In this process, the Crucified God became a bridge that revealed a new face of the cross. Jesus was killed as a political prisoner, challenging the political forces of the day, denouncing injustice and standing with the marginalized. Influenced by a Marxist view of history, these priests found in the cross an archetype for working for social justice. The gospel incarnated into the Latin American context as a message of liberation from inequality and racism.
In a previous blog, I introduced Moltmann’s theology of hope and its historical context. In this blog, I will discuss one of its most well-known offshoots, namely, liberation theology. While liberation theology had other influences and has recently expanded into a wide array of theologies, Moltmann’s influence was crucial in its beginning. Here is how the two are inter-connected.
The picture above encapsulates both what liberation theology is and its connection with Moltmann’s theology of hope. On November 16, 1989, Juan Ramon Moreno, Spanish-Salvadoran priest and Jesuit was murdered by Salvadoran government forces for denouncing human right violations in the country. While the soldiers carried his corpse to a room, his body hit a book in a shelf throwing it to the ground, staining it with his blood. This was Father Moreno’s last prophetic act. The book (pictured above) was a Spanish translation of Moltmann’s work “The Crucified God”, part of Moreno’s library and most certainly an important influence in his thought and work as an activist Jesuit priest.
Solidarity with the Poor
One of the key ideas of “the Crucified God” is that God suffered with Christ on the cross. This idea was controversial because it contradicted the understanding of God’s impassibility. In classical theism, God could not suffer because that would suggest vulnerability from an all-powerful being. Yet, even more scandalous was the implication of this idea. Moltmann’s cruciform theology was calling the church to retreat from identifying with the political power of Western culture and instead, align itself with the oppressed. The argument goes as follows: because Jesus identified with the oppressed in the cross and God suffered with him, Christians are called to identify and suffer with those in the margins.
Moltmann’s theological seed of the Crucified God would blossom into a full-blown theology of solidarity with the poor in Latin American soil. It emerged as Latin American Catholic priests reflected on the plight of the poor they were serving in the late 60’s. As they worked to alleviate poverty, they started looking for the roots that created and sustained structural misery for most in the continent. How could they work not only to feed the poor but also to empower them to feed themselves?
Liberation theologians would take the Crucified God a step further. Their innovation was, following the political tenor of Jesus original historical context, to conclude that God had a preference for the poor. This controversial conclusion would both align liberation practitioners with revolutionary movements and be at odds with right-wing military dictatorships and, at times, the Vatican itself. In short, it became a potent political theology speaking truth to power but also legitimizing violent guerilla movements and oppressive leftist regimes.
Liberation Theology’s Impact
Over fifty years after its initial formulation, liberation theology’s (LT) legacy is mixed. On the positive side, LT became a vital theological dialogue partner that no modern theologian could ignore. While many, both in the Protestant and Catholic side, would reject its main claims, they always felt obliged to respond to its challenge. In seminaries all over the world, the writings of Gutierrez, Sobrino and Boff continue to inspire and spark debate. Their influence has become even more prominent with the installation of an Argentine Pope. Francis, while not a liberation theologian per se, certainly has moved concern with the poor to the center of the church’s attention.
Yet, this wide-spread influence does not compare with the witness of its martyrs. The life and story of Archbishop Oscar Romero in Guatemala, Sister Dorothy Stang in Brazil and Juan Ramon Moreno in El Salvador are holy examples of those who took up the cause of the oppressed with their blood. Their example, faith and resolve shall never be forgotten. They belong to the company of the saints of the church that came before them.
Beyond that, LT never took hold in the overall church practice in Latin America. Apart from the still existing base communities, the theology did not make its way into Catholic masses. Furthermore, it did not cross into the Latin American Protestantism, the fastest-growing Christian movement of the last century. In the Latin American church a saying goes that “Liberation theology opted for the poor but the poor opted for Pentecostalism.”
In many aspects, Pentecostalism is the anti-thesis of LT. It seeks instead to align itself with the rich and focus on heavenly matters as opposed to political change. If anything, Pentecostal Christians have often politically aligned with the reactive political forces, the very ones LT sought to overturn. Ironically, the Christian movement has been split into both defending and criticizing Capitalism in the region. This is an unfortunate development as both LT and Pentecostalism have much to learn from each other.
Reformulating Hope and Liberation
In spite of producing admirable martyrs, the power and promise of liberation theology has not materialized in its native land. Yet, its promise as a hope theology, grounded in solidarity with the poor rings even more relevant now than it did in the last century.
The revolutionary spirit of the 60’s relied on the assumption that the most effective way to change society was through political means. As a result, democracies have sprung up all over the world and freedom has increased. Yet, most of these projects are showing signs of decay as the popular vote starts turning them back to authoritarianism. As democracies fail to solve persistent social-economic problems, people start looking for leaders who promise simple solutions to complex problems. Without diminishing the importance of these social movements, maybe the problem was in its initial assumption. Yet, if politics is not the way, what is it then?
As my previous blog title suggests, what if the time has come to re-formulate a theology of hope within a technological context? What if the promise of eschatological hope will not materialize through political action but technological creativity? What if the most consequential force for liberating the oppressed is not policy but social technologies? This is what I want to explore in the next part.
