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I finished up Jacquelyn Grant's White Women's Christ and Black Women's Jesus. In this post, I will cover a couple of issues.
That quote that I'll begin with is actually from my reading yesterday, but I felt its impression on me after I wrote my blog post last night, and thought some more about my reading. On page 185, Dr. Grant states:
"In rejecting both the elimination of Jesus and the overspiritualization of Jesus, one must nevertheless take seriously some explicit and implicit questions. If Jesus was more than human---that is, also divine, why did he not miraculously or directly overthrow the evil powers which keep women in oppression? It is true that feminists do have much explaining to do when it comes to the feminism of Jesus. Pains must be taken to explain the context of patriarchy and the departure of Jesus from normal patriarchal actions, therefore noting the significance of his actions. In light of this, one must still ask, Why did Jesus have to play patriarchal games? Why did he not directly attack the status quo rather than merely breaking a few norms here and there? If Jesus is divine incarnation, then why were his divine powers subsumed by human principalities and powers? These questions beg the ultimate question, Was Jesus really divine?"
I'm not going to dwell on the whole question of why Jesus did not use his miraculous abilities to overthrow human oppression. Maybe Jesus preferred a more low-key approach---he supported persuasion rather than compulsion. Plus, there are plenty of Christians who will point out that Jesus will overthrow oppression at his second coming, but that, at his first coming, his agenda was not to cure all of society's ills.
But I think that Dr. Grant raises an important question: Why didn't Jesus do more than he did? Why didn't Jesus speak more against the oppression of women? Why didn't Jesus explicitly condemn slavery, rather than using slave analogies in his parables? Sure, Jesus did egalitarian things, but why didn't he go further?
One thought I had was that maybe Jesus was good, but not perfect. Whenever we set something good onto the high pedestal of perfection---whether it be the Bible, or people, or the church---we will notice that it falls short. Jesus was good. He was well-intentioned. He gave to others. He treated many people with respect and dignity. He even contradicted societal norms to do so---as he reached out to tax-collectors, prostitutes, lepers, women, and others on society's margins. But was he perfect? Can we make the perfect the enemy of the good, when looking at Jesus or the Bible?
Another possibility is that Jesus, in his own way, did challenge societal oppression. Scholars have noted that Jesus established an egalitarian group, as people from different classes and roles were brought together and ate from the same table. Was Jesus' group totally egalitarian? Not really. He didn't choose any female disciples (though, of course, Paul refers to the enigmatic woman apostle, Junia, in Romans 16:7). When the woman wiped Jesus' feet with her tears while he was dining with some men, Jesus didn't invite her to the table to eat with them. But, according to the standards of the day, Jesus was quite inclusive. And his inclusivity challenged the exclusivity and the oppression of his culture. No, Jesus didn't use his miraculous powers then-and-there to overthrow oppression, nor did he encourage people to take up arms. But, by his example, he was showing others an alternative way of doing things. He was shaking up the establishment.
Then, there's another thought: Perhaps the life of Jesus should be a starting-point, not an ending-point. I've heard even conservative Christians express a similar sentiment on the issue of slavery in the Bible: yes, the Bible condoned slavery, but it set into motion a current that eventually led to the abolition of slavery---a current that regarded all people as human beings of value. And, in the centuries after the death of Jesus, slaves served in influential positions in churches. Should we stick with a legalistic reading of the Bible that focuses on technicalities, or should the Bible be a starting point, not an ending point?
Another issue that confronted me as I read Dr. Grant's book was the foundation for theology. Should the Bible be the only source for theology, or should other things have a say as well? Dr. Grant looks at feminist theologians who believe that the experiences of women should have a significant place in theology, and then Dr. Grant argues that feminist theologians mean white women when they talk about the experiences of women, for the experiences of African-American women are quite different. For Dr. Grant, the experiences of African-American women should play a huge role in theology.
What exactly does it mean for human experience to serve as a foundation for theology? What I picked up from Dr. Grant was that some of it involves African-American women looking to the Bible to see what resonates with their experience. Consequently, she proposes that perhaps the Egyptian slave woman Hagar can be a better model for African-American women than Sarah, the slave-owner. Dr. Grant also refers to Sojourner Truth, who preached about Christ, yet actually rejected the Bible passage saying that servants should obey their masters. And so African-American women can look to Scripture for guidance and for inspiration, even as they critique it. Another consideration is that the Bible often places God on the side of the oppressed, and Dr. Grant believes that African-American women exemplify the oppressed---although she also says that we should pay attention to the problem of classism as well, for there is class discrimination in all races and in both genders. And Dr. Grant advocates liberation. Christianity, for her, should not just be something that soothes the oppressed amidst their affliction, but it should also relate to liberation from oppression. Jesus, after all, did not stay on the cross forever.
On pages 217-218, Dr. Grant quotes William Eichelberger, who applies Isaiah 53 to African-Americans women:
"God, in revealing himself and His attributes from time to time in His creaturely existence, has exercised His freedom to formalize His appearance in a variety of ways...God wanted to identify with that segment of mankind which had suffered most, and is still suffering...I am constrained to believe that God in our times has updated His form of revelation to western society. It is my feeling that God is now manifesting Himself, and has been for over 450 years, in the form of the Black American Woman as mother, as wife, as nourisher, sustainer and preserver of life, the Suffering Servant who is despised and rejected by men, a personality of sorrow who is acquainted with grief. The Black Woman has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. She has been wounded because of American white society's transgressions and bruised by white iniquities. It appears that she may be the instrumentality through whom God will make us whole."
The fundamentalist side in me asks on what basis one can trust that this is the case. After all, if feminist and womanist theologians reject one part of the Bible (not that all of them do so), how can they be sure that the other part is true? Would they appeal to their experience as an authority for their hope of liberation? But does experience always inspire hope? If one goes through a miserable life, day-in and day-out, why should she believe that her life will get better?
I do not know how feminist and womanist theologians would answer my question. Some have tried to develop a criteria for picking-and-choosing from the Bible, but I have a hard time finding their approach convincing, as I discussed in my post on Virginia Ramey Mollenkott. But here's a thought: conservative Christians and feminist and womanist theologians agree that the Bible speaks against oppression, and about God's desire to liberate the oppressed (although some conservatives may not define patriarchy as oppression). If those parts of Scripture are true, isn't that a reason to hope? And isn't hope a good thing, anyway? Part of believing in God, in my opinion, is holding that God cares about us and our problems. People have claimed to experience that as a reality, and the Bible contains the witness that past generations have claimed to experience it as well. Isn't that at least some basis for feminist and womanist theologians to have hope, even if they don't embrace all of the Bible as authoritative?
I want to change the subject a little bit. The subject will still be experience as a basis for theology, but I'll apply that to myself. A while back, I attended an Asperger's support group, and I told the group that I studied religion. The facilitator asked me if I had ever researched the theological implications of autism. I hadn't, but the question that went through my mind was how such a task would even be done. Would one use a John MacArthur approach of trying to find what "the Bible" teaches about autism? Sure, the Bible doesn't mention it explicitly, but perhaps we can draw analogies from what it does teach. And now, after reading Dr. Grant, I wonder where the experience of autistic people should play a role in theology.
I'm not sure. I think that the Bible should have a place, as should the experiences of people on the autism spectrum, such as myself, and others. I'm leery about dogmatically declaring what God is doing, however, for I simply don't know. That's why I often consulted what I believed to be a revelation outside of myself---the Bible---but then I realized that everyone reads the Bible through certain lenses, and picks and chooses from it. Maybe, amidst the wrestling with Scripture and our own stories, we find God somewhere. And is what we find absolute truth, or is it faith in something that is not totally proven? I don't know, but maybe it can work for us, either way.
