“…Or Any Century,” Especially if You’re White

As Someone with Unmet Attachment Needs Due to Complex Trauma, the Depth of Belonging Experienced in Circle of Hope Ruined Me for Any Other Church

This isn’t one of my Circle of Hope cell groups, but it symbolizes the togetherness they embody. Photo by fauxels on Pexels.com

When my family and I moved away from Philly for the last time in 2005, we thought our connection to Circle of Hope was lost, and thus began many years of what felt like our own desert wandering as we cast about for another faith community in which to root ourselves. This blog chronicles many of our attempts to start over with other churches over the years. One way to tell that story is to say that we never felt like we truly belonged in any other faith community because, as I have sometimes said, “Circle of Hope ruined us for any other church.” I do believe that our cell multiplication movement is somewhat unique in the USAmerican context, and it’s worth noting that language that I first encountered in Circle 25 years ago about “being the church,” for example, which at the time was so unique in my experience, is now in common use in many churches. I take comfort in that. I think it means we were onto something all those years ago, and still are.

Of course another way to tell the story of our “desert wandering” is to see the role that trauma and unrecognized and certainly unmet attachment needs played not only in my own development but in our various church experiences. The fact that we left Philly at all in 2005, I know now in hindsight, had a lot to do with trauma and attachment. I don’t know what would have happened if we had stayed, and that’s really not for me to know. We left, and over the years, thanks be to God, I participated in lots and lots of therapy and eventually landed on a diagnosis, Complex PTSD, and therapy modality, EMDR, that really seemed to help.

Still, we found over and over again that our attempts at participation in various faith communities since leaving Philly and Circle just didn’t seem to work. The reasons for this are complex and cannot be reduced to a binary. At the very least, it’s a both/and, not an either/or. It’s both true that no other faith community could match the depth of belonging we experienced as a part of Circle, and it’s also true that my trauma and attachment needs made it hard for me to attach in healthy ways in any of those communities. So I’m grateful now to have a much better context in which to understand those experiences, and even more grateful to have a bit of a better sense of who I am and where I come from. I’m not healed, but I’m healing. Thank God!

Resisting Capitalism and Violence

I’m writing about all this because it wasn’t all that long ago that my wife and I sat in the office of a pastor of one of those other churches having a conversation about what’s truly important these days regarding how we follow Jesus. I had become more and more convinced over the past few years leading up to this meeting that following Jesus required resisting capitalism and violence. I’ll explore this conviction briefly before I continue. For quite a while I’ve understood that it was the duty of those who would follow Jesus, the Prince of Peace, to resist violence. I’ve written about this a fair bit, even once concluding that if we mean it when we say we should resist violence, that probably means resisting violent entertainment too. I went so far as to make “a proposal for a violent entertainment decision-making framework.” I’ll admit that I only stuck with my proposal for a little over a year before it fell to the wayside with many of my other good intentions. Still, when it comes to violence, many Christians give lip service to the idea that it should be resisted. For example, in the U.S. it’s fairly commonplace for Christians to subscribe to just war theory, but by doing so they validate violence by speaking of it as a last resort. Increasingly, though, I could no longer number myself among them because it seemed to me that a clear eyed look at Jesus’ life and teaching inexorably leads to the realization that when Jesus told Peter to put away his sword, he was asking all Christians to do so, forever.

I regret to say that it took me even longer to come to a similar place of resistance toward capitalism. Once my eyes were opened, though, that conviction became plain as day too. I’ve said before that I agree with those who see the Sermon on the Mount as a “canon within the canon.” This teaching by Jesus, his longest, is a clarion call regarding both violence and exploitative economies (of which capitalism is only the latest). Instead of violence, Jesus teaches a way of peace. Instead of economies that create haves and have-nots, Jesus teaches us to share, to live out of the abundance of God’s good creation rather than scarcity created by human greed. Incidentally, in a sharing economy, violence is unnecessary.

Where You See One (Capitalism or Violence), You’re Likely to See the Other

Capitalism and Violence go hand in hand. Photo by Valentin Antonucci on Pexels.com

The more I looked at capitalism and violence, though, the more I saw just how intertwined they were, to the point that I now say that where you see one (capitalism or violence), you’re likely to see the other lurking nearby. Capitalism is utterly dependent on violence for its existence. Capitalism creates haves and have-nots, and the haves need violence to make sure the havenots keep their hyphen. We see the link between capitalism and violence in walls and borders, in immigration policy, in home security systems and gated communities, in policing and incarceration, and in so many other areas of our society. Capitalism requires violence, and while it may not be true violence requires capitalism, the correlation between them is strong. So again as I say, where you see one, you’re likely to see the other.

So this brings me back to our conversation with that pastor in his office. He asked me, “Do you think this (the need to resist capitalism and violence) is something about which good Christians may disagree, or is it essential to being a Christian in the 21st century?” I couldn’t help myself before blurting out, “…or any century.” So you can probably see where this was headed. We were told that we could stay in that church but “would be very lonely” with no one else who thought this way, or we could leave and hope to find a community with which our thoughts about following Jesus might be better aligned. We left, and after a stint in another faith community in the meantime, we were grateful to reconnect with Circle over the past year-and-a-half of the pandemic. Once the At-Home Sunday Meeting started and cells began meeting online too, we joined others for whom distance or disability or other factors had previously been barriers to entry into our community. I’m so grateful that as a church we’re working to eliminate those barriers by expanding our gaze. We’re already seeing the fruit of doing so as we meet new friends with whom to connect with God and act for redemption. Praise God!

I Centered Myself…Again

As you can perhaps tell, this call to resist capitalism and violence is one that remains alive in my imagination. I return to it often, and recently I had what felt like a revelation about it. We’ve been in a moment for a while now in which well-meaning “white” folks like myself have been confronted in new ways with our need to repent of our addiction to white supremacy (which is also dependent on violence with capitalism well intertwined). We need not only to repent, but to repair/repay and work for change…and healing. Some white folks have been in the struggle for racial justice for a long time, and for that I salute you and thank you for leading the way. Others of us, and I probably fall into this camp, believe in the “cause” but are frankly too comfortable, too remote from those that suffer because of racism, to move out of our heads and into our hearts, out of our ideas and into the streets. Perhaps we support the struggle and may even fund it, but for various reasons there’s something holding us back, like a job that requires a clear criminal history which therefore prevents us from showing up at protests or participating in the nonviolent civil disobedience that we might otherwise feel called to. I could give lots of excuses, but that’s really what they are.

Be that as it may, many of us believe that the struggle for racial justice is one to which we are urgently enjoined. This struggle is being waged against the principalities and powers of racism, capitalism, and violence, and it is a struggle that demands a choice of us. We must take a side. There are no innocent bystanders. We are either complicit in oppression or we are courageous enough to counter it. One of my pastors from Circle, Jonny Rashid, is finishing up a book titled Jesus Takes a Side: Embracing the Political Demands of the Gospel. Jonny argues- and I agree- that, well, Jesus takes a side. He’s for the poor, for the oppressed, for the outcast and marginalized, for the silenced and ignored. And of course, he’s for each one of us and all of us together. But here the language of intent vs. impact becomes important. A law that on its surface appears to merely insure that all voters are truly eligible to vote may appear (and no doubt is designed to appear) to have been written with the most innocent of intentions, but if it turns out (and it almost always does) that the impact of that law is to disenfranchise BIPOC communities, then it’s clear that such a law must be resisted. So while Jesus is certainly “for” all of us fully, I would argue he may not be “for” all us equally, because some of us are already way too “for” ourselves . Some of us willingly participate in the domination system, the hegemony of the principalities and powers, because it benefits us. We get something out of it. If you look like me, you get easy access to student loans and a good education and “nicer” neighborhoods with decent houses in communities with low crime rates. What exactly, then, do I need to be saved from? From the look of things, I’ve already saved myself.

So I can either sit contentedly in my comfort while the world burns, or I can join Jesus in taking a side by embracing the political demands of the good news which he both preached and practiced. For me and perhaps for you, this means resisting capitalism and violence and white supremacy. Recently, though, I’ve begun to hear some push-back against the idea of wholesale rejection of violence, and probably capitalism too. After all, I sit in a decent house in a “nicer” neighborhood with access to a fair bit of capital, all protected by violence. So it may be true that I feel called to resist capitalism and violence because I’m so very inured to them. My material life in this world is based on them. This whole greedy, violent, racist system works quite well for me. I do need to resist it lest I gain the whole world but lose my soul! Let’s be clear though. For me to make the argument that all Christians should resist capitalism and violence, especially those that do not benefit from these oppressive systems, is like playing a game that was rigged for me to win and arguing that the game is unfair and shouldn’t be played anymore only after I had won.

Resisting Oppressive Systems is Urgent and Necessary Work…Especially for Oppressors

Photo by Life Matters on Pexels.com

So does everyone need to resist capitalism and violence? (And what authority could I possibly have to make such declarations?) I’ve just made a pretty compelling case that the answer is no, or at least that I’m in no position to give an answer, because too often the language of nonviolence is used by those that have already benefited from violence, like myself, to silence and disempower those that have long been oppressed through violence. Likewise, the powerful tend to like their capitalism so long as it continues to work exclusively to their benefit. Once a Black Wall Street appears, it is quickly met with violence. So it turns out that I as a relatively affluent white person protected by violence very much do need to resist capitalism and violence if I am to follow Jesus wholeheartedly. For what it’s worth, I also need to resist individualism, for the work I’m called to is communal, though still very personal, work. That said, I can’t generalize from my experience and say that all Jesus followers are called to work for justice and shalom in the same way. When I vehemently disagreed with that pastor about whether or not well-meaning Christians had to agree about resisting capitalism and violence, as is usually the case I was only partially right.

I was only partially right because when I said that, I was operating with a pretty big blind spot. I was centering myself and my experience as a European-American. I assumed that my experience must apply to everyone everywhere at all times. As you can hopefully see, that’s a pretty racist thing to do, but something that white folks do all the time.

I repent. I was wrong. I’m sorry.

When it comes to resisting capitalism and violence, let alone most other things, I can’t really speak for the poor, the oppressed, the marginalized and outcast in society, nor for the BIPOC community. I’m still not proximate enough. I may understand that in order to survive, the materially poor have had to form bonds of kinship, connection, and sharing, but somehow I’m still tempted to resist taking a side. If “they” are poor in one way (lacking access to food, shelter, healthcare, and so on), and I’m “poor” in another way (lacking the lived experience of community and kinship), well then I’m off the hook. We’re all “poor,” one might say, even if a clear look at the facts reveals most plainly that some of us are not. Besides, hasn’t Jesus already destroyed the dividing wall of hostility between us? Do I really have to do anything?

Yes, of course I do. Jesus takes a side, and so must I. I as a white person may very well be called to resist capitalism and violence, but I cannot impose this calling on anyone else. The work of building beloved community belongs to all of us, but we have different parts to play. My part is to as much as possible divest of power and privilege, both in my individual life and in the communal spaces where I find belonging in society. I must hold space without filling it. I must decrease. I still don’t know how to do this very well, and I trust that I’ll be working at it for the rest of my life. I do know that it can only be done together, though, so I’m grateful to be part of a faith community that is willing to do this work with me. We’ve already experimented with a bit of radical wealth redistribution. I can’t wait to see what we’ll try next.


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