injustice. While some believe that anger can be destructive, Harrison suggested that such righteous anger enabled the victim of injustice to assert her dignity in the face of oppresssion and provided the motivation to work for justice. In the words of Farley, the anger is the oppressed's way to utter a radical no to injustice.
So what is the relationship betwen anger and forgiveness in the context of injustice? I agree that forgiveness may require us at some point to give up our anger in order to enable a just relationship in our encounter with the other. But sometimes getting to the point where one can develop the attitude of mind and heart to forgive, may require the oppressed to claim their righteous anger as a way of affirming their dignity, to center themselves enough to be able to begin the task of decentering themselves, ultimately leading them to engage fully in just relationships with the other, even those who have perpetrated their oppression.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
Religion's Role in Racial Integration of Baseball
In the face of recurring allegations of the use of
performance-enhancing drugs against some of baseball’s elite players, Major
League Baseball would love Americans to focus on some of the more noble chapters
of the game’s history. Thank God for
Hollywood. The film “42” shown in
theaters in April (and soon to be released on DVD/Blu-Ray for home viewing) highlights
the “noble experiment” of the racial integration of baseball, when Branch
Rickey signed Jackie Robinson to play for the major-league Brooklyn Dodgers. While I have not yet seen the film, I have
heard that the religious aspects of that “noble experiment” were included only
briefly in the drama. That does not
surprise me. Yet at a time when the more
noble chapters of religion’s history could also use some retelling, especially
in light of recent sex abuse scandals and religious violence, it is important
to see that religion did play a decidedly significant role.
This was in part because both actors in what Robinson called
“Mr. Rickey’s drama,” were raised in the bosom of Methodism. Wesley Branch Rickey was a devout and pious
Wesleyan, who was active in churches as a lay preacher, helped to find funding
for the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, and promised his mother that he would
never set foot in a ballpark on Sundays.
Given his propensity to use religious allusions and to give sermon-like
speeches, baseball writers referred to him as “Deacon.” While a director of a YMCA in Delaware, Ohio,
he came in contact with the teachings of the social gospel and its emphasis on
creating communities where all persons were treated with equal respect
regardless of race. He even invited such
luminaries as Booker T. Washington, Jacob Riis, and Jane Addams to speak there. All of these religious influences instilled
in Rickey a commitment to justice and fairness and a desire to end
discrimination in baseball if he ever had the opportunity. Rickey would later write, “I couldn’t face my
God much longer knowing that His black creatures are held separate and distinct
from His white creatures in the game that has given me all I own.”
The reason that Rickey chose Robinson from among all of the
qualified African-American ballplayers was because Robinson was “a Christian by
inheritance and practice.” Robinson also
grew up in the Methodist church. His
mother, Mallie Robinson, was a god-fearing woman who sought to instill in her
children a commitment to live according to the will of God. She taught her children, “God watches what
you do; you must reap what you sow, so sow well!” By example, she challenged the bigotry and
racism she faced in Pasadena but in a way that sought to overcome such hatred
with kindness and love. His minister,
the Reverend Karl Downs, helped Robinson to see the relevance of the biblical
stories to everyday life. Participation
in the life of his church became a pleasure, what he later called “excitement
in belonging.” The combined influence of
his mother and his minister helped Robinson to develop a strong sense of his
own dignity and a belief that racial segregation was immoral.
As much a part of this drama was the religious text used by
Rickey to get Robinson to agree not to retaliate in the face of the abuse he
would experience both on and off the field.
The passage from the Sermon on the Mount to “turn the other cheek” will
undoubtedly be highlighted in the film.
Less clear is whether or not there will be reference to the book Rickey
gave to Robinson in the midst of their three-hour meeting, Papini’s Life of Christ. In particular, Rickey asked Robinson to read
the section on nonresistance, where Papini contends that “turning the other
cheek,” which is an active not a passive stance, is the only response to
violence that has the potential to end the cycle of violence and bring about
community and reconciliation. “Turning
the other cheek means not receiving the second blow. It means cutting the chain of the inevitable
wrongs at the first link.” Could
Robinson, who had a “hair-trigger disposition” in the face of racial bigotry,
do it? He was not sure, but as he
recalled the biblical message embodied by his mother’s example, to overcome
hatred with love and patience, he knew it had to begin with him. As Papini writes, “Only he who had
transformed his own soul can transform the souls of his brothers, and transform
the world into a less grievous place for all.”
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