Recently
a public debate has raged about whether your opinion of Woody Allen's
films should be impacted or even determined by your opinion as to
whether or not he molested his daughter Dylan Farrow when she was seven
years old. In case you somehow missed it, Farrow (adopted by Allen and
Mia Farrow when they were a couple)
recently published an open letter
claiming that Allen molested her over twenty years ago. This charge
first came out in a 1992 Vanity Fair expose as a part of the bitter and
public custody battle between Mia Farrow and Allen at that time.
Although many wondered then if Allen's career would suffer, he has
continued to write and direct star-studded movies on an annual basis
since that time. It was the occasion of Allen being given a lifetime
achievement award at the Golden Globes this year which prompted Dylan
Farrow to publicly declare her accusation in a piece that called out
Hollywood celebs for working with and celebrating a child molester.
Allen has his
defenders; so does
Dylan Farrow.
It's important to note that criminal charges were never filed against
Allen, but untangling the piles of evidence each side brings to the
fight is a difficult task. I have read and listened to
a number of discussions
regarding the question of if Allen did molest Farrow, then what does
that mean for one's appreciation of Allen's art? It's a difficult
question, but largely an abstract one for me. I'm not particularly a
fan of Allen's movies--I appreciate them for being an important part of
American cinema, but I don't really enjoy watching them. I don't think I
have ever had a repeat viewing of a Woody Allen film. If Allen did
molest Farrow, I do not feel put in an ethical quandary regarding his
movies, because I don't care that much about them.
I did,
however, find myself in just such a dilemma this week when I discovered
that a theologian who has been very influential to my own belief system
was a serial sex abuser. John Howard Yoder was a Mennonite theologian who wrote a groundbreaking book titled
The Politics of Jesus.
Yoder, who died in 1997, published his classic book in 1972 and it
changed the way many Christian ethicists understood Jesus' teachings.
Prior to Yoder, conventional wisdom among theologians was that Jesus'
teachings were aimed at personal behavior and did not have a social
dimension. Some would allow that Jesus' teachings were concerned with
the broader social sphere but they were contingent upon Jesus' belief
that the end of the world was immanent. In other words, if Jesus cared
about social justice his teachings are unrealistic because he believed
God would soon end the world. Jesus' teachings in this view are an
unrealistic ideal that are unfit for navigating the reality we
experience. Yoder argued convincingly against such a view and convinced
a generation of thinkers that Jesus' teachings on nonviolence and equal
distribution of the world's resources were meant to be lived out by all
who claimed to follow Jesus.
I read the book in seminary and it
continues to impact my passion for social justice and equality for all
people. I have quoted Yoder's book in sermons and in classes. So, when
I found out--what has apparently been public knowledge for over ten
years, I was shocked. What does it mean that someone who so eloquently
wrote about Jesus' teachings on nonviolence could harass, abuse and
assault his female students and colleagues ? If his life was so
twisted and abhorrent in its abuse of those he was charged to care for,
does that mean his writings are therefore bankrupt?
The case of
John Howard Yoder is different from Allen in the sense that prior to his
death Yoder submitted to discipline by the Mennonite Church, although
writings published posthumously suggest he felt he was an innocent
scapegoat. Victims of Yoder have continued to feel the denomination
failed to adequately deal with Yoder's abuse, and last year the
Mennonites created a commission
to revisit the process undertaken to address the theologian's actions.
While some may choose to believe Woody Allen's side of his story, there
is no one offering a credible defense of Yoder.
I realize my own
sense of betrayal at finding out about Yoder's abuse pales in
comparison to the multitude of people who have suffered so greatly by
being abused by Catholic and Protestant clergymen. Throughout my career
I have heard the stories of men and women who have entrusted me with
their experiences of abuse--sometimes that abuse was carried out by
trusted religious leaders. Each case is a horrible act of betrayal that
leaves a lifetime of scars. I'm aware of this, and don't mean to
compare my feelings to one who has been abused. I do wonder, however,
what do I do with the thought of John Howard Yoder that has been
meaningful to me?
Let's face it, we don't want to know too much
about the people we idolize. Much of the art, music, philosophy and
yes, theology that moves us has been created by deeply flawed people.
Some of those flawed people have done terrible things. Does their
terrible actions make their work less meaningful or even empty it of
meaning altogether? Maybe.
Two weeks ago I participated in our
congregation's training for those who want to work with children. The
training was largely about ensuring that children in the care of the
church are protected from predators. Our facilitator Dr. Jeanne Hoeft
reminded us that child predators hide in plain sight. They are usually
male and heterosexual. They usually were sexually abused themselves.
It is disturbing to be reminded that serial abusers are in our midst,
but the stakes are too high not to have such a conversation. Jeanne
also reminded us that the damage inflicted upon a child by sexual abuse
can be heightened or lessened by how other adults in authority respond
to acts of abuse. If those in power sweep it under the rug or move to
protect an institution by blaming the victim, the abused person's pain
is exponentially increased. If, however, adults in authority put the
welfare of the child first, the pain suffered and its effects can be
decreased.
Which brings me back to the question of what do I do
as a minister with the work of a theologian who has been found out to be
an abuser? First of all, I know that I won't quote anymore from
Yoder's book in my sermons or other ministry settings. Doing so seems
irresponsible given that such a quotation carries with it an implicit
endorsement of an abuser's actions. I would never want to increase the
suffering of those in my congregation who have been abused by offering
the words of an abuser to them.
Second, I think it is worthwhile to question Yoder's theology in light of his actions.
One Mennonite feminist writer points out
that Mennonite pacifism developed as a way to justify men not going to
war--a masculine defense for men who chose not to do what is typically
masculine. Such an ethic remains patriarchal and unconcerned with women
and oppressed people. This seems like an interesting argument for
critiquing much that is considered good in Christianity; most of what is
preached and taught even in progressive and liberal churches came from
men who enjoyed privileged positions. Because they developed their
ideas from a position of power, they did not always consider how those
ideas affect or even harm people without power. Just because something
seems progressive and radical doesn't mean that it is immune from also
being oppressive.
Finally, I am reminded once again how crucial
(and also rare) are communities of faith that offer safe spaces for
healing for those who have experienced abuse. Religion is so easily
twisted to do harm; yet I remain a believer that God can work wonders
through communities of people who seek to act in humility and to care
for one another. I have experienced the church as a place of great pain
and also a community of grace. Because a communities of faith can do
such good is precisely why predators will make use of them for their own
destructive ends.
Let us be vigilant together as we seek to protect the souls whom God has entrusted to us.
Grace and Peace,
Chase