Captive Christians In A Captive Church (2 Responses)

Response 1

Rev. Renee McKenzie-Hayward

While Saint Paul may rejoice in his captivity to the gospel of Jesus Christ, Joseph Barndt in the chapter Captive Christians in a Captive Church claims that the captivity experienced by the contemporary church is nothing about which to rejoice.  To the extent we emulate Paul as captives to the gospel we live out this captivity imprisoned inside the towering walls of captivity to racism.  Captivity to the gospel is perfect freedom.  Captivity to racism is perfect sin.  One gives us a choice.  The other does not. 

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.  He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.  Luke 4:18-19

Liberation theologians often read these words from Jesus as is they were a clarion call to action to reclaim the transformative power of the gospel to shape society and the church.  This scripture is used by us to critique them.  Barndt in this powerful chapter effectively argues that the church because of racism operates not from a place of strength but from super- and self-imposed blindness that allows us to be complicit in our own captivity.  Barndt’s message while addressed to white people will certainly finds resonance among people of color (POC).

Most POC, especially Black people, live everyday knowing the cost of racism and experiencing the impact of its power to imprison.  We feel and know the power of racism in the church and blindness to it is not just a commodity of white people.   It is easier to be a Black person in the institutionalized church that is beset by individual acts of racism as opposed to being a black in the church in which racism is collectively or corporately endorsed.  In the first I must contend with the odd individual who is opposed to my presence; in the other I must contend with the entire system which stands in opposition to me.  The first gives room for hope while the second seems virtually insurmountable.  Barndt’s comparative discussion of sin as intentional rebellion and sin as captivity is right on the mark.  Black people will find it much easier to be Black in a church of individual white racists than in a church that is itself racist.  It is easier for us if we are blind to this truth.  It is also easier for the church.  The great lie of racism is the theological assumption that we have to choose between understanding racism as intentional rebellion or captivity to sin.  Barndt correctly suggests that this is a both/and rather than an either/or.

It would seem that the Anglican ethos of via media would situate The Episcopal Church to easily move outside of the constraints of binary either/or thinking.  Via media is itself being held captive in racisms prison.  Freedom of choice becomes an illusion.  And justice struggles to find a foothold in our reality.  Yet we march forward into the brave new world as if we really have choice regarding whether or not racism shapes and informs our personal and corporate Christian identity.    The only choice we have is the choice or ignoring or addressing; a choice of blindness or of sight.  But then again, maybe this is also not a choice.  If we can lift the veil of racism to see and hear the gospel unfiltered and unfettered even this illusion of choice disappears.

Response 2

Heath Pearson

As an aspiring liberation theologian I am tempted to wax poetic about one of Barndt’s numerous insights. However, it may be more helpful to tell a story.

A few years back, I watched a documentary done by a group of social scientists that radically altered my conception of our racialized system. A study was conducted using thousands of children, ages 5-7. The researchers were exploring race through/in persons in the early stages of identity formation.

The children were given a piece of paper with six realistic-cartoon faces—the face with the “lightest” skin on the left, getting progressively darker with each face, finally, to the face with the “darkest” skin on the right. The children were then asked a series of questions: Which child is smartest? Which child is most beautiful? Which child does the teacher like best? Which child do you want to be friends with? Which child misbehaves in class? Which child do you want to look like?

These represent only a handful of the many questions asked. By the end, though, watching a beautiful little girl of color pointing to the face with the “lightest” skin as what/who she wants to look like, who she thinks is most beautiful, and who the teacher likes best, you are struck with the somber reality of our racialized system. And this response (lightness is beautiful, smart, and preferred while darkness is dumb, ugly, and despised), among thousands of children, did not deviate across the gender/racial board.

As Barndt says in the opening pages of this chapter: through a complex multi-generational identity-shaping socialization process, we were assigned at birth to a collective racial group and were taught to participate in society according to our particular racial identity and role. Some experienced the socializing process of “internalization of inferiority,” while others experienced the “internalization of superiority.”

These inviolable systems have imprisoned us, as Barndt rightly claims.