The Struggle is Real
The Struggle is Real
Scattered Reflections on Politics and Theology
My essay this week is about my struggles as a theologian trying to write accessible and relatable theology. I also, want to take a few lines to say thank you to all who are subscribed to this substack. I started with a few friends and family members, and now the community is growing. Thank you!
At the beginning of this week, I almost shared an essay about the US election in the form of epistolary writing. I thought that I had something to say. Maybe, I could even be able to change somebody’s mind about something, or so I thought. What became clear along the way is that theology’s main objective is not changing people’s minds. I believe one of its purposes is to articulate how we understand, see, and experience God acting in our midst.
Sadly, theology has become a tool in the hands of politicians who want to appeal to their constituents. It has become a weapon in the hands of people who want to justify their violence. That is why one of the tasks of theology should be to untangle the followers of Jesus from the justification of our violence. Theology could be reimagined as the integrated articulation of a liberating spirituality. In other words, theology ought to be the faithful disciplining of the practices that aim to set humanity free from all oppression, bondage, and violence. It is about standing in solidarity with the most vulnerable of our world in word and deed.
I am often tempted to write my commentary on current events. I don’t do it often, or I do it subversively because I know deep within that people don’t change through the exchange of ideas. Transformation happens when we enter into true relationship with one another, when we love our enemies, when the real me meets the real you.
I know the anxiety of feeling that I have to say something with a theological justification. That is why when we theologize—speaking, writing, reflecting, talking of God with others—it is important that there is an awareness of the paradox of religious language. The conundrum is that “every attempt to speak meaningfully of the ineffable carries with it the temptation to hear the words as explanation rather than invitation.”1
As I read several times what I wanted to publicly share, I realized that I was about to go on a veiled rant against those who endorse a specific kind of politics and theology. I was not going to invite others to a conversation. I was justifying and explaining instead of opening a line of dialogue and discernment. I was entangling my ideological perspectives with my theology. Thankfully, the faith community that surrounds and sustains me locally and internationally gently helped me see how I was about to engage in meaningless ranting, writing, and argumentation. I was about to deepen my rivalries.
As a result, I decided to not rant about who and why people should vote for. Even though, the election in the United States has direct implications on me, my family, and my country. My family and I could lose all the work we have done as we await an immigration interview that’s taken 4.5 years (my wife and one kid are US citizens). My country could become a safe third country once more, leaving hundreds of migrants to their own demise on the streets of a city without humanitarian infrastructure. As a result, many people would feel justified in their hate and exclusion—this includes me of course!
An incarnational and liberating theology will speak, write, practice, and live in a way that relaxes in the mystery of being human, for it will try to situate itself as a moment, as part of a larger whole, in the process through which the world is being transformed. A true theology of liberation opens itself and the hearts of those who theologize to the gift of the kingdom of God,2 to see and celebrate good news in hard places. This charism is not about ideology and apologetics. It is about responding to the movements and invitations of the Spirit.
This gift is found in the work of reclaiming the dignity of all human beings, in the struggle against the enslavement of lives and souls marked by poverty, violence, oppression, and dehumanization. It also occurs when we come together for the sake of the most vulnerable, when people share a meal, when we love our families with reckless abandonment, and when we extend the table to dine with our foes.
This is not to say that we ought to stay silent before injustice. It is more of a matter of knowing which platforms to use and when to raise our voices with and for the most vulnerable. As I look at the example of Jesus, he did not rant against the Pharisees. He spoke truth to power. He tells the temple merchants that they turned the house of his Father into a den of thieves. He flips the tables and gets angry not because of some sense of righteousness and purity. He does so because the religious, political, and economic systems are oppressing the most vulnerable.
As I think back at what I wanted to send earlier this week, I don’t feel embarrassed or guilty. I am reminded that there are no pure motivations, even in theological reflection and discourse. There is always the temptation of asserting and justifying our ideologies. Some of our ideologies hurt real people in real life, strip away the dignity of other human beings, and turn us against each other.
On a hopeful note, some of our ideas are beautiful, help people in real life, and drive us to become better humans. So, as we live through the tension of politics and conflict, let’s remind one another that we all have been created in the image of a God in whom there is no violence, a God who is in rivalry with nobody and nothing, not even death.
Snyder, Daniel O. Praying in the Dark: Spirituality, Nonviolence, and the Emerging World. Eugene, Oregon: Cascade Books, 2022. p, 12
Gutierrez, Gustavo. Teología de La Liberación. 8 Edición. Salamanca, España: Ediciones Sígueme, 2009. p, 72.
Gracias. 🙏🏼