Rebellions are built on hope

Rogue One

Earlier this week I went to see Rogue One, the new Star Wars movie, with two of Lois’ grandchildren. It is a great movie and fills in one of the crucial gaps in the whole Star Wars nonet (although perhaps it should now be a decet?)

How did the Rebel Alliance get hold of the plans for the death star in the first place?

The audacity of hope

The overriding theme of the movie is one of hope: Rebellions are built on hope. It is hope that keeps the rebels fighting for what they know to be right. In spite of the seeming futility of their task; In spite of the overwhelming odds of failure that the droid K2-SO keeps reminding them of – they keep striving to overcome.

Hope is audacious.

And yet, the characters in the movie cling to that hope, ultimately sacrificing themselves for it.

A crucial turn in the narrative occurs when the Council of the Rebel Alliance votes on the course of action they must take. The options before them seem bleak: they can rally arms against their invincible foe, using violence to combat violence; or they can submit to the Empire’s dominion, each person looking out for themselves and hoping to stay under the radar enough for some sort of oppressed existence.

A third way

Or they can trust the audacious testimony of one young woman, Jyn Erso, who claims to have been given a message of hope. That third way will inevitably lead to sacrifice with no guarantee of success.

In the end, the Council rejects Jyn’s third way and each chooses to go their own way: to fight or to submit.

Except for a small group of rebels who have the audacity to hope.

Hope in a post-2016 world

I wonder whether – in our post-2016 world – we, too, have similar choices ahead of us. The violence and greed that has seemed to dominate our global culture threatens to overwhelm us all. Democracy seems to have failed and our politicians have let us down. Fundamentalist beliefs continue to rise, exacerbating the terror, injustice and oppression.

In the face of all that we can respond with yet more violence and greed: individuals protecting their own; nations responding with an escalation of violence, a renewed arms race that promises yet more destruction. Or we can accept the status quo, believe the myth that there is nothing we can do, and live within the prevailing culture, each one of us making sure that we are ok, and never minding everyone else.

A non-violent rebellion built on hope

But as we go into 2017, perhaps there is a third way: the way of rebellion built on hope.

And maybe that is what the Christmas story brings: the unbelievable testimony of a young woman who had a vision; of insignificant shepherds who heard an angel’s message of peace and goodwill; of a vulnerable baby who became a vulnerable man, proclaiming a message of non-violent resistance – neither submitting to the oppressive culture of his day, nor responding to it with yet more violence, but bringing instead a gift of hope.

This third way is a way of sacrifice, of going against the status quo, but I believe it is the only way of hope.

It is the way of people like Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, the Dalai Lama, Aung San Suu Kyi, Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

It is a non-violent rebellion built on hope.

December 8, 2016December 8, 2016

The Beatitudes: The promise and the praxis of hope

Re-reading the Beatitudes

Last week I read again the Beatitudes – Jesus’ famous pronouncements of blessings in his Sermon on the Mount. I’m not sure why I had failed to see it before, but this time it was staring me in the face: The Beatitudes fall into two very disparate groups.

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:

‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

‘Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

‘Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

‘Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

‘Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

(Matthew 5: 1-10)

The smaller group (Beatitudes 1, 2 and 8) offers a promise of hope to those who are victims – of suffering, violence and greed. The other five present, instead, a challenge to all of us to take on attitudes that counter our dominant cultures of violence and greed and to become part of the solution rather than the problem.

Seeing the Beatitudes in this light seems to me to address one of the fundamental problems thrown up by these sayings – that they just don’t seem to be true. The reality is that those who are poor in spirit, those who mourn, and those who are persecuted just aren’t blessed in any of the usual senses of the word. And even those who are meek, merciful, pure in heart, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness (justice), and the peacemakers far too often seem to be trampled on or taken advantage of rather than blessed.

But if we see the Beatitudes as holding out a very real promise of hope for victims, and a very pragmatic challenge for the rest of us, they start to carry a very different meaning.

The promise of hope

In speaking to those who are poor in spirit, those who mourn, and those who are persecuted, Jesus seems to be speaking directly to those who are the victims of suffering, violence and greed:

Blessed are the poor in spirit: those who are broken, crushed, weighed down; the victims of abuse, those who have had their spirits trampled on, who have been fed the lie that they are worthless, unloved and unlovable; those suffering with mental illness, depression or fatigue; those who are lonely, hurt by broken relationships; the disabled, the homeless, those with addictions; those rejected by society as somehow unworthy.
Blessed are those who mourn: the grieving, those who have lost loved ones; those who mourn the loss of their own innocence; those suffering from physical illness; those who have lost their homes or possessions; those made redundant or who have lost a sense of their own purpose or significance in life.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness (justice) sake: the innocent victims of violence and war; the displaced, refugees; those who are unjustly exploited or oppressed; the victims of racism or other prejudices.

And, in Luke’s version of the Beatitudes, Jesus seems to go even more directly to the point, pronouncing blessings on those who are the victims of inequity, exploitation and injustice:

Blessed are you who are poor
Blessed are you who are hungry now
Blessed are you who weep now (Luke 6: 20.21)

And to all of these, Jesus seems to proclaim the promise of a future hope: that their present lot is not the last word: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven; they will be comforted; they will be filled; they will laugh. Jesus offers the hope of something far better to come – of a time when there truly will be ‘no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’ (Revelation 21: 4)

The Praxis of hope

Which brings us then to the second group of blessings – those which challenge us to a new way of living, the praxis of hope – in which we adopt attitudes of non-violence, sacrifice and humility, attitudes which counter the suffering, violence and greed of our world.

And so Jesus challenges us to be meek – to stand up, non-violently for truth; to hunger and thirst for justice and righteousness, to speak out on behalf of the oppressed, to challenge the injustices of our society; to be merciful not judgemental; to be pure in heart, not hypocritical or duplicitous; and to be peacemakers.

By creating and maintaining our cultures of individualism, consumerism, fear and blame, we all (me included) carry responsibility for those who are harmed by or cannot cope with the inequalities and pressures they create.

None of that is easy – I know that I am so bound up in our culture that I too contribute to the ongoing injustices of our world and exploitation of the earth’s resources, that I enjoy the blessings and privileges of education, wealth and power, while others go hungry, are displaced and exploited. But the alternatives seem to be either that I continue to buy in to our individualistic, consumerist mentality, and remain a part of the problem, or I strive, continually to live Jesus’ way of non-violence (Satyagraha) and become a blessing to others – part of the solution, the praxis of hope.

It may be a hard path to take, but it is the only way that we can see the kingdom of heaven, that we can be filled, to see God in other people and in our world, to receive mercy and for all of us to become children of God.

September 7, 2016

The violence of the motorcar

Last night I ran over a cat.

There was nothing I could do as it dashed into the road and under the wheels of my car.

I pulled over, shaken and upset, and was relieved to find that the poor thing was at least alive and limping off the road to hide in a doorway. We managed to locate the neighbour and I just hope that the vet has been able to set her to rights, fix any broken bones and relieve some of the pain and shock.

I may not be a great cat-lover, but I really wouldn’t wish such suffering on any innocent creature. So it was somewhat pertinent that my meditations this morning brought me to Psalm 73:

‘All in vain I have kept my heart clean

and washed my hands in innocence.’

Over recent years I have found myself increasingly trying to walk a road of non-violence – to embrace Gandhi’s principles of Satyagraha; to embed the values of Jesus’ Beatitudes; striving to be meek, to be merciful, to be pure in heart; longing for justice; seeking to be a peacemaker.

And then I run over a cat.

So is it all in vain? My blogging on justice issues, voting to remain in the EU, urging my MP to speak out against the Trident programme, joining the Green party?

It seems to me that, no matter how hard we try, the reality is that we live in a culture of violence and greed. And I, too, have bought into that. I try to live simply, but the reality is that my lifestyle is extravagant, even by the standards of many in my own country. I speak out against injustice, and yet the luxuries I enjoy are bought on the back of oppression.

Even the car, on which I am so dependent, is itself a tool of violence: guzzling up fossil fuels with every mile I travel; pouring forth its CO₂ and other pollutants into our atmosphere; disrupting the peace of my evening with its penetrating background noise; luring me into an ever-more frantic pace of life; and harming innocent felines as it goes.

January 23, 2016January 23, 2016

The anarchism of the Gospel

The BBC's adaptation of Tolstoy's War and Peace — BBC’s adaptation of Tolstoy’s War and Peace

Giles Fraser’s latest Guardian column on War and Peace is one of his finest yet.

It is a while since I read Tolstoy’s great epic, and I found myself uninspired by the first episode of the BBC’s adaptation of it, but I remember at the time thinking that there was great truth and wisdom in its pages. Giles Fraser captures this magnificently, pointing out how Tolstoy’s practical, non-violent theology was a threat to both the church and the state.

“War and Peace is an extended argument for that most foolish of moral wisdom: pacifism”

With some of my recent blogs and Facebook posts, trying to explore issues of social justice, non-violence and radical hospitality, and through friends around the world who are standing up for similar principles, I have become acutely aware that such a path is often seen as both foolish and threatening.

“Tolstoy reminds us that to be a Christian is to be a fool and a social outcast, that anyone who wishes to follow Christ has to be prepared to die as an enemy of the state, nailed to the cross. It’s a little bit more than a few verses of Shine, Jesus, Shine on a Sunday morning.”

I would really encourage you all to read Giles Fraser’s piece:

Tolstoy’s Christian anarchism was a war on both church and state

November 11, 2015November 11, 2015

Satyagraha – A forgotten stream of true spirituality

Last week Lois and I watched the film Suffragette: an extremely powerful portrayal of one woman’s part in the non-violent struggle for women’s rights; and, interestingly, a pertinent exploration of the parallel processes of alienation and grooming that accompany any form of radicalisation. The main (fictional) character, Maud Watts (Carey Mulligan), gradually finds the courage to speak out and act against the violence, abuse and oppression that she and so many of her contemporaries were suffering in early 20^th century Britain.

Alongside the grim reality of gross injustice, and the moving, personal story of one family, what struck me most in all of this was the powerful testimony to the courage required of a non-violent struggle against oppression. While the suffragettes may have gone beyond non-violent resistence in some of their methods, the testimony of many of them stands strong. This is a testimony mirrored in the lives of people like Mahatma Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King, Oscar Romero, Aung San Suu Kyi, Malala Yousafzai, or the unknown man who, on June 5^th, 1989, stood in front of a column of tanks in Tian an Men square.

Continue reading “Satyagraha – A forgotten stream of true spirituality”