Church & Colonization: The two Christianities

This post is part of our Church & Colonization series. Using the themes of Advent (faith, hope, joy, and love), Re/Generation participants and CTA leaders reflect on aspects of how colonization in the United States has been intertwined with Christianity, and the Catholic Church in particular.

This post specifically addresses white readers.

Theme: faith

I recently sat at a city council meeting where a pastor, a woman of color, told the city council the parable of the persistent widow. She exclaimed, “just like the widow who bothered the judge again and again until she was given justice, we will be here again and again until you give affordable housing to those who need it.” In that same city council, people sat with confederate masks defending the Robert E. Lee statue in our city. It is statistically probable that those who did so were also Christians. How is this possible? 

Kelly Brown Douglas answers this question in her book, The Black Christ, where she describes two Christianities: the Christianity of the slaveholder and the Christianity of the slaves. In the former, faith was simply spiritual – Jesus saved and freed souls. While Christ wiped your soul clean what you did in this life mattered very little. Yet in the latter, the freedom Jesus gave was bodily, tangible. Christ was contextualized. He was poor like the slaves – born in a barn. And he died like them, at the hands of an oppressive class. 

We see these two strains of Christianity today within our own church. We see it in the most recent USCCB’s letter on racism Open Wide Our Hearts, which refuses to name white privilege. We see it in the priest that has yet take a stand on immigration or march alongside our black brothers and sisters for justice. Yet, we should also see these two Christianities within ourselves. 

We who support and engage in people of color led movements, who read anti-racist literature, and see and know Jesus as a good troublemaker – we must remember where we are. We have been formed by America; a society built quite literally on the backs of slaves. We have been formed by a capitalistic culture, where success is determined by how much money we make and how many things we own. Our church is reflective of these dominate narratives. We don’t have to look far to see this --- how many of us have sung patriotic songs as hymns on Veteran’s day or the 4th of July? Or simply consider how the American church has spent millions on lawyers and lobbyists defending its sex abuse scandals. Or how often is church property sold to high end developers rather given to tend to those experiencing homelessness or to affordable housing developers or to non-profits? Where is the Jesus who was born in a barn, who fed the hungry, and turned over tables? Well, he seems to be busy saving souls.

The question we must ask ourselves is if our spirituality has been too content with the wellness of our soul that we have forgotten what our body is doing: how we are living, being, and moving in this world? Many think oppression is intentional. That we must intend to be racist to actually be racist. Yet, oppression is any way that we intend or unintentionally go along with dominate narratives that center wealth and whiteness. When we treat prayers for freedom like freedom. When we act like simply giving donations or reading a book is enough. When we are too busy to get involved in local campaigns for justice. When we are content serving food at the breadline, but refuse to work to hold our police accountable, fight for affordable housing and sustainable wages in our communities. 

Our compliance with oppression is apparent in our lack of urgency. People are being murdered by the police today. Children are living in cages separated from their parents today. People are sleeping on park benches because they cannot afford rent today. People are unable to find adequate paying jobs to support their families today. People are dying from lack of healthcare today.

Until we live in an urgency that demands freedom, today, we practice a Christianity of the slaveholder. Until we become the persistent widow returning again and again to the judge for justice – our complacency nods to confederacy. This Advent may our faith be stirred. May we uncomfortable praying Mary’s Magnificat without also praying with our feet: 

“He has put down the mighty from their thrones,
and has exalted the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich He has sent away empty.”