The Cosmic Effect of Violence (and Peace)

by Rebekah Mays

A photo of a man holding a limp child lit up my computer screen as I clicked on the Twitter link. The boy was one of four Palestinian children playing on a beach, killed by an Israeli airstrike. One look at the man’s face was enough to feel a share of his sorrow and powerlessness.

But perhaps since I was separated by space, by culture, by relative safety, the sorrow I felt was still quite small. This man's reality is not my reality, I couldn't help think.

But powerlessness – that I can relate to. Because as we educate ourselves about the many injustices in the world, as we read about the centuries of violence between groups of people and we see how little has changed for the better, we feel helpless. We know all too well that our material resources are limited. We feel we can do little more than raise awareness, or give money to someone who may or may not know how best to use it.

As people of faith, the other option we have is prayer. "Pray without ceasing," we're told again and again. But if we're honest with ourselves, many of us feel we are throwing our wishes for world peace to the sky. Our prayers must have gotten stuck somewhere, and we think they're never going to come back down.

But here's my question: what if we did have the power to change the world?

We say we want peace, but if we had the power to institute it globally, would we use it?

Whether we believe it or not, our power is infinitely greater than we realize. World peace actually begins with us, as naïve as it sounds.

In the first place, it is because violence is found much closer than we like to think. It’s not only in the Middle East, or in Central Europe, or on the border. It’s not just being perpetrated by people who are less "civilized" or who have a different skin color than we do. The same seeds of violence reside in our own hearts, if we allow them to remain there.

The inner violence of American society can so easily be observed online. The current dialogue about any hotly debated political topic right now reveals how obsessed we are with being right, and how little we actually care about justice and truth. Even (especially) in Christian circles, we see pride oozing from the arguments of both liberals and conservatives, along with assumptions, hyperbole, and lies for the sake of attention and reaction. We see accusations, defensiveness, and escalations of outrage until the Internet is one big glowing ball of anger and malice.

Indeed, there is a very tangible difference between verbal violence and the kind that’s going on right now in Gaza. But Jesus preached that, with regard to the perpetrator, there is no distinction between violent thoughts and actions. “Anyone who hates a brother or sister is a murderer,” he said.

We cannot say that the violence is far away, and that we are therefore unaffected by it. And we have to accept our own responsibility in perpetuating it.

But if violence produces more violence, so too does goodness.

In The Science of Being and the Art of Living, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi wrote that every single thing we do has some influence on the universe, whether for better or worse. Studies have shown that talking to a plant, especially in a positive way, will help it grow much faster. Similarly, he writes, “a good, sweet, loving expression to a child produces a loving and life-supporting influence in the whole of the cosmos."

Maharishi’s wisdom parallels that of Christianity. In addition to teaching that thoughts and actions are intimately connected, Jesus preached that we should not only love our friends and families, but our enemies as well. And to make it even more ridiculous, he called us to “pray for those who persecute [us].” Why?

Because somehow, our acts of kindness have an enormous, even cosmic effect. The "mere" act of praying for others creates a set of ripples -- ripples that begin with love instead of hatred. When we see our actions this way, with everything we do contributing to a chain reaction of either goodness or violence, we realize the importance and the potential of every single moment. As soon as we shift our perspective, it becomes easier to choose kindness over anger.

The great instigators of peace in our world – Nelson Mandela, Mother Theresa, Mahatma Gandhi, countless others -- weren’t afraid to look inward to find this peace. Mandela said that “We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.” Gandhi, likewise, wrote that peace starts in our souls: “A man is but the product of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes.”

As many of us know, we can’t be purely good on our own – we need grace. But once we have received grace, what restrains us from living truly radical lives of peace?

I challenge us, as we’re reading the news about the sobering events throughout the world, to never entertain the idea that we are powerless. World peace begins with you and me. 

Rebekah Mays is a Barnard College graduate originally from Austin, Texas. She currently works and writes in Prague, Czech Republic. You can find more of her writing on her blog The Prague BLOG or follow her on Twitter @smallbeks.

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. If you'd like to support what we do, you can donate via the button on the right of the screen.

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Elephants in the Room: Israel, Palestine, and the Nature of Oppression

by David Creech

“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.”

Bishop Desmond Tutu

My natural disposition is to side with those who are oppressed. I also prefer to hear people tell their own story rather than insert my opinions from the outside. Enter the Israel-Palestine conflict.

This longstanding (Western-created) conflict reentered my thinking in late June when the Presbyterian Church (USA) very narrowly voted to divest from U.S. companies that benefit from the Israeli occupation of Palestinian territories. This decision was given much more attention than their equally significant (and overwhelmingly supported) decision to allow a process for gay marriage. (Quick aside: the relative silence about this decision in popular media suggests to me that, as a society, we are done with this conversation. Support of gay marriage remains an issue only in certain conservative communities. Move along, people.) The resolution was criticized by many Jewish and pro-Israel groups as tone deaf at best and anti-Semitic at worst.

*pause for deep breath*

And yet, the recent events leading up to and culminating in Israel’s so-called “Operation Protective Edge” demonstrate why the Presbyterian decision may be warranted. At the time of this writing (a running tally of the deaths is available here), Israel has launched more than 1,300 rockets into the Palestinian territories, killing at least 222 Palestinians (approximately 77% of whom are civilians) and injuring nearly 1,700 more. This in response to three Israeli teens who were (quite wrongfully) killed by Palestinian extremists. As one Palestinian advocate on Twitter put it, if a toddler bites the neighborhood bully and the bully retaliates with an axe, one is justifiably angrier about the axe.

To choose neutrality in this conflict is to side with the elephant.

Except… this is where it gets tricky. Historically, Jews have been oppressed by Christians. This previously referenced article gives a helpful history. And though the oppression spans centuries, one needn’t look far beyond Christianity’s primary documents to see the horror of anti-Semitism in its very foundations. (Quick qualifying statement: perceived anti-Semitism in the New Testament is in some ways anachronistic—the authors were members of a Jewish sect engaged in an intramural conflict.) Paul calls Jews children of a slave woman. The Gospel of Matthew unequivocally blames the Jewish people for Jesus’ death. The Gospel of John calls the Jews children of Satan. Statements such as these (and many more could be adduced) led to a horrible history of disenfranchisement, ghettoization, pogroms, and ultimately the Holocaust.

Jews are right to feel like the mouse whose tail is being crushed by an elephant.

In this context, it is fair to ask why the state of Israel was singled out by the PC(USA) for sanctions. There are a host of unjust regimes around the world, many of whom are far more vicious and cruel (Egypt, anyone?). It is also fair to ask why this conflict captures my attention and elicits more rage than those far more devastating wars in Syria and Iraq. What latent anti-Semitism may be operative in this focus on Israel?

Perhaps the PC(USA) had no holdings to divest themselves of with regard to first-tier actors in the other brutal conflicts that are unfolding.  And perhaps it was some rhetorical break with the odd pairing of American Christianity and the state of Israel that grew from a peculiar eschatology. And certainly Israel’s actions rightly cause outrage and anger. But how do we speak to this injustice when we are part of a much larger and longer history of discrimination and violence, when that history is still fresh, still continues even in many forms today?

What do you do when you realize that you are the elephant? 

David Creech is Assistant Professor of Religion at Concordia College in Moorhead, Minnesota. Before taking his teaching post up on the frozen tundra he worked for four years doing anti-hunger education and mobilization with ELCA World Hunger. When he is not herding cats (i.e., spending quality time with his three kids) he posts profound thoughts on Twitter @dyingsparrows.

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. If you'd like to support what we do here, you can donate via the button on the right of the screen.

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The Memory of Violence

by Charity Erickson

A few years ago, I worked at a coffee shop on a college campus. There was a German Masters student and first-year language instructor—a thick-necked, plaid-and-khaki-wearing bro if there ever was one—who liked to sit at the bar and chat up the younger baristas while “grading papers” (i.e. friending his female students on Facebook.)

He was a dog, that’s for sure, but every so often he would engage in thoughtful conversation. One day I asked him, “In German schools, how do history teachers address the Holocaust?”

“They never let us forget,” he said. “We had to go to presentations all the time.” And he rolled his eyes, ever so slightly.

I was put off by his nonchalance, but his answer also intrigued me. It was clear from the rest of our conversation that, at least where this young man was from, someone felt it was important to make Germany’s dark history personal for the next generation of young Germans—lest they become detached from a crucial part of the country’s national identity. 

I found this to be an unusually mature way to address a painful and difficult issue. Where I attended school—in frosty Minnesota—we (me and my social circle of white suburbanites) allowed ourselves the self-righteous luxury of detachment from the dark episodes in America’s past. The sins we did admit were those we could hold at arm’s length, because they happened in a distant part of the country.  We saw the South as the stronghold of slavery, and therefore, America’s stronghold of evil. 

It hasn’t been until quite recently that Minnesotans have begun to acknowledge our state’s own grizzly past. The relationship between the Native Americans and American immigrants in the state is complex and tragic, characterized by exploitative and dishonest government dealings, death marches, mass hangings, and all-out war between the indigenous peoples and settlers. Museum exhibits, public television specials, and front-page articles in the Minneapolis newspaper have brought the story into public consciousness. 

It is a good attempt at honestly acknowledging the past, but I’m afraid it will take a much more conscious effort on the part of Minnesotans—those with whom I share a regional identity—to truly believe that all this evil is our heritage, to own it, and regard it as something that we need to deal with. 

This is what a mature public consciousness would desire: to deal truthfully with the past, to resist the delusion that who we once were has no bearing on who we are now, and to deal with the ramifications of the past so that they don’t cause more damaging problems in the future.

I’m sure you can see where I’m going here. This isn’t just a principle for building healthy regional communities. Looking into the dark, confusing rooms of the past is necessary for the achievement of health and maturity in individuals, families, and faith groups.

This point has become increasingly salient to me as a Christian: when we are tempted to explain away Old Testament violence, New Testament intolerance, or the minefield of dark and evil passages in Christian history, we must resist the tendency to detach ourselves from the wrongs committed by our Christian ancestors. Christianity that refuses to recognize and thoughtfully address dysfunctional manifestations of the faith will never be mature. It will be delusional, or childishly dense, like the toddler who assumes you can’t see him when he covers his own eyes.

We cannot view ourselves as separate from these chapters in our faith’s history. Maturity does not seek separation; it seeks healthy relationships and radical wholeness. Ephesians 4 tells us that spiritual maturity does not come by giving an account of the faith through well-thought-out teaching—explaining away our faith history by saying, “We’re not like that anymore!”—rather, maturity comes through the reconciliation of the community of Believers, past and present, taking on the sins of our fathers and making things right. It will not be pretty work. It will be neither efficient nor clean. But it is necessary. And it is right. We must never forget.

Charity Erickson and her husband Lance live and work together in the suburbs of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Check out her blog for more of her writing and follow her on Twitter @CharityJill. 

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. 

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On Pop Theology Podcast: Episode 20 - Sex, Violence and the Gods of Westeros

by Ben Howard

Ben and Sebastian sit down to talk about their favorite TV show/book series, Game of Thrones. They explore the way the show and the books treat religion, the power of avoiding false dualities of good and evil, the problem of sexposition, and the importance of discussing sex and violence as part of the gritty reality of a hard and difficult life. There are a handful of mild spoilers throughout so be forewarned. Enjoy!

You can download the podcast by clicking here. Or you can subscribe to the podcast by searching "On Pop Theology" in the iTunes music store. If you download the show through iTunes, please be so kind as to rate and review us. We want your feedback and it helps the show to grow. 
 
Also, remember to "Like" On Pop Theology on Facebook and follow us on Twitter @OnPopTheology for all the updates, posts, and links throughout the week.

Finally, if you'd like to stream the podcast, you can do that here:

Peace,
Ben

If you have any questions, comments, or if you just want to say hi, you can contact us at onpoptheology [at] gmail.com.

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Slow Justice

by Rebekah Mays

On Friday I clicked a link on International Justice Mission’s website: “IJMKolkata: Landmark Convictions Against Five Notorious Traffickers.” It took a moment for me to realize what I was reading, but there it was in print—Nakul Bera, one of the most violent criminals IJM has ever encountered, was tried and found guilty.

For those who don’t know what IJM is, it’s an international human rights organization that brings rescue to victims of violent oppression. They are a group of human rights workers, cooperating with local law enforcement in several countries to bring aid to the abused and put criminals behind bars. I was an IJM communications intern in 2011, and we talked about the Nakul Bera case quite a bit.

He was a brothel owner in Kolkata whose cruelty was beyond what even the most experienced field staffers had witnessed. He raped girls himself by way of initiating them to their new home, and if they refused to see a client, he beat and tortured them. One victim told IJM she had to see twenty-five customers a day. I remember being assigned to read up on this and other cases—I had to do the research slowly because it was so psychologically disturbing.

While I was relieved to see that IJM had at last secured convictions for this sick man and for four other criminals, my heart was heavy. I was happy for the IJM staffers whose years of prayer and grueling legal work finally paid off. I was thrilled for the little girls, who no longer have to walk in fear of their abuser.

But I was grieved at my own hardness of heart that let me forget about the victims, and about this man who had destroyed so many lives. I spent my summer with IJM feeling inspired, like I was making a difference, but over time I let that energy and anger over the injustices I’d seen fizzle out. If IJM had given up as easily as I did, Nakul Bera would still be doing unspeakable acts to the innocent.

Why is it so easy to go through our day-to-day lives half-heartedly, to turn a blind eye to the hurting and the abused? Why is it so easy to read such stories or come across injustice and have no reaction, simply moving on to the next distraction? It’s not a mystery: We like things neat and streamlined. We don’t like to be inconvenienced or unsettled. We don’t like our boats rocked. Comfort is key.

Nakul Bera's brothel

You may have heard the famous Edmund Burke quote, “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.” We hear these sayings all the time, in sermons, in inspirational speeches, and in the books and articles we read. But I’m trying to think of something I’ve done for others recently, something that has contributed to the kingdom vision to “vindicate the orphan and the oppressed.” I’ve posted a couple of social justice-related links on my Facebook profile lately. I’ve donated money to good causes. But when I think about something beyond that which has required real action, I’m drawing a blank.

The good news is that when we do take a step, our efforts to pursue justice aren’t pointless. Just look at what IJM has accomplished through God’s favor, and at the impact the organization has had on so many lives. It takes perseverance, and as I know too well, it’s tempting to quit before our work is done. Determination, however, is rewarded.

For some of us, our biggest chance at changing the world isn’t necessarily as dramatic as IJM’s work, as crucial as that is. Our impact could be through some small interaction, saying a kind word when it would be easier to stay quiet. These undertakings can still test our boundaries. But instead of feeling helpless in the face of huge injustice, we can start where we are. When we do, we ourselves end up changing, becoming less self-absorbed and more sensitive to the needs of others —and maybe that’s our biggest weapon. 

Rebekah Mays is a Barnard College graduate originally from Austin, Texas. She currently works and writes in New York City. You can find more of her writing on her blog Iced Spiced Chai or follow her on Twitter @smallbeks.


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The Election Chronicles: Why You Shouldn't Vote

by Ben Howard

This week in The Election Chronicles we've covered the reasons you should vote for Mitt Romney, Barack Obama, and then yesterday, the reasons you should vote for a third party candidate. However, there is one last option that we have yet to cover.

Today I'm going to address the reasons, as a Christian, you shouldn't vote.

Before I start into these reasons I want to make two things very clear: First, none of these choices is morally superior to any of the others. There are legitimate reasons for choosing any of these options and I will defend your choice of any of them, even if I disagree with you. Second, I will not be voting so this is my personal, non-objective position on the subject. I understand if you disagree, there are plenty of reasons to do so, but please do so respectfully.

As I see it, there are two arguments for why you shouldn't vote. First, you should not vote because voting for a candidate makes you culpable in all of their actions, including acts of violence. Essentially, if you vote for a presidential candidate and then that candidate takes us into a war, you also have blood on your hands. If that candidate oppresses the poor or the marginalized with their policies, your vote allowed him the power for that to happen.

Typically, this decision not to vote is one of protest against the power of empire. It argues that in a democratic system, such as ours, power is in the hands of the people, therefore to vote is to legitimize the power of the empire both for good and for bad. As a result, dissenting and not exercising this legitimizing authority undermines the power of the empire.

Honestly, I disagree with this reasoning. I don't think voting makes you responsible for the acts of the empire, I think being a citizen does. Everything the government does, both domestically and overseas is done in the name of all its citizens not just the ones who voted, or even the ones who voted the ruling party into power. A citizen of the United States is responsible for the acts of the nation, both good and bad.

Most of you are probably grimacing while you read that statement, but I would argue that it holds to Judeo-Christian understandings of corporate responsibility. The community is responsible for the decisions of its members and citizens are responsible for the actions of their nation. Remember, all of Israel went into exile, not just the kings and leaders.

So why don't I vote?

I do not vote because I do not consider myself a citizen of this nation and as such I do not believe I have the right to dictate the direction the nation takes. As a Christian, I consider myself a citizen of the Kingdom of God currently living in exile in a foreign land. 

As an exile, I hold to the ideas Jeremiah expresses in Jeremiah 29:7 when he says, "Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the LORD for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper." However, while I pray for the peace and prosperity of the nation, and continue to be very engaged in the dialogue and discussion concerning how this should come about, I do not believe I am in the position to decide that direction because it is ultimately not my country.

I know that this sounds idealistic, and some of you probably view it as arrogant as well, but I promise that is not what I intend. I'm hoping to convey this as an attitude of humility. I may rant and rave and write a week long series about politics to try and influence the conversation, but at the end of the day, it is not my choice, though I will live with whatever decision is made.

I'd love to hear your comments and I'm so glad that so many of you have read through these pieces. I hope they've been helpful for you because they've been enlightening for me.

Peace,
Ben

You can follow Ben on Twitter @BenHoward87 or email him at benjamin.howard87 [at] gmail.com.

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On Art and Violence

by Ben Howard

I don't really like violent movies. To be more specific, I don't really like blood. And when I say “don't really like” I mean it makes me nauseous and like I'm about to pass out. I have fainted one time in my life, it was during a talk about donating blood at school. Fell out of the desk and hit my head on the floor. Lots of pain. That's how much I don't like blood.

Keep that in mind when I tell you that I really enjoyed the movie Lawless that came out this past weekend. If you haven't heard of this movie, well then I think the vast majority of the country is right there with you. The movie is based around a group of brothers who sell moonshine during the Prohibition Era and the main plot of the movie centers of their encounters with a new deputy tasked with shutting down all the moonshine operations in the “Wettest County in the World.”

It's an incredibly beautiful, but also an incredibly violent movie. The Appalachian setting of the movie evokes a pastoral sense of calm and peace and the period setting evokes the same feelings you get when you stair at a yellowed photo of your great grandfather as a young boy. It's real life, or at least it used to be.

The beauty and nostalgia of the film form a stark backdrop for the repeated graphic representations of violence. In one particular scene, Forrest Bondurant, played by Tom Hardy, walks out into a beautiful fresh snow only to be assaulted by two men who restrain him and slit his throat. The viewer is left with a long, drawn out shot of Forrest silently grasping at his bleeding neck while the beautiful white snow slowly covers the ground around him.

I wish I could say that this movie ultimately condemns the violent acts of its characters, but it doesn't. It's a film that ultimately glorifies revenge and ends with a little down-home spinning of the happily ever after narrative.

You can contrast this view of violence with a show like The Wire, where violence is shown to have destructive effects both on the offender and the victim alike. Main characters receive their comeuppance and beloved characters transform into monsters when they begin to wield the gun. All of these acts are performed against the grit and grime of urban decay to make the ultimate statement that while violence is a way of life, it is not a way out.

I'm curious to hear your thoughts on this issue as well. Can violence be portrayed artistically or beautifully? And if it is possible to do this, does that artistic portrayal undermine the brutality of the acts being perpetrated? Which story is right? Violence as revenge to attain peace, or violence as the inescapable destructive force?

Peace,
Ben


When he isn't reflecting on the artistry of violence, Ben is wearing hipster sweaters and staring intently at things. Just like Tom Hardy. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87 or contact him at benjamin.howard87 [at] gmail.com.