Scandalous Wealth

IN HIS 2013 book The Great Divergence: America’s Growing Inequality and What We Can Do About It, Timothy Noah notes that the personal income of the top 1 percent in the United States began to increase exponentially beginning in 1979, a peak year in what economists call the “Great Inflation” (1965-1982). While there has always been economic stratification in the U.S., the “great divergence” in American’s incomes began at the end of the 1970s, and the wealth gap has continued to grow. In 2019, people in the top 1 percent of income distribution held more than 33 percent of the total U.S. wealth — up from 27 percent in 1989, according to a Congressional Budget Office report. Families in the bottom half held only 2 percent of the total wealth. The U.S. has policies that protect wealth and others that depress wages and hinder affordable housing. This combination increases poverty. Unfortunately, false narratives still circulate about the causes of poverty, blaming the poor and pitting communities against each other.

From another point of view, acceptance of wealth disparity, and the policies that cause it, is a result of failed imagination: We accept increasing wealth disparity because we cannot envision another way. As people of faith, we are called to be God’s prophets and seers — to see the possibilities of God where others cannot. The church’s task is to challenge empire’s narratives about what is possible, to actively cultivate what biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann calls a “prophetic imagination” for a different reality and empower communities to embrace it.

July 7

Impaired Imagination

Ezekiel 2:1-5; Psalm 123; 2 Corinthians 12:2-10; Mark 6:1-13

“CAN ANYTHING GOOD come out of Nazareth?” Nathaniel asks in John 1. But this question is implicit in all the gospels, including Mark 6 when Jesus returns to his hometown. Jesus’ townspeople see him as one of their own but are astounded by his wisdom and the extraordinary things he demonstrates. Mark does not state the content of Jesus’ preaching, but Luke clarifies that Jesus proclaims liberation for the oppressed, people like themselves. The Nazarenes challenge Jesus based on his lowly status as a carpenter. But, at a different level, they are incredulous that someone from their own town could be so eloquent and powerful.

Nazareth was a quintessential example of the economic and political impacts of colonial oppression. From the perspectives of the Nazarenes, someone from such an impoverished town, someone who looks like them and shares their history of marginalization, could not secure liberation from the Roman Empire. In questioning his credentials and worth, they are questioning their own. They see themselves just as they see Jesus — incapable of great teaching and liberative deeds. Postcolonial scholar Frantz Fanon explained how communities subjected to colonial aggression internalize colonial narratives about themselves. Internalized oppression undermines one’s sense of self-worth and impairs one’s ability to imagine a different reality, in which oppression is overthrown.

Mark 6:3 says the Nazarenes “took offense” at him. The Greek word translated here as “offense” is skandalon (meaning “snare” or “stumbling block”); it suggests that the Nazarenes are “ensnared” by their self-perceptions. Their internalized oppressive narratives become stumbling blocks, preventing them from escaping oppression. The culprit here is empire, not the people — even if their ability to perceive the liberative imagination of Jesus is impaired. Progress and liberation are often impeded by oppressive colonial narratives, but liberation is possible when communities refuse to be ensnared by the narratives of empire and actively imagine new realities together.

July 14

Proximity to Power

Amos 7:7-15; Psalm 85:8-13; Ephesians 1:3-14; Mark 6:14-29

THE PROPHET AMOS demanded the fair distribution of resources and advocated for the poor. He vociferously condemns the rule of King Jeroboam for upholding an unjust system. The king does not retaliate directly, but Amaziah, the priest of Bethel, does the king’s dirty work. Amaziah uses the power of his religious office to target Amos, delineating for Amos an official “protest zone” (far away from the king) where he can prophesy (7:12-13). In a blatant case of religion getting into bed with an expansionist empire, Amaziah whitewashes the empire by equating its religious capital, Bethel, with a “sanctuary” (verse 13) for the king and the king’s unjust policies, effectively legislating God’s justice out of the religious center.

John the Baptist, also a religious leader, chose a different path than Amaziah. John was from a priestly family in the tradition of Abijah. Rather than employing his pedigree to enable the regime of Herod Antipas, John gives up his privilege and takes on the prophetic role. His humble lifestyle itself was a critique of the opulence of the house of Herod. John fiercely advocated for those on whose backs Herod built his wealth, its trappings, and his power. The ancient historian Flavius Josephus notes that John became a political prisoner and was executed primarily for criticizing the Roman Empire’s economic and political structures. In the end, John’s head ends up on a platter at Herod’s birthday banquet (Mark 6:14-29) precisely because John criticized Herod’s economic structures that made such a lavish banquet possible.

Empire, whether ancient or modern, is always willing to use violence to suppress voices who unmask its injustice. Sometimes religious leaders must decide between lending the power of their office to empire or challenging empire at the risk of losing power and influence. The lure of proximity to power can profoundly profane the sacred. The church must always be vigilant against falling into empire’s embrace.

July 21

Resistance Is Not Futile

Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 23; Ephesians 2:11-22; Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

JESUS' POPULARITY SEEMS to have soared nearly overnight. The same Jesus, recently rejected in his hometown, has now become a rock star (Mark 6:31-34). His popularity so rivals that of John the Baptist that Herod Antipas has confused Jesus and John, fearing that John has been raised from the dead (Mark 6:14-16). Evil powers killing heroes who then return to life is an old and ongoing motif. Fans of The Lord of the Rings may recall the fascinating story of when Gandalf was killed by Balrog only to reemerge triumphantly, having been resurrected by Eru Illúvatar, Arda’s supreme deity.

Herod’s confusion between Jesus and John is not entirely without basis. Like John, Jesus and his disciples preached a message of repentance. After John’s assassination, Jesus continues John’s mission of exposing empire’s oppression and advocating for those at the margins. After Nazareth, Jesus and his disciples head away in the boat to ereymos (Greek for “wilderness”), a place associated with John’s ministry. They attract big crowds, as did John — in essence, they extend John’s legacy. John did not come back from the dead as Herod had feared, but John’s ministry of challenging the empire roared back to life in Jesus’ mission.

Herod Antipas seems to have assumed that he could stamp out John’s resistance movement by executing him, but then Herod is utterly alarmed when he discovers that movement to be very much alive and growing. Empire can eliminate grassroots leaders and suppress resistance movements temporarily, but it cannot extinguish them. Resistance to empire might seem pointless at times, but it is never futile.

July 28

A Vision of Abundance

2 Kings 4:42-44; Psalm 145:10-18; Ephesians 3:14-21; John 6:1-21

ALTHOUGH THE STORY of Jesus feeding the multitudes in John 6 shares many details with Mark, Matthew, and Luke, the literary context is different. In the synoptic gospels, the story takes place after Herod’s execution of John the Baptist. In John’s gospel the feeding of the multitudes occurs near the festival of the Passover, which commemorates deliverance from enslavement. Perhaps the significance of John’s mention of Passover is that political liberation — whether from Pharoah Ramses or Herod Antipas — means little if it does not ensure structures and practices that care for the needy. Stories of feeding the multitudes by the prophet Elisha (2 Kings 4:42-44) and Jesus (John 6:1-21) stand out for the extraordinary nature of the events, but also for contrasting worldviews. In each story, the narrator juxtaposes the disciples’ concern about insufficient food with Elisha’s and Jesus’ insistence on feeding the many. The disciples speak from a mindset of scarcity, but Elisha and Jesus speak from a mindset of abundance.

Growing up, I watched movies about Jesus taking a small amount of food and feeding multitudes. I watched with fascination as Jesus prayed, blessed, and “multiplied” the food so that everyone had enough to eat. Years later I discovered that the gospels say nothing about Jesus multiplying the food. I don’t think the amount of food miraculously expanded. Instead, both Elisha and Jesus empower those with food to share it with others, seeing them not as a threat but as neighbors to whom they are ethically obliged. Miraculously, people shared from an imagination of plenty in the context of extreme lack. Biblical “feeding stories” suggest that there is enough for everyone — and more — when communities organize with compassion around a vision of abundance. What might a similar miracle look like for us today?

Empire has a proclivity to promote an economy of scarcity even as it thrives at the expense of many. Elisha and Jesus encourage people to embrace an ethic of compassion to ensure the welfare for all with whatever is available. Can the church follow this model to ensure that our ideas of democracy translate into fresh policies that deliver economic justice for all?