Reconciliation Book Reflections #3: Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness, and Reconciliation, by Miroslav Volf

I feel significantly impacted in a number of ways by Volf's powerful material. Like many (all?) of us, I inhabit a number of narratives -- two of these narratives that often clash with one another are the story of late modernity and the Christian story. From the beginning of Exclusion and Embrace, Volf helps me gain a piece of clarity between these two stories when he addresses the two dangerous myths I’ve inherited from modernity: “the world can be healed,” and our hope lies in "social control and rational thought.” It is a sobering starting place as we come to realize that both time and the cross reveal the inadequacies of these myths. The importance of this for me is an increasing willingness to let go of humanistic Utopian hopes and to place greater stock/faith in the self-giving love displayed at the cross and in the resurrection of the Crucified.

In regard to Christian mission, I think this has the potential to sharpen our identity and purpose. First of all, as Christians, our identity is not drawn primarily from what we do or how “successful” we are. Rather, our identity is fundamentally rooted in being children of the Triune God who gives of himself to us and who will bring all things to completion in his world of perfect love. In other words, this world is in the hands of a profoundly loving and sovereign God. And therefore it may not be our purpose then to “reach the world for Christ in this generation,” as this is a profoundly modern idea. Rather, we can set the even more challenging goal of practicing self-donation as a community of God’s people called to walk worthy of our calling.

One particular insight in Volf’s chapter on “Exclusion” continues to resurface in my mind during quiet moments and it is this: “Most of us are unwilling to make space for the other because we are so intent on shaping them into who we want them to be. This is violence and exclusion.” I struggle with this thought on a least two levels. First, this characterizes so much of the tension that I experience in my relationships precisely because I become hyper-aware of what I perceive to be character flaws or weaknesses in the other person. Especially when I think of people who are close to me (i.e. immediate family members) I become despondent when I see the futility of my efforts to shape them into who I think they should be. My desperation to shape them indeed leaves little to no space for the other. And yet though I realize this proclivity toward violence and exclusion within myself, I struggle for a new approach and attitude toward these people that I am so intent on changing. How should I strike a balance between “being real” with people and not letting them “walk all over me”?

In struggling with these thoughts, Volf’s suggestion of “double vision” becomes an increasingly attractive, though still very challenging, option. Instead of making change in the other a precondition to embrace, I must begin with a desire to embrace the other. “Double vision” allows me to stand here and there where I reverse perspectives and allow the voices, ideas, and experiences of others to find room for empathy, contemplation and consideration. I will see them and myself from their perspective. I learn about the other and learn what I may have neglected within my own relatively narrow confines of life experience. It is this profound theology of the cross in which Jesus embraced his godless oppressors where I find hope and power to be open to receive others and to see things from their perspective. My willingness to embrace the other will actually lead to a deeper sense of identity since our identities are co-constitutive of each other.

What implications does this have for Christian mission? When in Christ God intends to reconcile all things, not only is he talking about the big picture, but about the small and the local as well. Christians so often get starry-eyed thinking about how they can do great things for God and yet neglect the places of brokenness in their own families. And maybe we neglect to position ourselves for reconciliation in our own families because we know just how truly difficult it will be -- we have intimate, first-hand knowledge that that kind of reconciliation can’t be done. We have become unwilling to make space in ourselves for the other family member because they’ve refused to be shaped into the person we want them to be. However, if we, precisely as Christians, allow the vision of Jesus’ embrace of sinners on the cross to shape us, then learning to practice double-vision within our own families without intention to mold others in our image can become a channel for healing and reconciliation.

Reconciliation Book Reflections #1: Reconciling All Things: A Christian Vision For Justice, Peace and Healing, by Katongole & Rice

Even in the secular world, where most do not live into God’s grand narrative, the desire for reconciliatory studies, programs, and commissions is greatly increasing. Though modernity has promised new levels of peace as our understanding increases this has patently not materialized. Instead we see ever deepening divisions across racial, economic, cultural, religious, and familial lines in such alarming ways that people are crying out for some sort of reconciliatory procedures. But, as the authors point out, without a coherent narrative framework our definitions of reconciliation will lack clarity. And thus we find some of the most prominent notions of reconciliation today to be: 1) reconciliation as individual salvation, 2) reconciliation as celebrating diversity, 3) reconciliation as addressing injustice, and 4) reconciliation as firefighting. The first of these focuses completely on the reconciling relationship between God and humanity without concern for social realities. The second, celebrating diversity, fails to offer a higher vision than of simply celebrating one’s own uniqueness. Reconciliation as addressing injustice is limited when it does not cast a new vision of former enemies restored and living together. And reconciliation as firefighting, often done by “experts,” cannot offer a long-term alternative vision for victim and victimizer embraced.

In contrast to these distorted understandings of reconciliation the authors propose that the concept should be understood as something that emerges out of and is sustained by the story of “the living God of Israel who raised the crucified Jesus from the dead” (42). This story reveals a God who gifts reconciliation to humanity as well as enacts transformation in the world and lives of people. Reconciliation is God’s mission in the world and he calls his church to join him in this costly journey of intimate relationship, worshipful community, belonging to places of pain, forgiveness, and living in the gaps where bridges between former enemies can be built.

The journey toward God’s new creation requires a community that is steeped in the story of Scripture and the life of God. While the church itself is flawed and does not perfectly represent the new reality of all things reconciled, in its life, ministry, and practices it is nonetheless called to be a demonstration plot that points beyond the conflict to an alternative way of living in communion together. If the church is to properly play her role in “reconciling all things,” she must join in conversation with others and be a voice that points to God’s realities beyond the visible (interrupting church). Moreover, the church must have a constant openness to be interrupted by the stranger and the needy. This all points to the fact that the church belongs very much in the material realities of everyday life, revealing that reconciliation is inexplicably tied to incarnational living.

Christian leaders, though they may not even call themselves leaders, also play a significant role in the ministry of reconciliation because they have radically dedicated their lives to the lordship of Jesus Christ. These are men and women who are inspired by a vision of God’s future, see and are disturbed by the gaps of injustice and pain that exist, and then go out of their way to respond to these gaps. One cannot point to the marks of “normal” leadership for these people: efficiency and control. Rather, it is their determination to be faithful, remain in the gaps, respond to the Holy Spirit, suffer with others, and be continually transformed by God in the process that makes them so indispensable for God’s work of “reconciling all things.”

After reading Miroslav Volf’s two works, Exclusion and Embrace and The End of Memory, I found this book to be much more accessible to the “everyday” reader. Although this is a much less “academic” piece of writing I was still a bit surprised that they did not engage any of Volf’s material -- especially his exegetical work regarding the Passion. However, I feel like Katongole and Rice still offer excellent introductory insights on what a Christian vision for reconciliation should and can look like in our world today, a vision that is cogent and accessible enough for passionate followers of Jesus. My guess is that the authors are targeting ministers who are awake to the growing interest in the subject of reconciliation so that these ministers can get this book into the hands of their people.

In their argument the authors do well to show that many prevalent notions of reconciliation are watered down and lack the vision and power that God’s new creation of a community enveloped in shalom inherently evokes. Yes, reconciliation needs a narrative framework, and the authors provide theological grounding for their arguments throughout, using such stories as Creation, Ramah, and the Passion. Still, I would have liked to have seen at least a small bit of work explaining why reconciliation is so central to the biblical narrative. Overall, their argument is strong, though now having read The End of Memory, I feel like the section on “no reconciliation without memory” needs to be nuanced with the insight that there can be no reconciliation without remembering rightly, as Volf would say.

I found the section on the discipline of lament to be especially instructive and powerful. Before we can point out all of the great things about God and a future hope, we must “learn the anguished cry of lament” (77). In order to learn the practice of lament the authors say we need to unlearn three things: speed, distance, and innocence. In unlearning speed we begin to see the places of brokenness, attend to our own local places of pain, and pursue peace and reconciliation without the boastful talk of great deeds. In unlearning distance from suffering we allow ourselves to be “interrupted” by the suffering of others in our daily lives. And when we unlearn innocence it teaches us that the church is also a part of the problem and that we too must be transformed. The practices of pilgrimage, relocation, and confession can help us to engage the discipline of lament. These concrete examples help take reconciliation out of the realm of the esoteric and into simple yet challenging practices that everyone can grasp.

I also appreciate the way that the authors remind us that reconciliation is central to God’s mission, and that God’s mission has a church -- a group of people dedicated to embodying his story of new creation. We need to remember that reconciliation is not just something that individual believers decide to take on. The community of believers is a “demonstration plot” that the world can observe and see that an alternative way of living is possible. If the authors do indeed desire for this book to get into the hands of more and more laypeople, I will be right there along side of them, encouraging others to read this important book.

Image by Pink Sherbet Photography via Flickr

Reconciliation as Mission

I'm taking a one week summer intensive course called "Reconciliation as Mission" with six other graduate school friends and a great professor who graciously made the trip down from Michigan. We've only just finished day one and I know this class is going to make a life-altering impact on me. One of the books that we have the opportunity to read for the course is titled, "Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness, and Reconciliation," by Miroslav Volf. Tonight, before I head off to bed, I want to share a passage from this book that I found to be particularly poignant:

"Forgiveness is necessary, but will it suffice? Forgiveness is the boundary between exclusion and embrace. It heals the wounds that the power-acts of exclusion have inflicted and breaks down the dividing wall of hostility. Yet it leaves a distance between people, an empty space of neutrality, that allows them either to go their separate ways in what is sometimes called "peace" or fall into each other's arms and restore broken communion. "Going one's own way" is the boldest dream many a person caught in the vortex of violence can muster the strength to dream. "Too much injustice was done for us to be friends; too much blood was shed for us to live together," are the words that echo all too often in regions wrecked with conflict. A clear line will separate "them" from "us." They will remain "they" and we will remain "we," and we will never include "them" when we speak of "us." Such "clean" identities, living at safe distances from one another, may be all that is possible or even desirable in some cases at certain junctures of people's mutual history. But a parting of the ways is clearly not yet peace. Much more than just the absence of hostility sustained by the absence of contact, peace is communion before former enemies. Beyond offering forgiveness, Christ's passion aims at restoring such communion -- even with the enemies who persistently refuse to be reconciled.

"At the heart of the cross is Christ's stance of not letting the other remain an enemy and of creating space in himself for the offender to come in. Read as the culmination of the larger narrative of God's dealing with humanity, the cross says that despite its manifest enmity toward God humanity belongs to God; God will not be God without humanity. "While we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his son" writes the Apostle Paul (Romans 5:10). The cross is the giving up of God's self in order not to give up on humanity; it is the consequence of God's desire to break the power of human enmity without violence and receive human beings into divine communion. The goal of the cross is the dwelling of human beings "in the Spirit," "in Christ" and "in God." Forgiveness is therefore not the culmination of Christ's relation to the offending other; it is a passage leading to embrace. The arms of the crucified are open -- a sign of space in God's self and an invitation for the enemy to come in." (125-6)

Volf, Miroslav. Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness, and Reconciliation. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996.

Some Background on Japanese Missions (Part III)

Xavier stayed some twenty-seven months in Japan. He left behind him three little groups of converts; how much they understood of the Gospel is questionable - they probably imagined themselves to have accepted a new and superior kind of Buddhism. The great thing, however, was that a beginning had been made and the way had been shown. A French scholar, Claude Maitre, has summed up in the following terms what Xavier had achieved:

With remarkable penetration he had grasped the social and political situation in Japan, and had settled on the methods which could ensure success. He had realized that it was both impossible and useless to gain access to the emperor or to the Shogun (Mayor of the Palace); and that on the other hand conversions among the lower classes would never be able to produce a great movement towards the Faith. The only way to secure permanent results was to win over the local rulers with their almost complete independence - this is what the daimyos were at that time - nothing, therefore, must be neglected with might help to win their favour, their confidence, and if possible, their conversion. He had understood that, if this proud, intelligent, logical people, with its passion for disputation, was ever to be won, it would be necessary to send missionaries of the highest quality, flexible enough to adapt themselves to the customs of the country to the limit of what was permitted by their faith, but strong enough in character to fashion their conduct according to the most rigid requirements of the faith which they taught.

Until 1593 the evangelization of Japan was entirely in the hands of the Jesuits. The number of missionaries increased rapidly, and their work was crowned with notable success. The first converts had been from among the poorer classes. In 1563 began the conversion of the daimyos; the first to receive baptism was Omura Sumitada, who remained faithful and active to the end of this life. His example was rapidly followed by others, and in many cases the conversion of the daimyo was followed by that of the majority of his subjects. This did not always take place immediately; in 1571 Sumitada had only 5,600 Christian subjects, but then the mass movement set in , and by 1575 the whole population of the region - amounting in all to more than 50,000 - had become Christian. Of the depth and sincerity of these conversions it is hard to judge. As in the case of other mass movements there were no doubt many weaknesses and shadows, but unquestionably there was in Japan an elite of convinced and devoted Christians.

Daimyo: feudal lords of the provinces, and generals of the Samurai class

In 1579 Japan was visited by Alessandro Valignono (1539-1606), and Italian Jesuit who had been appointed Visitor of all the eastern regions. He left his impress on the Japan mission in three remarkable ways.

He held very strongly the view that in all possible ways, especially in external matters, missionaries ad Christians must adapt themselves to local customs and prejudice. The then Superior of the Mission, Francis Cabral, did not see eye to eye with the Visitor on every point; the crucial issue - one that may seem utterly trivial to the Western reader, unfamiliar with the importance that may attach to such details in an Eastern country - related to the dress of the missionary: should this be of cotton or of silk? Cabral held that cotton was more in accordance with evangelical poverty; Valignano decided in favour of silk, and there can be little doubt that in the circumstances of the time he was right, since a missionary dressed in cotton was inevitably associated in local opinion with the poorer classes and denied access to the wealthy and the influential.

Secondly, Valignano decided that the time had come when selected Japanese should see for themselves the glories of the Christian world of which they had heard from the missionaries. Four young men of noble family in Kyushu were selected to make the hazardous journey to Europe, and set out in 1582 under the care of Valignano and of a Jesuit Father who travelled with them as their tutor. It was not until the year 1590 that they returned to Japan. In the course of their travels they were received by King Philip of Span and by Pope Gregory XIII; such an unusual group of travellers attracted great attention throughout the Christian world.

In the third place Valignano held the view that the time had come for Japanese to be admitted to the priesthood. IN this, needless to say, he was opposed by the redoubtable Cabral. The Japanese, affirmed Cabral, are naturally proud; if they are put on the same level as the Europeans through admission to the priesthood, they will be swept away with intolerable arrogance. But Valignano had his way. A seminary was opened; the statistics for the year 1593 show that in that year fifty-six European priests and eleven lay brothers were active in the mission, and that the seminary had eighty-seven students together with five novices. Most of those who had attached themselves to the Jesuit Order served as dojuku, catechists of a higher order; only those were admitted to this rank who had taken the vow of celibacy and had pledged themselves to serve the mission till the end of their lives. In 1601 there were no less than 250 dojuku, but none had yet been ordained to the priesthood, for the simple reason that there was no bishop in Japan. A Jesuit had been appointed Bishop of Funai in 1587, but had died on the way. His successor, Pedro Martinez, arrived in Nagasaki on 14 August 1596, but found the mission in such confusion, through rivalries between between the Portuguese and the Spaniards who had recently come in from Manila, that he decided to return to Rome and seek guidance, and died on the voyage. Fortunately he had been provided with a suffragan bishop, Luiz de Cerquira, and it was he who on 22 September 1601 carried out the first ordination of Japanese priests. One was a secular; two were Jesuits - Sebastian Chimura, and Aloysius Niabara from Nagasaki; of these the former died as a martyr on 10 September 1622.

Tokugawa Ieyasu

For in the meantime a complete change had taken place in the political situation of Japan, and also in the situation of the Christian Church, which by the end of the century was reckoned to have 300,000 baptized believers. The chaos of the period of the daimyos was about to pass away. By about 1590 the first of the new centralizing rulers, Hideyoshi, had managed to subject the whole of Japan to his control, and was thus the first ruler for 500 years to bring the country once again to unity. He was followed after the brief reign of his son Hiyadori, by Ieyasu (1542-1616) and Iemitsu (1603-51), under whom persecution of the Christians reached such a level of ferocity that the flourishing work of half a century was demolished and the Christian problem solved by the death or apostasy of almost all the believers." (134-6)

Neill, Stephen. A History of Christian Missions. London: Penguin Books, 1990.