Liberation Theology (Written August 23)

Even as I write from my desk in my simple, but cozy, second story room I am treated to a pretty fantastic view of Cuarnevaca’s one and only Cathedral. Granted, my view is only made possible once I lean forward, poke my head out of the window, and face directly left. Regardless, I can’t complain. Its’ are the bells that wake me up every morning at 7am and keep me from falling asleep before 12am. And its’ is only the second Catholic Church service that I’ve attended, ever.

With 15 minutes to spare before the service began, I found myself gazing around at the intricately drawn 16th century murals plastering the walls of this Spanish-built cathedral that, as was Cortes’ Palace, built on the ruins of an indigenous structure. My wandering eyes eventually landed on the figure of a fellow BCA-er, Norma Rojas, the only true Mexican, and Catholic, in our group. By this time the church had begun to fill up with people still pouring in through the massive oak, cast iron encased doors to the Cathedral. As I snuggled into my spot next to Norma, aka Catholic service guide, the six-person, mariachi band, getting the go-ahead from some important looking lady at the lectern, began with the prelude.

Now, to be honest, the mariachi band was my principal reason for attending the service. But, so as not to sound narrowly-interested (and easily amused), the band, and the very fact that when the band quieted the Father greeted the congregation in Spanish, for me, represented a much larger phenomenon: the occasional ability of the organized church to get its act together and achieve its potential for having a profoundly positive impact on society. It is for this phenomenon that I haven’t yet lost all ‘faith’ in the church’s capacity for good.

First embraced by oppressed peoples in Mexico (and the rest of Latin America) and in distant Palestine in the 1950’s, Liberation Theology called for what the Church saw as a ‘radical’ reinterpretation of the Bible. Its core message of protecting the poor and meek could hardly be considered a ‘radical’ departure from Jesus’ insistence that man forgo his pursuit for material gain and focus on doing good toward his neighbor. Instead, the only radical thing about this new theology was the threat it posed to the Catholic Church’s power structure.

The Catholic Church’s role had long rested on keeping the masses in a state of ignorance of their human value and capacity to protect it. While not totally rejecting the rights of the poor, the Catholic Church did believe that there were certain people sent by God, given some priestly title, with the divine mandate of being in charge of those who didn’t have the ability to be in charge of themselves. In such an environment it’s not really surprising that the Church would feel intimidated by a set of ideas that called for the masses to rise up and gain control over their earthly destinies.

In Latin American countries, having services be held in its native language was one of the first changes initiated as part of this theology. Beyond a matter of practicality, (when services were held solely in Latin nobody had any idea what was going on) adapting services to the local traditions symbolized the people’s reclaiming of their own faith from the Church.

Besides just the language of the liturgy, services were totally restructured. In fact, the Cathedral was the first in the entire country to do so in inaugurating its’ weekly ‘mariachi mass.’ While its easy to forget when somewhat outshined by its decisive role in the early stages of Zapata’s agrarian revolution, Morelos was home to one of the original architects of liberation theology, Sergio Mendez Arseo. The impact of the change that took place in this very cathedral is still felt today throughout the continent and the world. I told you there was something special about this place.

In the last 50 years, the church underwent similar transformations in far away lands. While remaining true to Liberation Theology’s emphasis on the humility and righteousness of the poor, its various manifestations such as in occupied Palestine, have achieved slightly different objectives. With the Catholic Church having significantly less of a presence in Palestine, and with poverty not quite reaching the desperate level that it had here, Palestinian Liberation Theology had and continues to have less to do with the protection of the poor from the invasive power of the rich. Instead, in face of an illegal occupation that has just entered its 40th year this past June 6th, Palestinian Christians adopted this theology as an articulation of their reasoning for joining the entire Palestinian population in its struggle against the injustices of occupation experienced first-hand by Jesus at the hands of the Romans.

Of the maybe 1000 people jammed into the Cathedral that Sunday morning, I was one of about 5 people who happened to be seated in the path of a brilliant line of sunlight cast through the church’s only window, situated 100 feet directly above my head in the church’s ceiling. It might have been this beautiful scene, or the historical and social significance of the church, or both, but the service was unforgettable. Hopefully, the same will be true of a theology that has freed millions, but has millions more to free from the bonds of poverty and oppression.