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The Theology of Hospitality ˜ 317
I don’t have any idea how to describe the terrible, destructive, gut-wrenching
pain of those hours. And it was so unnecessary! All of that pain could have
been replaced by real effort to mend and heal and reconcile a broken situation.
But, instead, we pulled in another set of folks, ripped their lives to shreds, and
caused them grief and humiliation that most of us can hardly begin to grasp. It
was made worse for me by the fact that the system was not anonymous or faceless.
It was a fabric of specific decisions made by specific individuals and, at
every doggoned turn, there was a Presbyterian face.
I find that a serious problem. The church—our church—ought to be insulted.
But I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that it’s rude to call the roll in
situations like this; that it’s not fair to point to specific individuals. We Presbyterians
are certainly known for our fine manners. But I’m more inclined to think
that if you ain’t calling the roll, you’re not serious about liberation and justice.
Look at the songs of the civil rights struggle. It’s no coincidence that they sang
through the Albany, Georgia, campaign, “Ain’t gonna let Chief Pritchett turn
me ’round . . .” But folks, I’m afraid that while we’re deeply pained by a breach
of manners, we’re not pained enough by oppression and the death-dealing
power of oppression in the lives of the poor.
Dear peacemakers, when you take a stand for justice and peace, when you
live in solidarity with the poor and oppressed, when you stand up for somebody
who’s going down the tubes, you’ll have wars on your hands, so we might as well
be ready for a long fight.
A serious problem about standing up for the poor and oppressed is that
soon we find ourselves messing with the interests of the rich and powerful. That
can be a real problem since we’re an upper-class church. But we wouldn’t have
these “problems” if they didn’t benefit someone. We wouldn’t have hundreds of
thousands of homeless people if it wasn’t to someone’s advantage. One in three
displaced homemakers wouldn’t live in poverty if it didn’t help somebody. We
wouldn’t talk about “acceptable levels of unemployment” if one person’s unemployment
didn’t help somebody else’s profit margin. Talk about “acceptable levels
of unemployment” with the next unemployed person you meet!
Loving the poor, making peace, seeking justice, breaking down the dividing
walls of hostility—these are very charming notions, but they’re hell to pay in real
life. Dorothy Day often reminds us: Love in dreams is beautiful, but love in action
is a harsh and dreadful thing.
Yet what a great cloud of witnesses we have to help us in this struggle. God
has an odd sense of humor to choose the worst assortment of murderers, thieves,
hookers, crooks, and demoniacs to show the power of God’s reconciling, transforming,
empowering, upbuilding love. We have Moses the murderer, Jacob the
thief, Rahab the whore, Mary Magdalene the demon-possessed, and Paul—violent,
abusive Paul, who in our fine system today would never have made it. If
you had taken a vote among first-generation Christians, Paul probably would