David Steindl-Rast, summarizing his relationship with the God, the Great Mystery, after 90 years of life, most of it lived as a Zen-practicing Benedictine monk:

  "I could not express my own lifelong relationship with the Divine Mystery any more fittingly than in the sentence "i am through you so i."* What makes us persons is the richness and depth of our relationships. One's being a person deepens and matures through each new encounter. In every deep human encounter, we can say: you make me be what I am. But in our encounter with the Great Mystery, we realize an even deeper truth: that we can say "I" only because we stand face to face with a primordial You.

In Acts chapter 6, shortly after the founding of the church, a group of Grecian widows in Jerusalem were being overlooked by the Hebraic majority in the daily distribution of food. While the church sought to imitate Jesus by caring for these marginalized and often defenseless widows, they did not take in to account that some of these women were marginalized on more than one front.

The Hebraic widows were Jewish women who had grown up in Israel and spoke Aramaic like the majority of the people in Jerusalem. They were ethnic insiders, culturally locals. The Grecian widows (or Hellenists, depending on your Bible translation) were Jews whose ancestors had been impacted by Greek culture through the influence of Alexander the Great and the Jewish diaspora. Even though they were living in the same city and worshiping the same God, they were outsiders in Jerusalem, and outsiders in the church.

This may be the very first appearance of multiplicity in the long history of Christianity. According to theologian Patrick Cheng, “multiplicity refers to a state of having multiple co-existing and overlapping identities, as opposed to a singular dominant identity.”[1] While both Hebraic and Hellenist widows were marginalized by society, the Hellenist widows had a second strike against them—they were culturally “not Jewish enough.” This multiplicity in their identity led to them being excluded even though they were part of a marginalized group (widows in need) that the church had intentionally tried to embrace.

The wisdom of the twelve apostles prevailed somewhat in Acts chapter 6, and a diverse group of men (wait, no women? #stillaproblem) were appointed to ensure that all widows were included in the distribution of food. But this story illustrates the complex nature of marginalization, and in particular, the need to recognize multiplicity in our efforts to follow the teachings of Jesus.

Some may object here, pointing out that we all experience multiplicity to some extent. For example, I am male, but that is not my singular identity. I am also cisgender, straight, white, American, educated, and so on. However, in my case, most aspects of my identity contribute to a sense of power, control, and privilege in my society. It is rare for me to be in a situation where I experience any of these aspects of my identity as a disadvantage, or where I feel threatened, left out, or overlooked because of them. Multiplicity as Cheng defines it refers to a combination of identities that push one further from the center, isolating them from others who share only singular aspects of their identity. The multiple aspects of my identity work together in most situations to create a favorable atmosphere for me, but as a gay Asian Christian, Cheng is often marginalized by other gay men for being Asian, and is ostracized by other Asians and Christians for being gay. If he was merely gay, Asian, or Christian, he would experience more singularity instead of multiplicity and would likely find more people willing to accept him, much like the Hebraic widows, who though still categorically “other” (widows), were brought to the center of the community and cared for, while the Greek-speaking widows remained at the margins.

Rainbow Theology: A Solution for the Church
Cheng’s experience as a gay Christian of color leads him to propose a “rainbow theology” that can radically disrupt the monochromatic theologies that currently hold sway in the church. This rainbow theology consists of three themes—multiplicity (which we have already introduced), middle spaces and mediation. These he contrasts with the three themes of monochromatic theology: singularity, staying home, and selecting sides. He explains these contrasting themes in the following way:

Monochromatic theologies focus primarily on liberation from a singular oppression, as opposed to challenging the interplay of multiple oppressions. Monochromatic theologies also assume that there is a single, metaphorical “home” that consists of others who experience this singular oppression. Finally, monochromatic theologies urge those who are oppressed by this singular oppression to “choose” the side of the oppressed as opposed to the oppressors).[2]

In Acts 6, church leadership initially took a monochromatic approach. They recognized that there were people in need in their community, and believed that “widowhood” was the singular cause of marginalization and oppression (to be a widow in the Ancient Near East was to be defenseless in society, with few protections, and few means of gaining livelihood). They therefore grouped all widows into a single category and began providing food and assistance. But monochromatic solutions are never sufficient for everyone, as this church discovered. Marginalization is complex, and requires complex solutions. It must have been tempting to simply shift the focus of their monochromatic solutions from widows, to Hellenist widows, but taking sides like this would have created even more problems. Marginalization cannot be solved by simply elevating the most marginalized above the rest. This simply moves the vicious cycle of discrimination to a new location. Instead, the church recognized that the Hellenic widows existed in a middle space, what Cheng defines as “a state of being perpetually suspended in a third space between two poles,”[3] and began their transition to rainbow theology through the theme of mediation. They did this by appointing a new group of leaders that not only included both Hellenized and Hebraic Jews, it also included at least one member who wasn’t Jewish at all, thus ensuring a “common ground upon which both sides can co-exist.”[4]

Conclusion
Rainbow theology is rooted in the practices of the earliest church, and offers a way for the people of God to listen more, and assume less about the people we try to help and the problems we try to fix. It is a framework that could only have come from those on the margins who experience multiplicity, live in the middle places, and are experienced mediators. Finally, rainbow theology is a reminder that the church as a whole needs the voice of all those on the margins if it is to continue being the body of Christ. In the words of Brother David Steindl-Rast, “Only when our sense of belonging is all-embracing can we speak of love, the lived ‘yes’ to mutual belonging.”[5]




 


[1] Patrick S. Cheng, Rainbow Theology (New York: Seabury Books), 89.
[2] Cheng, xviii
[3] Cheng, 91.
[4] Cheng, 91.
[5] David Steindl-Rast, i am through you so i, 33

This video from Louie Schwartzberg and David Steindl-Rast is a gift. Watch it every day.

Louie Schwartzberg is an award winning director, videographer, and producer who is widely recognized as an innovator in high definition time lapse cinematography.

Brother David Steindl-Rast was born in Austria in 1926. Fleeing the chaos of WW2, he moved to the US and earned a PhD in psychology, before joining a Benedictine monastery and becoming a monk. In 1966, the church commissioned him to pursue Buddhist-Christian dialogue under several Zen Buddhist teachers, including Shunryu Suzuki. You can learn more about Brother David his Gratefulness.org project here.

"If your house is on fire, the most urgent thing to do is to go back and try to put out the fire, not to run after the person you believe to be the arsonist. If you run after the person you suspect has burned your house, your house will burn down while you are chasing him or her. That is not wise. You must go back and put out the fire. So when you are angry, if you continue to interact with or argue with the other person, if you try to punish her, you are acting exactly like someone who runs after the arsonist while everything goes up in flames."

From the book, Anger: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames ​by Thic Nhat Hanh

Last May, a Malian immigrant to France scaled the exterior of an apartment building to save a small child dangling from a porch (see video below).

In response, he was granted French citizenship and given a job as a firefighter.

In 2015, another Malian immigrant, Lassana Bathily, saved 7 French Jews during an attack on a kosher grocery.

As a reward, he was granted French citizenship.

It is right for society to reward those who risk their lives for the sake of someone else. But what makes these stories unique is not the bravery of the rescuers, but the fact that they were immigrants.

​In the following piece, writer and photographer Teju Cole, himself the child of Nigerian immigrants to the US, challenges the congratulatory narrative that typically surrounds these stories and asks us to face larger questions about the way we conceptualize immigrants in our culture:

"The extraordinary courage of Lassana Bathily, an immigrant from Mali, saved six lives during a terrorist attack at a kosher supermarket at the Porte de Vincennes in 2015. He was rewarded with French citizenship by the French president, François Hollande.

But this is not a story about courage.

The superhuman agility and bravery of Mamadou Gassama, an immigrant from Mali, saved a baby from death in the 18th Arrondissement in May 2018. He was rewarded with French citizenship by the French president, Emmanuel Macron.

But this is not a story about bravery.

The superhuman is rewarded with formal status as a human. The merely human, meanwhile, remains unhuman, quasi-human, subhuman. Gassama crossed the Mediterranean in a tiny boat — that was superhuman, but no one filmed that, he remained subhuman, and there was no reward.

Such is Empire’s magnanimity. Merci, patron. Je suis tellement reconnaissant, patron.

The hand that gives, it is said in Mali, is always above the hand that receives. Those who are hungry cannot reject food. Not only those who are hungry but those who have been deliberately starved. But soon come the day when the Hebrews will revolt and once and for all refuse Pharaoh’s capricious largesse.
​
Hospitality."

​

The Creed of a Holocaust Survivor
by Alexander Kimel

I do believe, with all my heart,
In the natural Goodness of Man.
Despite the blood and destruction,
Brought by one man, trying to be God,
In the Goodness of Man, I do believe.
I do believe, with all my heart,
That God gave man the blessing and the curse.
Man can select the curse of envy, hatred and prejudices,
Or the blessing of love, harmony and beauty.
Despite the painful curses of the past,
In the blessing of the Creator, I do believe.
I do believe, with all my heart,
That God created a beautiful world,
The sun and the trees, the flowers and the bees.
And the best way to serve God, is
To enjoy the fruits of His labor of love.
Despite the painful memories from the past,
In the joyful celebration of life, I do believe.
I do believe with all my heart,
That God has created man in image of His own.
And killing of man, is like killing of God.
Despite the massacres in Rwanda, the cleansing in Bosnia,
The folly of Muslim fanatics, and the cruelty of Pot Pol.
In the love and compassion of the Creator, I do believe.
I believe with all my heart,
That the Messiah and the Kingdom of Heaven will come;
When man will conquer his destructive urge,
And learn how to live in harmony with nature and himself.
When all the preachers of hate will be silenced,
And man will become his brother’s keeper.
When man will stop killing man, in the name of God,
And nation will not lift weapons against nation.
When it will be, I do not know, but
Despite all the signs to the contrary.
In the dawn of a Better World, I do believe.

Book Review: Letters to a Young Contrarian by Christopher Hitchens

Christopher Hitchens (d. 2011) was a public intellectual known for his outspoken views on religion and politics and his often confrontational means of communication. His circle of influence included presidents, dissidents, revolutionaries, and academics alike, and he authored 30 books that continue to inspire and challenge people around the world. Letters to a Young Contrarian is primarily concerned with showing how to be a “contrarian,” that is, someone who intentionally and rigorously challenges the status quo. This is something that Hitchens himself made a career out of. Readers will enjoy seeing the contrarian methodology applied across the broad array of subjects this book addresses, including politics, economics, and religion.

Hitchens was a polymath, and wielded the English language skillfully, parrying and thrusting at the stagnant attitudes of modernity with elegance. The result is a book full of obscure terms and references with little explanation, but any effort given to understanding Hitchens’ arguments will be richly rewarded. However, some may find his narcissistic tone off-putting.

Letters to a Young Contrarian poses as a collection of letters between Hitchens the sage and an aspiring mentee who wants to make a change in the world. As a left-leaning humanist, Hitchens draws attention to flaws in religion, society, politics, and nationalism and calls readers to embrace the role of misfit in order to create a better tomorrow. The book is valuable for these critiques, and Hitchens does a good job of calling awareness to cognitive dissonance that many readers experience subconsciously, but have not felt permission to address head on. 

That being said, when Hitchens addresses a topic I know something about (religion), I find his critiques are valid against popular ideology, but do little to strike at the deeply rooted heritage of the traditions he opposes. For example, he rightly calls the notion of heaven as a "state of endless praise and gratitude and adoration" a "vision of tedium and pointlessness and predictability" (25). But Hitchens seems unaware that these beliefs are best categorized, shelved, and forgotten as pop theology and have little to do with the rich theological tradition which emphasizes the future state of humanity as a new creation—Earth renewed, with work, play, and relationships providing meaningful pursuits (cf. the work of N.T. Wright).
 
In another place, Hitchens critiques religion for claiming to know what the Supreme Being desires. He argues that they assume the conclusion from the beginning, while begging the question himself regarding the impossibility of divine revelation (57). It seems fair to state that both believer and skeptic stand on equal footing in this regard. If the divine exists, it seems right to assume divine self-revelation. When Hitchens states that divine revelation "degrades the whole concept of the free intelligence" of humanity, one wishes that he was familiar with Bonhoeffer’s theology of “the world come of age.” For Bonhoeffer, revelation is the preliminary guide for human intelligence, much as parental rules provide guidelines during early childhood development. Rather than degrading human intelligence, revelation provides the nurturing environment for it to flourish until it develops its full capacity.
 
Letters to a Young Contrarian concludes with a vision of the next epoch of human history, an era when the concept of universal human rights is realized, and when the globalization of production is matched by the globalization “of a common standard for justice and ethics.” Those familiar with the work of theologian Jurgen Moltmann will see clear parallels. But where Hitchens focuses on the result (a better future), Moltmann names the impetus for change as the Divine drawing humanity towards the Divine Self. Hitchens would do well to heed his own advice to avoid "the narcissism of the small difference" (59), and instead, work together with likeminded people, even people of faith, to advance "the immense discoveries about our own nature" that remain to be found (108).

Criticisms aside, Letters to a Young Contrarian is a refreshing, witty, thought-provoking book that should be on the reading list of every free thinker.

Buddhism, founded somewhere between 600 ad 400 CE by Siddhārtha Gautama, has intrigued Westerners ever since the Greeks first encountered Buddha's followers in the wake of Alexander the Great's conquest of Southeast Asia in 334 CE. Claiming 7% of the world's population, when Buddhism is categorized as a religion, it is the fourth largest in the world, behind only Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism, and its influence is felt in the growing popularity of apps like Calm, and in the mindfulness techniques used by psychologists and medical doctors to treat anxiety and stress.

But some Christians are leery of what they perceive as Buddhism's subtle intrusion into the West. They see the practices and techniques of mindfulness as the dangerous first step down a slippery slope. On the other hand, many would argue that Buddhism is a philosophy, not a religion, and is more similar to existentialism than it is to Hinduism or Christianity. 

So what is Buddhism in its own words? Is it a religion or a philosophy? According to Buddhist Zen Master Shunryu Suzuki, it is neither. In a talk titled, Experience, Not Philosophy, Suzuki describes the difference between Buddhism, religion and philosophy. The talk is transcribed in the book, Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind and it is replicated in full below. But before we get into the reading, you will want to be familiar with two important terms:

Zazen: Often mistranslated as "meditation," zazen refers to the practice of sitting, generally cross-legged, hands in the lap, with eyes half closed. 
​
Zendo: The meditation hall where zazen is practiced.

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Although there are many people in this country who are interested in Buddhism, few of them are interested in its pure form. Most of them are interested in studying the teaching or the philosophy of Buddhism. Comparing it to other religions, they appreciate how satisfying Buddhism is intellectually. But whether Buddhism is philosophically deep or good or perfect is not the point. To keep our practice in its pure form is our purpose. Sometimes I feel there is something blasphemous in talking about how Buddhism is perfect as a philosophy or teaching without knowing what it actually is.

To practice zazen with a group is the most important thing for Buddhism—and for us—because this practice is the original way of life. Without knowing the origin of things we cannot appreciate the result of our life's effort. Our effort must have some meaning. To find the meaning of our effort is to find the original source of our effort. We should not be concerned about the result of our effort before we know its origin. If the origin is not clear and pure, our effort will not be pure, and its result will not satisfy us. When we resume our original nature and incessantly make our effort from this base, we will appreciate the result of our effort moment after moment, day after day, year after year. This is how we should appreciate our life. Those who are attached only to the result of their effort will not have any chance to appreciate it, because the result will never come. But if moment by moment your effort arises from its pure origin, all you do will be good, and you will be satisfied with whatever you do. 

So what is Buddhism? According to Suzuki, the answer is simple:

Zazen.

Sitting.

Breathing.

As Roshi, one of the greatest Zen teachers of the 20th century put it, "Just sit zazen, and that's the end of it." Buddhism is not a system of beliefs, a series of arguments, or a doctrinal statement. It is not about achieving enlightenment or making progress. Buddhism is simply  the practice of sitting and dwelling in the body, observing, letting the inner monologue become silent. As such, Buddhism's gift to us is the way it calls us to be fully present in each moment by simply paying attention. 

As humans we have a tendency to get caught up in theory and abstraction, but this should not be the focus in any belief system. Direct experience is what matters. In Living Buddha, Living Christ, Vietnamese Buddhist and social activist Thich Nhat Hanh writes, "[Christian] theologians spend a lot of time, ink, and breath talking about God. ... [But] it is risky to talk about God. The notion of God might be an obstacle for us to touch God as love, wisdom, and mindfulness. ... The Buddha was not against God, he was only against notions of God that are mere mental constructions that do not conform to reality, notions that prevent us from developing ourselves and touching ultimate reality." Instead of debating ideas, Buddhism would have us move deeper into our own experience. Instead of focusing on doctrines and belief statements that we must affirm and adhere to through sheer willpower, Buddhism directs us to simply observe the thoughts and emotions that arise within us and notice where they come from.

Paul wrote something similar in 1 Timothy (I'm paraphrasing): "Stop wasting time on speculations and religious arguments. You are promoting controversy, when you should be living in love. Love grows from a pure heart and a good conscience and the sincere belief that it's all going to work out. As soon as you step away from love, your talk becomes meaningless." 

It is easy to get caught in a debate or argument that has nothing to do with our personal experience. We even trick ourselves into beliefs and positions that fundamentally contradict our experiences, but if you take the time to pause and be silent, to sit in zazen, you may find that what you were arguing for meant nothing to you at all. Instead of wielding doctrines and ideas as weapons, try looking inward to find the source of your beliefs. When you feel like speaking up in an argument, pause and explore the source of your feelings. Are you defending something just because you are "supposed to" defend it? Are you just enjoying the feeling of being "right?" Or do your words, actions and beliefs genuinely grow out of love and compassion?

Love as an experience changes us. Not all at once, and never perfectly, but it does transform us. Buddhism, mindfulness, offers a practice to help us explore the source and reality of what we say and what we are. Christians do not need to be leery about Buddhism when it is understood this way. In fact, we can embrace it. 

(Want more from Suzuki? Click here)

​             G.K. Chesterton once wrote, “There are two ways of getting home; and one of them is to stay there. The other is to walk around the whole world til we come back to the same place.” Some people seem to be content at home with their beliefs and traditions, but for others, familiarity breeds contempt. A person can be so intimate with his/her tradition that they can no longer see the truth, beauty, and goodness that has preserved it (just ask a member of the clergy who has burned out). When we feel this way, drinking from other streams can help us find refreshment at home.
             On my journey around the world, I have been reading Buddhist texts. Most recently, a book by Zen teacher Shunryu Suzuki (1905-1971) called, Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind. It is a collection of informal talks given at the Tassajara Zen Mountain Center near San Francisco (the first Zen monastery established outside of Asia). What follows is a talk called “The Waterfall” that I have replicated in its entirety: