Huffington Post, August
31, 2010
Glenn
Beck vs. Christ the Liberator
By Rev. James Martin,
S.J.
After his colossal
"Restoring Honor" rally in Washington, D.C., Glenn Beck
took aim at one of his favorite targets, Barack Obama, but in
a novel way. Beck regrets saying a few months ago that President
Obama was a "racist." What he should have said, he now
realizes, was that he didn't agree with Obama's "theology."
And what is Obama's theology, according to Beck? Liberation theology.
Here's Beck's definition
of the arcane area of study known as liberation theology:
I think that it is
much more of a theological question that he is a guy who understands
the world through liberation theology, which is oppressor and
victim....That is a direct opposite of what the gospel is talking
about...It's Marxism disguised as religion
As Ronald Reagan used to say, "There you go again."
A few months ago, Beck decided to demolish the idea of "social
justice," by telling Christians that if their priests, pastors
or ministers use that buzz word on Sundays they should leave their
churches. As he may or may not have known, the tenets of "social
justice" encourage one not only to help the poor, but also
address the conditions that keep them poor. He called that "communist."
That approach didn't
work out that well for Beck since so many Christian denominations
these days, particularly the Catholic Church, espouse social justice
explicitly. So he backed off. But liberation theology? Really?
A little history: Liberation
theology began in Latin America in the 1950s and 1960s, and was
later developed more systematically by Catholic theologians who
reflected on experiences of the poor there. The term was coined
by the Rev. Gustavo Gutierrez, a Peruvian priest, in his landmark
book A Theology of Liberation, published in 1971. Briefly put,
liberation theology (there are many definitions, by the way) is
a Gospel-based critique of the world through the eyes of the poor.
Contrary to what Beck implies, the liberation theologian doesn't
see himself or herself as victim; rather proponents call us to
see how the poor are marginalized by society, to work among them,
to advocate on their behalf, and to help them advocate for themselves.
It has nothing to do with seeing yourself as victim. It is, like
all authentic Christian practices, "other-directed."
It also sees the figure
of Jesus Christ as the "liberator," who frees people
from bondage and slavery of all kinds. So, as he does in the Gospels,
Christ not only frees people from sin and illness, Christ also
desires to free our fellow human beings from the social structures
that keep them impoverished. This is this kind of "liberation"
that is held out. Liberation theologians meditate on Gospel stories
that show Christ upending the social structures of the day, in
order to bring more--uh oh--social justice into the world. Christians
are also asked to make, as the saying goes, a "preferential
option for the poor."
It's not hard to see
what Beck has against "liberation theology." It's the
same reason people are often against "social justice."
Both ideas ask us to consider the plight of the poor. And that's
disturbing. Some liberation theologians even consider the poor
to be privileged carriers of God's grace. In his book The True
Church and the Poor, Jon Sobrino, a Jesuit theologian wrote, "The
poor are accepted as constituting the primary recipients of the
Good News and, therefore, as having an inherent capacity of understanding
it better than anyone else." That's pretty threatening for
any comfortable Christian. For not only do we have to help the
poor, not only do we have to advocate on their behalf, we also
have to see them as perhaps understanding God better than we do.
But that's not a new
idea: It goes back to Jesus. The poor, the sick and the outcast
"got" him better than the wealthy did. Perhaps because
there was less standing between the poor and God. Less stuff.
Maybe that's why Jesus said in the Gospel of Matthew, "If
you wish to be perfect, sell all you have, and you will have treasure
in heaven, and follow me." Like I said, pretty disturbing,
then and now. It's hardly "the opposite of the Gospel,"
as Beck said. The opposite of the Gospel would be to acquire wealth
and fail to work on behalf of the poor.
In its heyday, liberation
theology was not without controversy: some thought its emphasis
on political advocacy skirted too close to Marxism--including
Pope John Paul II. On the other hand, John Paul didn't shy away
from personally involving himself in direct political activism
in Poland. It was the Latin American version of social action
that seemed to bother him more. But even John Paul affirmed the
notion of "preferential option for the poor." "When
there is question of defending the rights of individuals, the
defenseless and the poor have a claim to special consideration,"
he wrote, in his great encyclical Centesimus Annus, which celebrating
100 years of--uh oh--Catholic social teaching.
Liberation theology
is easy to be against. For one thing, most people don't have the
foggiest idea what you're talking about. It's also easier to ignore
the concerns of the poor, particularly overseas, than it is to
actually get to know them as individuals who make a claim on us.
There are also plenty of overheated websites that facilely link
it to Marxism. My response to that last critique is to read the
Gospels and count how many times Jesus tells us that we should
help the poor and even be poor. In the Gospel of Matthew, he tells
us that the ones who will enter the Kingdom of heaven are those
who help "the least of my brothers and sisters," i.e.,
the poor. After that, read the Acts of the Apostles, especially
the part about the apostles "sharing everything in common."
Then let me know if helping the poor is communist or simply Christian.
I have no idea if President
Obama espouses liberation theology. But I do. And for me it's
personal. Between 1992 and 1994, I worked with East African refugees
in Nairobi, Kenya, and participated in Catholic parishes who tried
to help poor parishioners (i.e., all of them) reflect on their
daily struggles through lens of the Gospel. And the Gospel passages
that spoke of liberation for the poor were a lifeline to me and
to those with whom I worked. Oh, and it's not only Jesus. His
mother had something to say about all that, too. "He has
filled the hungry with good things," says Mary in the Gospel
of Luke, "and sent the rich away empty."
Liberation theology
has also animated some of the great Christian witnesses of our
time. Several of my brother Jesuits (and their companions), some
of whom wrote and taught liberation theology, were assassinated
at the University of Central America in 1989 by Salvadoran death
squads, precisely for their work with the poor, as Jesus had encouraged
them to do. Archbishop Oscar Romero, the redoubtable archbishop
of San Salvador who was martyred in 1980 after standing for the
marginalized, also heard the call of Christ the Liberator. So
did the four courageous Catholic churchwomen who were martyred
that same year for their work in El Salvador.
These are my heroes.
These are the ones who truly "restore honor."
It's hard to ignore
the fact that Jesus chose to be born poor; he worked as what many
scholars now say was not simply a carpenter, but what could be
called a day laborer; he spent his days and nights with the poor;
he and his disciples lived with few if any possessions; he advocated
tirelessly for the poor in a time when poverty was considered
to be a curse; he consistently placed the poor in his parables
over and above the rich; and he died an utterly poor man, with
only a single seamless garment to his name. Jesus lived and died
as a poor man. Why is this so hard for modern-day Christians to
see? Liberation theology is not Marxism disguised as religion.
It is Christianity presented in all its disturbing fullness.
Glenn Beck's opposition
to "social justice" and "liberation theology"
is all the more difficult to understand because of his cloaking
of himself in the mantle of devout believer. "Look to God
and make your choice," he said during his rally on Sunday.
If he looked at Jesus
more carefully he would see someone who already made a choice:
for the poor.
James Martin is a Jesuit priest, culture editor of America magazine,
and author of The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything. This essay
is adapted from a post on America's In All Things
James Martin is a
Jesuit priest, culture editor of America magazine, and author
of The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything. This essay is adapted
from a post on America's In All Things
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