Questioning "Religion"

"I am more than my religion." I said this to myself a couple weeks ago in my World Christianity class, when we were discussing identity. Our professor was discussing the question, "Who are you?" She talked about how each of us has layers to our identities. We are complex people. We are multilayered, multivalent, and multi-positioned. She expressed to us that we need not pigeonhole ourselves to any one aspect of our identity. I am Gary. I am a son, a husband, a Black man in the U.S., and I am also a Christian (among many other things). I'm not any one thing, and neither are you.

Why is it, though, that so many people seem to limit themselves to their religion? Why does it seem that so many people of faith only think about life in terms of their religion? I am of the belief that religion is a human construction. In no way am I suggesting that we have constructed, or created God. However, we have created religion, the means we use to talk and think about God (and the world). So, if religion provides our foundation for the ways in which we think about God, does it also define the boundaries around the ways we can think about God? If I am Christian, am I only allowed to think about God in certain ways? Can I not conceive of God in ways that are outside of my particular faith tradition? What if I experience God in a way that does not fit within my clearly defined way of making sense of the world? Does religion, to some extent, limit the ways in which we can interact with God?

These questions arise for me out of a place of honesty. I have, honestly, felt the presence of God in ways that do not fit within the strict boundaries of my particular Christian expression. About a year ago we hosted an interfaith dialogue panel in Lawrence, Kansas. God was there. A few years ago, I had the opportunity to travel to Thailand and Myanmar, countries that are predominantly Buddhist. God was there too. I cannot deny that God was present in these situations. Maybe if I was a staunch, conservative, Christian, who was not open to seeing God in various ways, I would have figured out a way to explain away the reality that God was present in these unique experiences. However, my desire is to be honest.

So, to be honest, God is bigger than our religious categories. God transcends our ways of defining ourselves and the ways we categorize the world. God was present in Myanmar, challenging me to broaden the narrow perspective that I was born into, and raised in. God was at our panel discussion, urging us to see how God is involved in reconciliation and mutuality across barriers. God is present in all of our lives, and often times our strict religious categories dictate the ways we can and cannot interact with the Divine.

Too often we get lulled into the tendency to use religion primarily as markers of identity, rather than as a framework for thinking about the Divine. We categorize the world in these terms, and construct "us" and "them" in the process. Because of this, we limit the ways we can interact with others. We assume that Christians and Muslims can't associate with one another, as if we forget that we are all human. Our religious perspectives are an integral part of who we are, but they are not the totality of who we are. They should not encapsulate our identities. We should not limit the question, "Who are you," to, "I'm a Christian / Muslim / Jewish / etc." It seems to me that we will not be able to truly see beyond the ways we have been taught to see, until we keep religion in its place. Albeit an integral place it does have, it is not the ultimate place. I am more than my religion. And this affirmation allows me to see beyond the boundaries of my Christian faith; an aspect of my identity that I value a great deal. But I am still more than my Christian faith. You are too. We all are. We are complex, multivalent, multi-positioned... We are people; human beings. We are not what we've been taught to be, exclusively. We are so much more.

These are just a few of the questions that I am considering. By no means do I have answers. I have questions. But I have found that being liberated enough to ask these kinds of questions is a good place (for me) to start. I'm not afraid of the answers I may get. My hope is that these questions will lead me to make a significant difference in this world. We'll see. I only hope you will join me on the journey. Peace.

The Presence of "Absence"

Recently I came across a term used by one of my professors that made an impression on me. In one of her chapters dealing with the study of "World" Christianity, Dr. Namsoon Kang used the term "absence." Actually, this term conveys a similar idea that has come up in several conversations and readings this semester. "Absence" deals specifically with the tendency for dominant groups with privilege to resist naming themselves, all the while naming others. This discussion came in the context of talking about how "World" Christianity has become a field of study in the Global West (and North). Part of Dr. Kang's critique of this field of study was that scholars who use the term "World" Christianity, are really talking about Christianity in Africa, Asia and Latin America. Part of the problem, she suggests, is that the current conversation about Global Christianity is that U.S. Christians do not name ourselves when talking about this topic. For example, we often talk about "them," and how we should understand "their" Christianity, as if "theirs" is under examination and "ours" is beyond scrutiny. So we say Latin American Christianity, African Christianity and Asian Christianity, but there is no mention of North American Christianity. When talking about Christianity, we simply say Christianity, because the assumption is that our Christianity is the norm. Because of this "absence" when talking about Christianity in the U.S., we unconsciously create binaries; an "us" and "them" way of talking.

This "absence" can be applied to areas other than the study of the Christian faith. If we think about the way we talk about race the same thing happens. Those in the privileged and dominant racial group often talk about "Blacks," "Hispanics," etc., while resisting to name themselves as being a part of the "White" race. The assumption is that "White" is the norm, and everyone else is the "Other." In fact, these "common sense" assumptions are made frequently, and not just by Christians and White people. While these two groups obviously have privilege in this country, there is a certain privilege that is also granted to men, heterosexuals, those in middle to upper socioeconomic class, able bodied people, the list goes on. We often assume that our unique experience is either the norm, or the preferred way of living. These assumptions often come out in our conversations, and unconsciously reinforce these binaries and unhealthy ways of representing others.

I bring this out because our conversation is key to resisting the trends that keep people oppressed. It's one thing to actively resist oppression through activities like protest, changing legislation, etc, but our conversation is central to resisting stereotypes and oppression on a more subtle level. North American Christianity is just another version of Christianity, just like Christianity in Asia, Africa and Latin America. We don't have a monopoly on Christianity in the United States (and frankly, Christians don't have a monopoly on God!). White people are members of a race just like African Americans, Hispanics, Asian, Native American, etc. White people do not have a monopoly on humanity, we are all valuable as human beings. We come from different walks of life, and varying perspectives. All are valuable, and should be treated as such... Even in our conversations.

Fleeing the Margins...?

A few days ago my hometown, San Antonio, passed an ordinance protecting LGBTQ and Veteran communities from discrimination in the workplace. This ordinance comes on the heels of much national debate regarding same sex marital rights. As could be expected, there has been much response from various communities surrounding this debate. The (conservative) religious and political communities especially have provided commentary on their disdain for these advancements. Yet, amid all of this discussion there has been a silence in many black communities. In fact, this silence has been persistent for some time now; perhaps many years. I'm not suggesting that there are no black communities talking about it, but I have yet to encounter a conversation that is both constructive and reciprocal, especially in the black religious community. What little commentary I have come across has been one sided at best, destructive at worst. This, coupled with several of the readings I have encountered lately, makes me wonder if black people's silence on this issue is more a matter of identity than anything else.

To provide some context, we have been marginalized in this country since its foundation. From being seen as only 3/5 human beings, to slavery, to segregation and so on... black people in American have had it rough to say the least. And while things have seemingly improved in certain areas, racism is still so engrained in the ethos of America that blatant manifestations show up in a myriad of ways (injustice system, penal system, unemployment, etc). One of the most prevalent ways that this negative mindset toward blacks in this country is reinforced is through media, and the many negative images that are etched into our North American consciousness. If that's not bad enough, having a Black president paints the false reality of equality, causing the privileged to view the cries of the oppressed as unfounded complaining. Don't get me wrong, I celebrate having Obama as president. But this is not an indication that racism is over, by any stretch of the imagination.

Understanding this context is important because blacks have had an identity crisis since coming to the U.S. We have tried to fit in, and it has become clear in many ways that assimilating to white privileged culture is sometimes our best option for upward mobility (sadly enough). Yet, no matter how much we ignore our historical and cultural roots, we can never truly become anything other than black. As long as the pigment of our skin is what it is, we will always be seen differently; as Other. Resisting the negative images perpetuated in the media, and the stereotypes with which we are labeled, it is extremely difficult to feel appreciated as an integral part of this country (which we are!). We often live marginalized lives, and many of us have adopted a deep desire to be 'normal' / mainstream. 

It is at this point that the theory of intersectionality may be informative. Instersectionality deals with power relations, (White) privilege, and the marginalization of minority groups (LGBTQ, women, economically disadvantaged, etc). Perhaps most poignant, though, is that this theory exposes the plight and reality of multiple oppression; those living at the intersections of oppressed, minority groups (I.e. black women, poor black men, etc). That is, if it's not bad enough just to be black, to be black and a woman and gay, causes one's existence to be all the more marginal. Perhaps black people have had this sense for years though. Perhaps blacks have known that living openly gay or lesbian lives will only complicate our (black) existence that much more. I am not suggesting that I have this connection figured out, but it is a question that I'm raising this semester. Is our silence on the issue of LGBTQ relations evidence of our own desire to flee the margins of society? Does it have to do with our own struggles with identity in America? Could it also have something to do with wanting to avoid the already negative sexual stereotypes that are placed on us (black men are predators and overly aggressive sexually; black women are loose, overly sexual, etc)? Could it perhaps be, because of the stigma on this topic with black communities (religious especially), that we don't talk about it for fear of being ostracized with our own black community? Or, could it be a mixture of all these dynamics? 

Whether we will admit it or not this is an issue in the black community, but it is something that we need to begin to talk openly and constructively about. No matter where you are personally regarding this area, open conversation is something that we will al benefit from. 

Symbolic Characterization: Apologizing to Caliban

This week I read A Different Mirror: A History of Multicultural America, by the late Dr. Ronald Takaki. This text retells American history from a minority perspective, and exposes the holes in the history that most of us probably learned in grade school. The interesting thing about how Takaki makes his claim is that he uses Shakespeare's "The Tempest," and specifically the character of Caliban to do so. Caliban was vilified in the play and was subjected to being Prospero's servant. Takaki draws the connection between the original performance of Shakespeare's play in London, and the years of colonization in what we now know as the United States of America. At the time of the play, settlers had already come in contact with Native Americans but had not yet engaged in warfare with them. They had opportunity to observe them but obviously did not know much about them. Takaki also notes that at this time, many of those in the audience may have come in contact with Africans as well, because of documentation suggesting that "five "Negroes"" had been transported to England "until they could speak the language" (p. 49).

This is of interest because Caliban was described as a kind of "savage," one living outside of "civilization." He is said to be, "dark in complexion. His father was a demon and his mother was Syncorax, a witch who had lived in Africa" (p. 49). There was a clear image placed into the consciousness of the audience, even at this initial showing of this Shakespearean play. It seems that the association with darker skin, savagery, living outside of civilization, were all indicators of a kind of vilified characterization. This is significant because, for many (if not most) Europeans, these were the first significant connections made between them and Blacks, Native Americans, and even lower class Irish (who were also described as living outside of civilization). It is also important to note this because these images had a direct connection to the ways that English colonizers viewed the Native Americans, which ultimately justified their mistreatment of them and eventually African slaves.

I point this out because these kinds of images directly affect the way we characterize, and treat others. What would have happened if the English colonizers would have learned more about Native Americans? Africans? Would they have discovered that just because their language and customs were different, they weren't savages? How different would they have treated them if they understood their difference as just that, and not something to be threatened by. Would they have collaborated with them at the initial settlement, like some scholars have suggested the Natives sought to do? Some would look back and say that the U.S. would not be what it is today if it were not for the English settlers. And that's a bad thing? Our America is indeed a country with some great qualities. But let's not forget that our America has a long history of injustice, bigotry and dehumanization of minorities of all kinds. And simply put, many of these atrocities are a direct result of the language we choose to use to describe those we consider to be "other."

In thinking about all of this, I must apologize to the Calibans of our world today. On behalf of this country, I apologize to the LGBTQ communities for the ways you have been treated by those who have not taken the time to get to know you as human beings, and instead have seen you through the oppressive lenses of heterosexism. I apologize to the Native Americans who have been stereotyped and passed over on such opportunities that many other people are granted. I apologize to my own people, Blacks, for the history of racial violence and injustice that we have endured (and still do), and the fact that we are profiled as criminals on a daily basis. I apologize to women, because your worth has not been realized by our patriarchal leaders. Not to mention we have used objectifying language to describe your beauty. I apologize to the Latino/a population because we have made you jump through all kinds of hoops just to become part of this country, a country that purports an "American Dream" that will continue to be a nightmare for many of us. The list goes on...

I hope that we as a human race can begin to take steps to resisting the negative images that the privileged in our country want to perpetuate. I hope we can make ourselves aware of the appropriate ways of talking to and about those who are different from us. This is our responsibility, and in an age when technology is where it is, there is no excuse! So from now on, when you watch the news and see a black man guilty of a crime, please remember that Blacks aren't the only ones committing the crimes that are publicized in the media. When you hear of women fighting for equal pay, remember that women have been integral in the building of our country and are only asking for what should have been given to them since day one. When you read about American history, understand that the victor gets to tell the story, while the victims voice is rendered silent. We live in a country with a complicated and nuanced history, with oppression that is even more multilayered and systemic. But we also live in a country that is represented by a beautiful collage of diversity, with people who all have something significant to offer. To the Calibans of today, we need you to continue to let your voices be heard so this country can continue to be broken, and to heal.