Sabbath, Liberation

For the past three months, Thursday's have been my Sabbath rest day. I used to practice Sabbath on Saturday's . . . but more and more that is proving to be impossible. Sunday's usually begin around 730am not ending until 9 or 10pm. Monday's and Tuesday's are fairly typical (9am to 5pm), while Wednesday is "marathon day"--I usually don't get home until 10pm or so. Thursday's a day of rest, while I use Friday to prepare for Sunday (teaching, preaching, pastoral care) and catching up one things that may have slipped through the cracks during the week.

All that to say, I crave Thursday's. I need them. I cherish them.

This fall/winter, I've been writing a book Jesus Feast: Spirituality in a Pluralistic World. It's been invigorating, tiriing, and frustrating--all at the same time. In less than a week, I send the manuscript to one editor, who seems to be interested in publishing the work. Then . . . the real work will begin.


* * *

If you’ve never read anything about liberation theology, I would suggest this article as a good beginning point.

In the 1970’s theologians in Latin America and Africa began talking about God’s heart for the poor as the primary way to understand the God of the Judeo-Christian scriptures. I confess that I spent much of my time in seminary reading, and reflecting upon this approach to reading scripture and thus, thinking about the mission of the church as she heads into this time of uncertainty in these United States.

While, I’m not as convinced of its exclusive place at the table of theological inquiry, I still believe that one cannot possibly understand the prophetic punch offered by Jesus if one does not seriously consider the teachings of Jon Sobrino, Oscar Romero, and Gustavo Gutiérrez (to name a few). It is Gustavo who introduced me to the notion of "solidarity with the poor" as one of the purest experiences in life.

It is my interaction with liberation theology that has fueled my passion for Cass Park and thinking of the church as a missional body.

Here’s a snippet from the article I suggested per liberation theology.

I encountered Sobrino in the sacristy of his church after Mass on a cool April morning, but he at first declined to speak with me (as he had refused other interviews requests). Suddenly, I blurted out the one question that had gripped me since reading his books: What is reality? My question caught his attention.

In Where is God? Earthquake, Terrorism, Barbarity, and Hope, Sobrino wrote that reality is the Cross. “One must take charge of reality,” he wrote, quoting Ignacio Ellacuría, one of the Jesuit priests murdered in 1989 by U.S.-trained Salvadoran soldiers. “One must ‘bear the burden of reality’ with all its crushing weight.”

“Reality is what’s being covered up, the things that are covered up and are very hard to unearth,” Sobrino answered me, launching into a finely tuned reflection. “Hope is a reality. ... Reality is hard, but it’s wonderful. There is this energy, the will to live. ... I’m happy in this country. There are many good things.”

But Sobrino upends any simplistic view of the reality of El Salvador. True, 11 people are murdered every day and thousands flee every year, but many more stay and persevere. How easily we choose where to cast the lines of reality, from there choosing whose suffering merits help and who to kill.

“You know Sept. 11,” Sobrino states. “But what is October 7? It’s the day the democracies bombed Af­ghanistan. The poor of this earth, which are the majority, don’t even have calendars,” said Sobrino. “What should be said and what should be silenced is in the hands of the few and powerful, and that is what I fight against.”