In thanksgiving for the
life, ministry, and writings of body theologian James B. Nelson. For posts on this blog that reference his insights, click here and scroll down.
The following is
excerpted and adapted from a talk previously given to the Georgia Mountains Unitarian Universalist Church in Dahlonega, Georgia, where I will be speaking at
11 a.m. Nov. 8 on “Grounded Spirituality” and offering a free workshop after
the service on “Spiritual Self-Exam.”
Salvation
has come to mean something very different for me over my lifetime than it did
when the word slipped so easily from the mouths of the fundamentalists around
me in the Baptist church and Christian school in which I grew up.
“Salvation”
or “being saved” implies that we are in danger, a danger we cannot escape
without help. We need a rescuer, a defender, a knight in shining armor, a hero
or heroine, a messiah, a god or goddess—or, as in ancient Greek theater, a
“deus ex machina,” a god who magically comes on stage via a machine-like
apparatus.
We don’t like to admit
our vulnerability in sometimes needing a rescuer!
But
salvation in both Jewish and Christian meaning also means deliverance, implying a release from oppression, from bondage, from
captivity, from injustice, from unrighteousness, from meaninglessness—and here you
can add anything we might need deliverance from, such as addiction, greed,
poverty, ignorance, prejudice—even wealth and privilege.
Thus
the children of Israel were delivered from the hand of Pharaoh in Egypt through
the Exodus, the formative story of Judaism. And early Christians were delivered
from purity codes and ritual requirements, and more importantly, delivered from
sin and death in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, the formative story
of Christianity.
Regarding
either of these stories as myths does not diminish their roles as foundational
stories; in fact, it may enhance their use in speaking to the unfathomable
mystery of human experience.
But
the words translated both “salvation” and “deliverance” have another meaning
still, and that is “liberation.”
Liberation means we are set free from all that holds us back, keeps us down,
interferes with a life filled with meaning, love, and hope, freeing us from
oppressive institutions, beliefs, and systems, whether economic, political, or
religious.
Thus
liberation theology has spoken to so many around the world, from the barrios of
Latin America to the pockets of self-determination in totalitarian states across
the globe.
As
a progressive Christian, as a believer in interfaith and multicultural
spiritual wisdom, I can identify with all three of these terms: salvation,
deliverance, and liberation.
But what I’ve needed to
be saved from, delivered by, and liberated for has changed over the years.
Today
I need to be rescued from parochialism,
my narrow and often privileged view of the way things are.
I
need to be delivered by insights of a
wider range of thinkers—those of other faiths, races, conditions, and cultures,
as well as scientists, artists, and atheists.
I
need to be liberated for new ways of experiencing
and understanding the world and our lives and God.
My
salvation from fundamentalism (of all kinds, political and religious,
conservative and liberal) has led me more and more to a kind of universalism, an
ever-expanding realization that we’re all in this together, need one another,
and share a collective stake in the salvation of the world.
For those interested in
knowing what progressive Muslims think, please visit:
Find out how to support
this blog ministry by clicking here and scrolling down to the donate link below its description. Thank you! Donations of $100 or more will receive a gift
signed copy of my book, Communion of Life: Meditations for the New Millennium.
Copyright © 2015 by Chris R. Glaser.
Permission granted for non-profit use with attribution of author and blogsite.
Other rights reserved.
Thanks, Chris.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Chris... Jim was one of my professors in seminary...
ReplyDeleteThanks, Chris... Jim was one of my seminary professors and a good man...
ReplyDelete