Daniel Hodge

Theologizing Tim Tebow

Daniel Hodge — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 13:06:09 -0800

Faith and religion within the public sphere has an interesting personality. A personality which has race and culture at the center fueling its character. Therefore, with the recent rise in fame of Denver Broncos’ quarterback Tim Tebow, I find it interesting how his faith and spiritual notions are being played out in the public arena. Allow me to first say that I have no problem with him “performing” his faith in a public manner. Yet, the frenzied imposition of meaning on the power of his “religious convictions” (e.g. the Broncos are winning as a result of his prayers) includes, but transcends what Wade Clark Roof refers to as civil religious rhetoric in his article American Presidential Rhetoric from Ronald Reagan to George W. Bush: Another Look at Civil Religion. This type of religio-political rhetoric tends to create myths and fantasy within the public arena, which in turn create meaning, cultural mores, and social reality for the people who believe it. Myths are powerful types of vehicles for any people group and society.

Meaning, societal norms, and identity are often times rooted in mythology. Roof reminds us that, “Myths are the means by which a nation affirms its deepest identities and frames its rationale for political action; they are the elementary, yet profound, stories giving meaning and purpose to the collective life of a people; they evoke the imagination…” (2009: 87). Tebow hyper-religious performance invokes the mythic notions in our civic religion and politico-religious imagination that ties into the long standing narratives in the American religious discourse which generates these ideological truths around work, life, ethics, love, and of course, the American Dream; all rooted in a culturally informed view of a national God.

Charles Long, signs, symbols, and images of religion scholar, tells us that the term myth, “usually refers to the fanciful imagination of the human mind” (in Alpha: The Myths of Creation 1963: 11). Long continues on that myth, in form, is not lies, falsehoods, or even untruths. Myth is a “true story—the myth is a story about reality” (11-12). In fact:

It is impossible to understand the reality and being of people, unless one understands their reality in relationship to the myth. When we speak of understanding their reality, we are speaking of their reality in the precise sense of their human presence, their specificity and qualitative meaning in time and space (11-12).

Further, the classic work of Benedict Anderson comes into play here. In his now archetypal book, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, Anderson examines the ‘imagined communities’ of nationality and explores the processes which create these types of communities such as the territorilization of religious faiths, the decline of antique kinship, the interaction of capitalism and print, and changing conceptions of time and space. For example, the discourse within print media and faith is a powerful creator for identity and meaning. But, how do those images, in turn, come from a culturally contextual perspective? In turn how might those images, great for a period of time, then transcend time and become the “standard” for faith? Couple that with transmediated content—such as Tebow’s visible “faith”—and you have a commanding and authoritative message being communicated.

G. Van Der Leeuw says that religious experience is concerned with a “somewhat” which forces itself upon human kind as “something other” (Religion in Essence and Manifestation 1938: 1). This type of approach emphasizes the fact that in myth, expression is being given to man’s reaction to life as a source of power, being, and meaning (c.f. Long 1963: 12-13). Thus, it is imperative to explore this mythological essence which is acted out in our public spheres. To look at this another way, it would be easy for some to dismiss sacred stories of deity for, say, Buddhists; how could those stories be true? How could that story even make sense? It is easy to snicker at Christian Scientists and their “weird” customs. However for Christians, it becomes difficult to discuss this meaning making myth within our own story.

As a consequence, is Tebow a fake then? Is this “mythology” I discuss a lie for Tebow? Of course not. Tebow is every bit convinced that his faith is real; moreover, I believe it for him. But the effects that his “praying” has while on television create this space which makes it easy for someone to say, “Man, Tebow has led the Bronco’s to these victories because of his faith.” Or worse, “GOD through Tebow has led the Bronco’s to these victories because of Tebow’s faith.” Particularly in a sport like football which already encompasses superstitions, jinxes, good luck charms, and fairytale like stories in its cultural DNA (just ask any player who has been in a championship game and their own ideological stance on “lucky shoes.” In fact, Michael Jordan would chew the same piece of gum during the entire playoffs because he felt it “won” games and did not want to jinx the game). That is the mythology I am talking about. Once again Anderson asserts that the difficulty in this is that “one tends to unconsciously hypostasize…” these issues and then “classify ‘it’ as an ideology” (p. 5).

It would be fine if that stayed in the mythological arena. But it does not. It pours out into the rest of society as truth and standard. In fact, in an interview on ESPN, Tim Tebow even admitted that he did not think God was “rooting” for their team; especially when there were five other guys on the other side praying back at God to help them win. Yet, this goes unnoticed and the myth continues and galvanizes support to “join in” on prayer—not that this is a bad thing, but that brings us to the next point.

What if, in the words of my colleague and friend Earle Fisher (Who is also a Christian pastor and professor), Tim Tebow was a Black, fervent Muslim who prayed to Allah openly at the beginning and ending of every game? How might the religious discourse be taken then? How might the allure of that earlier mythology discussed, now seem sour, irreverent, and trite? Thus, it would stand to reason that a Black Muslim Tebow would find it difficult expressing his faith in the public sphere. Moreover, it was NBA Chris Jackson (Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf) who, in 1996, refused to stand for the national anthem because he said the U.S. had spread tyranny and oppression and that standing for the anthem would be a conflict of his Islamic beliefs; Jackson was suspended for one game and received an exponential amount of criticism and hate mail—keep in mind this was long before the world changed after 9/11.

More importantly, there are numerous Black and Brown NFL players who are Christian, ordained ministers, and or active church members of a church community who rarely, if ever, get the exposure that Tebow has gotten over the last few months. Why? A large part of this is because Christianity, especially here in the U.S., is still seen as a White stylized religion; while there is some diversity shown, even the “diversity” continues the White mantra of aesthetics (suite & tie, “speaking clearly,” domesticated) in Christian theology. Race and religion are tethered, unfortunately, in this country’s history. We rarely hear of “White Christian theology,” it is always simply “theology.” Yet, there is Black theology, Islamic theology, Hip Hop theology, Queer theology, Latin Liberation theology, Asian theology, and the such. Each one of these comes with its own set of mores, ideological frameworks, historical criticisms, and cultural hopes—including White theology (I highly recommend looking at Soong-Chan Rah’s work The Next Evangelicalism: Freeing the Church from Western Cultural Captivity for a further examination of this phenomena). After the 2004 election of George W. Bush, Time magazine released an issue looking at evangelicalism in the U.S. out of the twenty five evangelicals listed as “influential” only T.D. Jakes was represented as a Black authority. Thus, Tebow fits the bill. His prayers are welcomed and “fit right in” with the cultural standard of what is considered a “Christian.” Couple that with the mythological mantra and you have a meaning structure that will rouse people to create this phenomenological status of both Tebow’s faith and prayers. Moreover, Tebow becomes this mythical like figure of outstanding ethics, morals, and strong character as a result of his public prayers—nothing wrong with that in principal, but what about the Black, Brown, and Asian individuals who do this as well? How do their prayers, faith, and ethics also play out?

I remember having a conversation with a colleague of mine who works in the inner city. For years he had a White suburban evangelical church come out to his neighborhood to do “missions” with his kids. Over the years transformation happened for both those communities. As it would seem, the “ghetto kids” grew in their walk with Christ, while the suburban youth drew further and further away from their Christian faith. When my friend came to the pastor of that church to suggest that they, the inner city group, come out and possibly return the favor by coming out to “witness” in the suburbs, he was met not only with disdain, but also with malice for even suggesting such a preposterous thing; “Why would we need your help? That wouldn’t look good.” (A direct quote)

Tebow’s theological mythology creates a sense that only “Whites” have direct access to God. The resulting worldviews of this only stand to maintain long standing systemic structures of inequality rooted within the Church. As James Cone so eloquently asserts “Until we can see the cross and the lynching tree together, until we can identify Christ with a ‘recrucified’ black body hanging from a lynching tree, there can be no genuine understanding of Christian identity in America, and no deliverance from the brutal legacy of slavery and White supremacy” (Introduction to The Cross and the Lynching Tree, Orbis 2011).

As I have long said…we have much work to do.

Film Review: Thunder Soul

Daniel Hodge — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 18:44:53 -0700

Mentoring is messy. There is no other way to say it. If you are doing it right, then it is very mess. Moreover, the time it takes to be involved in a person’s life while they live out their own drama can sap all of your energy. Yet, every once in a while we find a person like Conrad Johnson who embellishes all of the finesse of a great mentor yet is able to instill the rigors of real life into his mentees like a drill sergeant does with their cadets. Someone who is able to live with the person, in their drama, yet pushes them not just through it, but beyond it; that was Conrad Johnson.

If you are not familiar with whom Conrad Johnson is, then you must see the new film directed by Mark Landsman (Skylab 2005; Peace Of Mind 1999), and produced in help from Jaime Foxx, titled Thunder Soul. It chronicles one of this countries great music educators who developed a high school stage band into a world renowned jazz-funk powerhouse in the early 70’s. Johnson was able to do what many other teachers, were not able to do, which was instill self-respect, identity, and self-esteem within his students in order to create a legion of band members who would reshape the very essence of high school stage bands.

Thunder Soul is a documentary that inspires those of us who work with young minds. It is structured to demonstrate that even within the demoralizing annuls of racism—particularly the depth at which African Americans faced it during the late 60’s & 70’s—there is still hope and the pursuit of “life” in the midst of madness.

Conrad began with the raw talent of anxious high schoolers in Houston Texas (Kashmere High School) filled with talent yet to be discovered. He began by building in them self-belief prior to any notes being played. Conrad even said, “…if you get a person to believe that they can play as good as a professional; and get them to really believe that they are someone, then you’ve begun to build that person up and the music will flow.” Within music there is a space for people to connect. No one understood that better than Conrad Johnson who was able to not just take notes on a paper and turn them into music, but to transform lives for a lifetime.

The film is focused around the 35 year reunion of band members at Kashmere High School. Most of the former band members had not played an instrument since they had left school. Yet, Conrad says, “They were taught so well, it’ll come back to them.” And it did. That says a lot about the teaching and education that took place in that band hall.

Conrad was able to tap into a person’s core identity and help them to realize, through music, that they are a force and sound to be reckoned with. Conrad took this high school band around the world and shattered the competition. They combined dance, a full horn section, keyboards, bass, and even vocals at times to produce some of the best jazz-funk music that was around—all from high school students!

The brilliance of the documentary is that it allows the people to speak and tell their narrative. There is little to no narration and the voice of “the people” comes through at every level. The timing could not have been better to actually have Conrad Johnson, in his twilight, discuss the context in which he was able to work. Moreover, you are shown that these former students of Johnson not only “learned music” but took with them lifelong lessons of camaraderie, community, inspiration, and a knowledge that they could accomplish something big—and at the end of the day, all of us want accomplishment at some level.

Thunder Soul—which was the name Johnson gave to the band—is a film worth watching because many are not even slightly aware of who Conrad Johnson is. Yet, he was one of the most brilliant, talented, and gifted musician who focused his talent at the grassroots level with the people; never won a well-deserved Grammy; never lived in a mansion; and was never on the cover of Rolling Stone. Yet Johnson did something far greater than social accolades. He was able to change the course of young people’s lives and give them hope—something money cannot buy. The film demonstrates how, now adults, were able to build on what Johnson taught them though music and apply that to their personal lives.

Check out Thunder Soul, the Christological parallels are astounding.

Troy Davis & The New Jim Crow: It Could've Been Me

Daniel Hodge — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 21:50:40 -0700

As I sit here stunned and a bit silenced, I’m befounded by the decision to murder a man with no physical evidence, witnesses who recant their testimony, another shooter identified, and a pile of evidence pointing to doubt in the murder of an off duty police officer, Mark MacPhail. If you are unfamiliar with what has been happening here, then simply type in Troy Davis into any search engine and read up on the facts. Kevin Powell, Lisa Guerrero have written some amazing pieces and Jasiri X has had an amazing push for the stay of execution for Troy Davis that you can read as well.

My problem here is twofold: 1) the lack of justice for African Americans—in particular—in this country (this is a historical problem; if you are new to this I highly recommend taking an African American history class ASAP) and what the life of one young Black male is worth in this country of ours. 2) What is the response of the Christian community in the face of death? Christians—particularly conservatives—will argue until the day is done that there is a “right to life.” But what life? And what about those who are innocent but have been accused of a crime they didn’t commit? Do we stand silent in that? How do the politics of race come into play in these issues?

Therefore, I am reminded of Howard Thurman’s question for Christians who are impotent to act in the face of racial, class, and social injustices: “Is it the impotency due to a betrayal of the genius of the religion, or is it due to a basic weakness in the religion itself” (Jesus and the Disinherited preface)? My prayer is that it is just the betrayal.

What we have here is an extreme injustice. As Kevin Powell so eloquently pointed out, in the brutal murder of Oscar Grant by a White police officer—who was caught on tape indecently, shooting Grant in cold blood while handcuffed—gets less than 2 years; yet in a case surrounded with doubt and no physical evidence, a man is put to death.

Now, don’t get me wrong, the family of Officer Mark MacPhail is also suffering. It is a damn shame that a man who was coming to the rescue of another man being beat is killed—that too is a travesty and an atrocity. And, indirectly, the family still has no justice—relatively speaking. The killer is still walking the Earth.

In the end, is death the answer? Is the killing of another person the logical conclusion of justice? I ponder those questions, because the police officers who killed friends of mine, students of mine, and parents are still walking the Earth as well. Do I want death for them? I cannot say as of yet, so I too struggle with these issues. I do know that revenge killings are not the answer; yet they are woven into the social fabric and philosophy of this country.

As a Black man living in this country, I don’t fear getting blown up by some terrorist. I don’t fear some guy on a tape telling “me” that he wants to “kill me.” I don’t fear “terrorism” in its popular state. I don’t fear the overthrowing of our government by Muslim idealist. Let me tell you what I do fear. What happened to Troy Davis (and the countless amounts of other Black men in this country of ours) is what I fear…every day. As a Black man, you are always 1 foot away from the prison industrial complex; you are one breath away from being accused of something you didn’t do, but because someone “saw” you, you’re guilty. I fear the “justice” system in this country and that it will probably never produce “justice” for me in my lifetime. I fear that even a simple misdemeanor on my record will keep me from gainful employment; even with 4 degrees, 3 books, publications, and a list of stunning references. I fear being pulled over every single time; because I never know when it will be “my turn.”

I am Troy Davis. I know Troy Davis’ in the communities I work in. I’ve known Troy Davis in my classroom. I’ve seen Troy Davis in the store being looked at as a thug, simply because the messages that others have seen in the media about him are dominant in their minds.

This death is an atrocity. I cannot say it any other way. The execution taking place in a state with a history of racism and prejudicially biased decisions behooves the critical mind to ask what else is going on behind the scenes. Moreover, how does a Christian respond with Christ’s love in the face of such carnages? How does Thurman’s question reside with those who call themselves followers of Christ? What if we, in the Christ following community, actually took up a cause to truly engage the injustice of racism, sexism, and the prison industrial complex? Would it make you too “liberal” in the face of your friends? Or can we stand together on this issue regardless of social face?

I for one am ready to make this place a bit better for the little girl I call my daughter to live in. My prayer is for Troy Davis’ family. I pray for the family of Officer Mark MacPhail. I pray for our country as we are headed into a future unlike any other. I pray for the madness, hatred, and ignorance enveloped within racism that it would begin to be undone for some who are in positions of power, privilege, and with resources and that they would act…now.

Godspeed Troy Davis.

10 Years Later: An Essay on Post 9/11 America

Daniel Hodge — Sat, 10 Sep 2011 21:37:38 -0700

We now have 10 years between us and the events which re-shaped the U.S. forever. 10 years have passed and much has happened in between those years. The landscape and cultural structure of the U.S. has changed forever. Those events which scarred many Americans gave us a real life glimpse into the face of evil. Many lost loved ones, friends, family members, co-workers, and witnessed horrific sites of people jumping to their deaths and explosions in buildings where the implied reason made you conclude more deaths were occurring; contrast that with narrative of heroic acts aboard United Flight 93, people carrying the disabled down flights of stairs, brave firepersons giving their lives up for the masses, and the countless law enforcement officers who risked their lives to save people trapped below the rubble. Yes, lives and families were changed on that day 10 years ago. In a flash, it appeared that, the nation was united and coming together; but what unification was it? What were we actually coming together for? War? Peace? Revenge? Atonement?

Liz Sidoti in her captivating essay “9/11 Brought Us Together, But Was It Unity?” asks the timely question of national unity; moreover, she challenges the notion of “patriotism” in the context of violence and death. And, Sidoti places the idea of “unity” back in our faces 10 years after these events. She states, “We mourned together, raged together, resolved together. But it wasn't long before the perception of a united America gave way to the reality of division. Political polarization became the norm. And partisanship, gridlock and a loss of faith in institutions returned in force.” Are we that “together” and does patriotism always mean war and the ensuing deaths of our “enemies?” What is the “War on Terror?” And which “terror” are we actually fighting? Joseph Tuman reminds us that much of what we see communicated to us in the form of “terrorism” is socially constructed and he asserts that, “Terrorism today may seem like a relatively new phenomenon, but in truth, the practice of terrorizing for political, ideological, religious, and/ or economic purposes extends back many thousands of years and across many different cultures” (p.2 in Communicating Terror: The Rhetorical Dimensions of Terrorism. 2010.). Therefore, whose “terror” takes precedent? What does it take for the masses to take notice of “terrorism?” These are deep questions which lead to even deeper trails of thought in the realm of “terror.”

I was recently at a symposium discussing apocalyptic themes in culture/ society. One of the questions that was posed asked: what makes an apocalyptic event an actual apocalyptic event and for whom does it have to affect for it not to simply be a mere “tragedy?”

In the 10 years that have passed, I’ve noticed some themes arise from those ashes and rubble of 9/11. The first of the major themes is that justice is accepted and required when the dominant culture is injured publically and politically. In the days following the attacks, the public wanted revenge. You see, in Hollywood action films, the “good guys” always get the “bad guys” and the bad guys simply don’t die easily; they pay for their sins and are made to remember their transgressions against the good guys. More importantly, justice is had and the good prevail. Therefore, it should come as no surprise when the social constructs of “we’re the number 1 country,” “we’re the best in the world,” “we’re God’s nation,” and “we are the strongest—and God gives us this strength” become marred and trampled in the global stage—no one wants to look like a “punk bitch” nation, especially the U.S—that no resource is spared to “smoke them out” and bring “those responsible” to justice. So, we had to act. “Justice” must be served. “Justice” must be had. And those bastards must pay; it’s seen in almost every action adventure film over the last 50 years. John Wayne always gets his man; Clint Eastwood makes them pay; and Ronald Reagan made sure the enemy was killed. But what makes the American public wanting revenge for their atrocity different than someone in the urban context wanting justice for their dead family member or friend murdered in an unjust manner any? The problem with revenge killing, as my colleague Earle Fisher so eloquently states is that, “…revenge killings only lead to…more killings!”

The second theme has been the classic reinforcement of NIMBY (Not in MY Back Yard). In other words, if I don’t have to see it, it must not exist, or, until it arrives in my back yard, it’s not truly an issue. What is an insurgent? What is a “bad guy?” Those are vague terms, yet accepted as fact when we see some dead Taliban looking person—or what we define as Taliban looking—carted off dead on television or the internet. The death totals are always higher for the other side—yes we suffer casualties, but not at the exponential number the other side does. And what about that Iraqi boy or girl who is instantly made an orphan by a mis-guided missile? What about that Middle Eastern looking man who is detained without reason indefinitely at an airport? What becomes of “justice” then? And how are civil rights—which continue to be eroded—put on the shelf in the pursuit of this justice—so long as “my” justice is served first? The great theologian and humanitarian Howard Thurman questions this myopic logic by asking: “Why is it that Christianity seems impotent to deal radically and therefore effectively, with the issues of discrimination and injustice on the basis of race, religion, and national origin” (Preface in Jesus and the Disinherited 1976)?

The third and last major theme which has arisen in this decade has been “terror” is only “terror” if we say it is. When I was a teenager living in the Bay Area, most of the police force was a terrorist organization—no I am not saying that all police officers are terrorist, nor am I saying that all of the police officers in my neighborhood were bad. However, the majority were terrorizers and would make no bones about it. We—meaning our community which consisted of African Americans and Latinos; some poor Whites— always had to carry our ID’s with us or face time in a holding cell for “lack of proper identification.” We were typically detained for no reason—at gun point often. And if there was a “suspect” to be found, you could be sure we were always in that line up. Most days you’d just want to stay inside to avoid the hassle. But the real “terror” came in the form of beatings. Mouth off to one of these officers and you could have your entire dental structure realigned; and if you were actually doing dirt of some kind and got caught, prepare for a “night stick shower” until the detectives or reporters arrived. Yet, when this was brought to the proper authorities’ attention, we were shunned away and told “You must have been resisting arrest” or “You warranted such a reaction from that officer.” When this pattern was emerging throughout the U.S. ghettos, most in dominant culture overlooked the issue; thought it to be of “paranoid” citizens with overactive imaginations; no police officer would ever do that; they are our protectors and servants to the public. So when does the justice come for our terrorism? We have to remember, crack cocaine was not an issue for America until it reared its ugly countenance on Wall Street; school shootings were not a problem until a quite suburb experienced “angry teens” taking their frustrations out on their kids; AIDS was not a problem as long as it was relegated to the “Gay district”; and terrorism was not an issue until dominant society felt what many other nations experience on a daily basis. Thurman once again says, “Jesus rejected hatred. Jesus rejected hatred because he saw that hatred meant death to the mind, death to the spirit, death to communion…he affirmed life; and hatred was the great denial” (p. 88).

As a follower of Christ, I think it is imperative that anyone claiming to follow this spiritual path truly examine these 3 themes as a whole and take to heart where we really are at this day. Have we let fear set in to dictate the place of real justice? Have we allowed group think revenge to impart wisdom instead of clear thinking and compassion? Have we allowed political rhetoric to “unify” us in place of an accurate Christ like worldview? I would hope we can begin to tackle these issues head on. I don’t think much has changed for the better in the 10 years since the attacks; in fact, as an ethnic minority male, a lot of things have gotten worse. My prayer is that we can continue this dialogue in a fashion that breeds true understanding, reconciliation, and restoration which will lead to a love that surpasses even our own understandings…here’s to the next 10 years.

Amy Winehouse: Toward A Theology of Suffering

Daniel Hodge — Fri, 29 Jul 2011 13:55:45 -0700

Almost every great artist/ performer over the last 50 years has struggled with their demons. But their struggle has given us some of the best art, music, dance, poetry, books, and even theology. One of my favorite quotes is in the DVD extras of the film Bruce Almighty when Bruce is having a conversation with God (Morgan Freeman) and asking him why he didn’t save this young man when he was brutally picked on as a kid. God simply answers and says that if the kid had not gone through that pain and hurt, the poetry and literature he wrote about, which inspired many later in his life, would have never come to fruition.

Most of us have a theology which takes us far from pain and suffering. We have tended to label being “Blessed” with affluence and wellbeing. We tend to see those who suffer as being “lost” or even worse, in “sin.” I remember spending almost an entire semester trying to convince a young college class of mine at a private Christian university that there were actually homeless people who were Christian and had a strong relationship with God.

Amy Winehouse was no different than any of us who struggle with issues—she just had a difficult time keeping them hidden. If she had been a nameless person strung out on some corner, no one would have probably paid her any mind; just another person addicted and “messed up.” But in our religion of celebrityism in this country we tend to loom over deaths like this with perplexity. Moreover, we tend to be “shocked” when deaths like this happen.

That said, was Amy some saint or theologian? I cannot say as I have not studied her music and or lyrics. I do know, however, that many young people adored her and loved her music. My point in all of this is that Winehouse obviously struggled with some real demons and chose an unfortunate route to deal with those issues that arose in her life. Still, within that pain, we were able to see a side of a person most do not get to see. When one lives in the glasshouse of fame, everything is on display. Moreover, when that pain emerges—and it inevitably does—it is there on display for all to see. Winehouse gave good music and was a very talented person; very little argument there. Yet, her pain was too overwhelming and it consumed her to the point of death.

So why didn’t God just “save her,” or send someone along to help? Going back to that conversation with God and Bruce, a difficult place for many of us to live begins to arise when that intersection between pain/ suffering and “being blessed” meet. Why didn’t God just “save” the boy? Or anyone who suffers for that matter (nations, cultures, people groups, entire countries)? Why didn’t God just stoop down and make things ok? We have had a consistent disconnect with pain as it relates to real Biblical theology; all of the disciples of Jesus lived very painful lives and most died miserable deaths for Christ and the burgeoning movement called Christianity—then deemed as a cult. We miss that Jesus Himself had no “place for his head to lay” and that the early Christian churches were piss broke, pooled all their money in a pot, and lived simple lives—at many times filled with pain. Why didn’t God just hook ‘em up? Put them up at the 5 star Bethlehem Hyatt? Give them Silicon/ Greek Valley donors? It is a difficult place to live with the tension that God does not always “show up” when we want God to. It is challenging to see someone like Winehouse so young and talented be cut down at a tender age. We want answers; most seek those answers out in dysfunctional ways such as telling ourselves—and those around us—that God has a plan; but when you’re in pain, what in the hell is that so called “plan?” If I’m living a “good life” why should I suffer? Why should my loved ones die? I prayed, fasted, and have lived for “you” God…hook me up!

That spiritual disease that Timothy Keller calls the Younger Brother syndrome in the parable of the prodigal son is a beast to overcome; we want God to bless us on our merits and take us from this suffering. In this worldview, we shouldn’t be the ones to have it hard; we “earned” God’s love and now deserve to be treated with some pious respect…dammit.

I suspect there is more to God in the complexities of suffering. At the end of the day, it produces some excellent artistic and literary work. Moreover, often times, as a result of this pain many are touched by that particular person or persons. Take for example in the case of Curt Cobain; his music remains a powerful voice of the hurt he experienced; thousands have learned from that and could/ can identify with similar life pain. In that identification process there is a method at work; an elementary attempt to make sense of 1) the pain and 2) where God might fit into this space. Pain is never easy to handle. We can try to make a grimace face and “suck it up,” but at the end of the day it is still difficult to bear. Having the ability to identify with someone “like you” is a powerful help in the journey to healing. Artists like Winehouse provide some of that identification.

There is the tendency to write off artists like Winehouse and say they’re just “lost” and too “worldly.” I would hope those of you reading this are beyond that rudimentary argument. For many in real pain are well outside the basic theological presumptions as it relates to pain and desire real access to a God that heals and can relate to their pain. There will always be the small group of those that follow their leaders blindly into whatever they do; including killing themselves if their figure does. Yet, that does not mark the thousands of people who legitimately identify with that person and use that person—indirectly and vicariously—to help them in their pain and time of need.

I believe that is also part of “being blessed” and in God’s “plan.” Mystery is a strange place to reside when a lot of contemporary evangelical Christianity teaches “answers” based theology. But if you are in a challenging time, I strongly encourage you to sit in that mystery and ambiguity for a while; take in the pain. In the excellent documentary film on race relations in the U.S. The Color Of Fear, a person named Roberto says something very powerful that I want to leave you with as you process this area of theology. I think it captures part of the theology of suffering and where God is at work: “Stretch out your arms and take hold of the cloth that covers you with both hands. The cure for the pain is in the pain. Good and bad are mixed. If you do not have both, you do not belong with us.”

Armageddon & Bull Sh*t Theologies

Daniel Hodge — Sat, 28 May 2011 21:46:35 -0700

One week ago (Saturday May 21, 2011) we should have all been blown to cosmic dust, or raptured up into the Heavens, or put into purgatory, or…what is it about the end times that gets us all in a query of frenzy? What is it about mass death in the name of God that has a lot of religious pious individuals smiling from cheek to cheek and actually being overwhelmed with happiness? A lot of this has to do with the belief in something that is obviously bigger than us and brings us immense self-identity, self-worth, and a false sense of self-righteousness; the same concept happens with, say, health freaks, environmental zealots, and anyone who has found the “Gospel” in a “religious” type context. Sociologist J. Paul Williams depicts this religious process as 1) the secret level—which a person keeps to their self and does not discuss or divulge religiosity which transcends into 2) the private—in which the person divulges information with carefully selected people; then comes 3) the denominational—which the individual shares with many others in a large group and, lastly, 4) the societal—where the “gospel” is shared with all, typically vigorously, and with much passion (J. Paul Williams The Nature Of Religion 1962). It is at this point (The societal) which the person can become zealous and over energetic to share this new found “news” with others.

Durkheim (The Elementary Forms of Religion 3 volumes) reminds us that religion is a functional part of society and binds its members more closely together through rituals and symbols. Therefore, it (religion) serves as a revitalizing function and creates hope, vision, and societal “glue” that keep us from plunging into another dark age.

Still, this said, many religious and pious persons who have become over-zealous and filled with “hope” turned dysfunctional, almost welcome a cosmic Godly mass extinction—so long as they and their selected family and friends are spared. Remember Jonah? Yes, many of us do. But what we forget is that the book of Jonah ended on a crappy note; in fact, very crappy. Let’s recap: Jonah’s living a happy little life, God calls him to Nineveh—a known city of “bad” people, “villains,” sinners, and lost souls, Jonah refuses and runs away, on the boat there is a big storm and Jonah knows it is for him, he’s tossed over right into the belly of some giant leviathan, spit up after 3 days, goes to the city, the people repent, and all is good…right? Well in a Disney Pixar film this would have been the end; but the Bible has a lot of stories that end like this: Jonah is pissed. Pissed that he had to endure such hardship, he finally listens to God, but then God doesn’t kill the “evil doers” as God had stated. Moreover Jonah is angry with God for what seemingly he feels as God not living up to his end of the agreement. What is this attitude? What is it that makes him feel that others should perish? Compassion is lost—which is also a word used in this passage; both Jonah and God use it. However, Jonah misses the point of the word; it would seem, Jonah almost wishes the people would have perished. What the hell is that about? Remind you of some churches?

I cannot tell you how many Jonah’s I have met in my life time: no compassion, zealous, and awaiting hell/ damnation upon anyone who does not fit their ideal religious structure.

Consequently, it should come as no surprise when we see hundreds of people clamoring to await the end of the world. More importantly, they are happy that there would be such destruction of the “wicked” and “evil.” Why is that? Doesn’t God talk about saving people? Didn’t Jesus talk about loving your neighbor? A lot gets lost in that religious process between the private and the societal. It is as if some almost hope that the end comes and kills all those “evil” people—whoever evil people are. Therefore, it is with no amazement that you have a historical timeline of fools attempting to predict the end of the world; the end of civilization; the end of life as we know it.

A film that most people did not like was called Knowing (2009) staring Nicholas Cage as a one John Koester who stumbles upon a code which reveals the end of life on this planet—most people are all up for that: Armageddon, Deep Impact, 2012 all deal with this theme in one way or another. But what most people want is a resolution. You kill us all off, but some survive, right? There is a “new Earth” right? What does that look like? Knowing answers 2 of those 3 questions and leaves the last one unanswered…people hate that, but in our theology, we don’t know. No one we know has died, been dead for a while, then come back to life, wrote a book, went on Oprah, and now can say without a definite doubt what the “next life” will be…Knowing not only embraces this mystery but acknowledges it as a reality for all of us; most people want answers; we want to know, “I’m at least saved, right?” “I did all the ‘right’ things, so I’m going to Heaven, right?”

We don’t know. None of us do. Rapture, pre-millennial, post-millennial, 3rd angels message, time of tribulation; we do not know. None of us. We should be ready in season and out of season.

So I am all in favor of engaging in the societal level of the religious process and using religion as a functional part of our society. However, I am not willing to condemn and wish death upon someone just because they do not live the lifestyle I deem “moral” or “immoral.” I will not take a Jonahian ethos toward humanity nor engage in practices which encourage that worldview. People follow these bullsh*t theologies because they tap into the social identity function and create self-pious mantras within those people to actually want destruction of the “damned.” Once again, Durkheim asserts that religion also functions as a euphoric function; it aides in establishing a “pleasant feeling” of social well-being; when this becomes maladjusted it is both tragic and dangerous. Harold Camping was able to tap into that dimension and therefore create a vicious line of belief which in turn thrusted people from the private and denominational sector right into the societal one to tell people of this imposing doom. Thereby creating this media frenzy which in turn places “all” Christians as religious freaks—I am tired of that perspective because of a few fools like Camping.

We have to be leery of bullsh*t theologies such as this because if Camping was wrong about this, chances are he is wrong about a lot of other stuff too. Regrettably there are way too many leaders such as Camping who infect their followers seeking that euphoric function and having little to no self-identity thereby creating a legion of ideologically diseased church goers wanting to tell everyone the “truth.”

Round two is coming up December 2012…let’s wait to see what happens on January 1, 2013.

Death & The Neo-Politics of Bad Guys in Post 9/11 America

Daniel Hodge — Mon, 02 May 2011 16:37:52 -0700

So, what do we celebrate when a social villain is killed? I got the news on my phone while I was running around Chuck E Cheese (A local video/ mini-amusement restaurant) with my four year old: Osama Bin Laden Dead; Killed by U.S. Forces. My initial reaction was nothing. What could I feel? A man, who had allegedly done all these horrific things to our country, was now killed. What did that mean to me? Not a damn thing. During the Vietnam war era, hundreds of African Americans carried signs that stated: No Vietnamese Ever Called Me A Nigger!” I have to, in context, say the same thing in regards to Bin Laden: What did he do to me? The nine police officers that brutally murdered friends of mine during the late 80’s are still alive—and well I might add. The police officers that shot and killed a bi-polar elderly African American man because he wouldn’t come down off his roof are still alive and were never brought to trial. The people and entities who brought crack cocaine into my neighborhood and addicted millions for decades to come…are still alive. Therefore, what should I celebrate? The death of an entity? That ideology is still very much alive and well. Moreover, part of that ideology was created in the “heat of passion” when the U.S. was making love with members of guerilla Afghans who would in turn, kill the infidel Soviet Union soldiers, so that we could avoid World War III during the late 70’s and early 80’s and still flex our military muscle—using Bin Laden and his merry men as grunts.

I in no way want to take away from the viciousness of 9/11/01. I in no way want to minimize the lives that were lost on that day. I in no way want to tarnish the lives lost, hard work given, and effort put forth from the women and men in the armed forces over the last decade. Still, there is something greater at work. An almost cinematic ending to what most Americans wanted the next day after the attacks on 9/11: blood. But what does this all mean? For many who are oppressed, marginalized, treated as outsiders, and overlooked by society in various ways, this day might not mean much.

I remember I was working as a Youth advocate for the organization Young Life at the time of the 9/11 attacks. The organization sent out a mass email and letter (they used paper in those days) stating that counselors were on standby if any areas needed them and that we should spend time debriefing this event with our kids. So, I took it seriously and set up the rest of the week to talk with kids about this event. But what I found out almost blew my mind. Almost every kid I spoke with was like, “Man, this is every day in our ‘hood… I feel for those people, but what makes my family members death any less important?” The same question is asked here too. The great documentary Crips & Bloods: Made In America stated the statistic that over 16,000 deaths a year are from just South Central Los Angeles, but there is no response from any governmental agency and workers in South Central who work for change have to compete over private funds. But what does that mean? Nothing to most people; they’re a bunch of barbaric animals who deserve to die—typical worldviews. I’ve even known some people to celebrate in that—“They’re better off dead anyways Dan.”

Thus, when I think about Bin Laden’s death, I take it with a grain of salt and know that in post 9/11 America, things are not what they seem. Lies, spin, and corporate jargon are what sell today.

In the Hip Hop world, some are contesting the authenticity of this story to begin with.

In a world that seems to be lopsided with its priorities—privatization of the prison industrial complex, disgraceful schools in the inner city, consumers looked at as cattle, human rights seen as a privilege not a right to corporations—I’m just not convinced that yelling “USA, USA, USA” on camera is the “right thing” to do. Moreover, how did you feel when you saw Middle Easterners doing the same thing (yelling their mantras) after the attacks on 9/11?

Yeah, I get that people are “united.” Yeah, I get that Obama has a political victory. I get that this gives some type of “hope” for America. I get all that.

Osama’s death marks a notch in the “war on terror,” but, I ask you, what terror are we fighting? Gas is close to $5 a gallon, the Gulf of Mexico is still in shambles, gas companies are posting record profits, racism continues to abound seeing ethnic minorities as outsiders (birth certificate anyone?), women still make about $13,000 less than men on average, and I still haven’t got a full time job with 4 degrees, 3 books, over 10 years of teaching experience, and references that are stellar…what are we fighting? What’s with all the damn celebration?

Cornel West on Remembering Legacy

Daniel Hodge — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 16:34:11 -0800

As Black History Month concludes, I thought it be good to let Dr. Cornel West shine some light on remembering the legacy of struggle and strife within the African American community and where we currently are and headed. Dr. Cornel West is one of the most prolific voices in the African American community today and brings to the table a social praxis which engages not only the academy but also the day to day person.

Check out what Dr. West has to say as we reflect on the struggles and accomplishments of African Americans this month...

Continuing The Legacy of Dr. King in Post 9/11 America

Daniel Hodge — Sun, 16 Jan 2011 21:27:54 -0800

These days it is difficult to fully embrace the idea that we live in a “post-racial society” when we in the Black community still see our young people shot down at the hands of police officers (click here. This young man was from one of my home towns on the Central Coast of Ca. where I did Young Life for many years). It is difficult to imagine a society where “race” and the “color” of our skin are not looked upon as the measure of a person/ people group. It is challenging to see through a lot of the subtle, overt, and venomous racism that swirls in our media, political rhetoric, and societal structures almost every day.

What sticks out to me the most during this Holiday season are two things: 1) Dr. King has become an institutionalized figure who has lost a lot of his true grit in societal terms and 2) A lot see the events of Dr. King as “back in those days” and fail to realize the “fight” for equality is still on. Hence, the struggle for equality becomes longer and harder in these times.

Therefore, the legacy part, for me at least and for many other ethnic minorities, is that we continue to educate, train up the next generation, and push forward towards equality for all and racial justice. But what does that mean? I was having a conversation the other day with some students who wanted me to call senators, help them organize a rally, and sign more petitions. All very good stuff indeed. However, a shift has occurred in our society over the last decade which has made it even more problematic to effect change through these channels. Am I saying we should abandon the march? Throw away the petitions? Hang up the phones? Of course not! However, in this day in age those avenues afforded to us as advocates for justice and equality in this free country are wearing thin in their effectiveness for change. For example, when the country found out we were going to war, millions marched, signed petitions, and called their senators and representative to put pressure on the White House to not do this; of course we all know those efforts were futile. Fast forward a few years and we have the events of Hurricane Katrina hit the New Orleans area hard. Once again, thousands marched and wrote letters…still, no real effective change; some areas still look as though the hurricane hit last week. Fast forward to the Dream Act where I personally called and petitioned, thousands of others called their representatives and many agencies (both left and right of political lines) stood together to write letters for this act to pass; no change. It would seem that the marches and protest—while still a great way of expressing thought—do not have the same impact they once did during Dr. King’s time.

What might all this mean?

As I spoke with my students, we struggled through this very question and weighed its significance in the future of equality and justice. Moreover, what are the “next steps?” How might Dr. King’s legacy continue when one of the most effective tools he himself used is becoming obsolete?

I also struggle with where we are at in terms of racial progress. As a Black male I tend to see a lot of these issues rear their foul countenance towards me: getting looked over to be served in line, being spoken to rudely at the library while other White patrons are spoken to in a nicer tone, being asked “Do you work here?” constantly at places like Home Depot when I’m clearly not wearing the classic orange—all underlying tones of something deeper at work within our lens of the social construct of race. So, I struggle in finding that balance in continuing the legacy of Dr. King.

I love the parades and I love the nuances and homage paid to Dr. King on this day. However many, including many African Americans and ethnic minorities, fail to see the depth and scope of what that changed cost. It cost time, energy, tears, sweat, time away from family, human hours, organizational minds, nails, paint, glue, shoes, voices being lost, coordination, and most importantly it cost many lives. Dr. Stephane Dunn writes that there are businesses that are taking “snow days” on this Holiday and not truly observing the actual meaning of the day (you can read more here). At one of the schools I teach at, one year several social and racially unconscious students ran down the dorm hallways screaming “yeah, whoo hoo, Dr. King’s freaking Holiday…” in mockery of the day. Many other social and racially unconscious students laughed as they wore black hats and ties. That type of ignorance is extremely hard to deal with, but even harder, if not impossible, to educate and change.

What’s the point? The point is that we need to re-group: African Americans, Latinos, Euro Americans, Asians, and oppressed peoples everywhere… we need to realize the significance, depth, responsibility, awareness, and complexity of change and what it will cost; because what we can’t afford is a future not paid and in debt socially and institutionally.

Note: the picture used in this blog is that of Dave Dennis, delivering the eulogy at the funeral of James Chaney (killed by cops/Klansmen) in 1964. See the intensity, the anger, the call to justice, and the passion within this photo.

Engaging the Hip Hop Culture

Daniel Hodge — Tue, 30 Nov 2010 07:41:18 -0800

This is the third and final segment in my interview with Bobby Duran on The Soul of Hip Hop. Here we talk about engaging an unreached people group that is more spiritual and global than you might think.

Daniel Hodge Part 3 - "Engaging the Hip Hop Culture" from ConversantLife on Vimeo.