Today I received an article by Martin Marty, University of Chicago church historian, about recent criticisms of Barack Obama and his home church in Chicago, Trinity United Church of Christ. The church has been criticized--and Obama by association--by conservative pundits, not only for its left-leaning social stances on issues like gay rights and opposition to the Iraq war, but for its self-identification as "unashamedly black and unapologetically Christian" church.
The church and its pastor, Jeremiah Wright, subscribe to Black Theology, a form of liberation theology made popular in the late 1960's and early 1970's. The movement is perhaps best expressed in James Cone's powerful book God of the Oppressed. In his work, Cone states one of the crucial tenants of Black Theology--namely, that Jesus is black. Cone writes:
Christ's blackness is both literal and symbolic. His blackness is literal in the sense that he truly becomes One with the oppressed blacks, taking their suffering as his suffering and revealing that he is found, in the history of our struggle, the story of our pain, and the rhythm of our bodies...To say that Christ is black means that black people are God's poor people whom Christ has come to liberate. And thus no gospel of Jesus Christ is possible in America without coming to terms with the history and culture of that people who struggled to bear witness to his name in extreme circumstances...Christ is black, therefore, not because of some cultural or psychological need of black people, but because and only because Christ really enters into our world where the poor, the despised and the black are, disclosing that he is with them, enduring their humiliation and pain and transforming oppressed slaves into liberated servants. (James Cone, God of the Oppressed, rev. ed.(Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1997) 125-126.)
The idea that Jesus is somehow mystically in the oppressed person is not a new idea, at least not if you've read Matthew 25:45: "Truly I say to you, as you did it not to one of the least of these, you did it not to me." As someone who has been deeply impacted by Cone and other liberation theologians, I'm not surprised that white right-wing pundits don't like this understanding of Christ, because for them Christ is a rich, powerful, white man. Such pundits are exactly the kind of people, Black Theology was created to confront. All of us white people have grown used to seeing a Jesus who looks like a California surfer--historically he looked nothing like that--is it that much different to think of Christ as black? From the perspective Cone writes from--the idea that Christ identifies with those who are oppressed--there is absolutely nothing wrong with doing so. (As the father of two boys who are bi-racial: African-American/Caucasian and whom I happen to believe are beautiful, the concept of a black Christ--in an artistic, symbolic, theological or literal sense--does not frighten me at all.)
Before coming to work at a Disciples of Christ church, I was a minister in the United Church of Christ, of which Trinity is a part. The two denominations are not that different. In fact, at the national and state level, they work very closely together. The U.C.C. is described well by Marty in his article as an "ex-Congregational (think Jonathan Edwards) and Reformed (think Reinhold Niebuhr) mainline church body." While in New York, I heard Jeremiah Wright, Trinity's pastor, speak at The Riverside Church, and I have to say, I was shocked at how conservative he was in some ways. I would agree with Marty's assessment: "Wright sounds almost literalist about biblical texts when he preaches." There's nothing far out here.
When you go to Trinity's web site and look at their Ten Point Vision, there is little there that is particularly different than what any church worth its salt would be preaching. Other than points 4 and 7 that have to do particularly with the African American community, I just don't see what the big deal is.
I guess what never ceases to amaze me is the response of the majority power establishment (in America its rich white people) to any idea of Christ as being on the side of the poor. Sure, charity is good and all that, but there is something really threatening about the idea of what God's identification with the poor and oppressed could mean for those with material and political power. I guess I shouldn't be shocked. Jesus did end up crucified by political and religious figures who were threatened by his teachings about love, justice, compassion and humility before the power of God.
Grace and Peace,
Chase
The church and its pastor, Jeremiah Wright, subscribe to Black Theology, a form of liberation theology made popular in the late 1960's and early 1970's. The movement is perhaps best expressed in James Cone's powerful book God of the Oppressed. In his work, Cone states one of the crucial tenants of Black Theology--namely, that Jesus is black. Cone writes:
Christ's blackness is both literal and symbolic. His blackness is literal in the sense that he truly becomes One with the oppressed blacks, taking their suffering as his suffering and revealing that he is found, in the history of our struggle, the story of our pain, and the rhythm of our bodies...To say that Christ is black means that black people are God's poor people whom Christ has come to liberate. And thus no gospel of Jesus Christ is possible in America without coming to terms with the history and culture of that people who struggled to bear witness to his name in extreme circumstances...Christ is black, therefore, not because of some cultural or psychological need of black people, but because and only because Christ really enters into our world where the poor, the despised and the black are, disclosing that he is with them, enduring their humiliation and pain and transforming oppressed slaves into liberated servants. (James Cone, God of the Oppressed, rev. ed.(Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1997) 125-126.)
The idea that Jesus is somehow mystically in the oppressed person is not a new idea, at least not if you've read Matthew 25:45: "Truly I say to you, as you did it not to one of the least of these, you did it not to me." As someone who has been deeply impacted by Cone and other liberation theologians, I'm not surprised that white right-wing pundits don't like this understanding of Christ, because for them Christ is a rich, powerful, white man. Such pundits are exactly the kind of people, Black Theology was created to confront. All of us white people have grown used to seeing a Jesus who looks like a California surfer--historically he looked nothing like that--is it that much different to think of Christ as black? From the perspective Cone writes from--the idea that Christ identifies with those who are oppressed--there is absolutely nothing wrong with doing so. (As the father of two boys who are bi-racial: African-American/Caucasian and whom I happen to believe are beautiful, the concept of a black Christ--in an artistic, symbolic, theological or literal sense--does not frighten me at all.)
Before coming to work at a Disciples of Christ church, I was a minister in the United Church of Christ, of which Trinity is a part. The two denominations are not that different. In fact, at the national and state level, they work very closely together. The U.C.C. is described well by Marty in his article as an "ex-Congregational (think Jonathan Edwards) and Reformed (think Reinhold Niebuhr) mainline church body." While in New York, I heard Jeremiah Wright, Trinity's pastor, speak at The Riverside Church, and I have to say, I was shocked at how conservative he was in some ways. I would agree with Marty's assessment: "Wright sounds almost literalist about biblical texts when he preaches." There's nothing far out here.
When you go to Trinity's web site and look at their Ten Point Vision, there is little there that is particularly different than what any church worth its salt would be preaching. Other than points 4 and 7 that have to do particularly with the African American community, I just don't see what the big deal is.
I guess what never ceases to amaze me is the response of the majority power establishment (in America its rich white people) to any idea of Christ as being on the side of the poor. Sure, charity is good and all that, but there is something really threatening about the idea of what God's identification with the poor and oppressed could mean for those with material and political power. I guess I shouldn't be shocked. Jesus did end up crucified by political and religious figures who were threatened by his teachings about love, justice, compassion and humility before the power of God.
Grace and Peace,
Chase
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