Category Archives: book review

Faith in the Face of Empire

Standard

Review of: Mitri Raheb, Faith in the Face of Empire. The Bible Through Palestinian Eyes (Maryknoll NY: Orbis Books 2014) 166pp

The title of this slim volume, along with the eye-catching cover depicting the crucified Christ with keffiyeh alongside other victims, accurately captures what this book is about. Mitri Raheb, Palestinian Christian and Evangelical Lutheran pastor, has written a thoughtful and provocative book which aims “to lay the groundwork for a genuine Palestinian Christian narrative that is politically relevant and theologically creative” (6). He is developing a biblical hermeneutic to serve a theology of liberation from and for a Palestinian context, but what he writes also deserves a wider audience. Certainly my own reading of scripture has been enriched and my perspective shifted in subtle but significant ways by the gift of being shown aspects of the biblical story ‘through Palestinian eyes’.

Raheb calls his approach ‘geo-political’ and reads with the lens of the longue durée. This last term, borrowed from the French Annales School of historiography, implies that he takes the long view, focusing on repeated patterns or recurring themes rather than specific events. The biblical story and the current Palestinian situation are the bookends of a long continuous history marked by occupation by a succession of Empires: the Assyrians (722 BC), the Babylonians (587 BC), the Persians (538 BC) the Greeks (333 BC), the Romans (63 BC) the Byzantines (326) the Arabs (637) the Tartars (1040) the Crusaders (1099) the Ayyubids (1187) the Tartars (1244) the Mamluks (1291) the Mongols (1401), the Ottomans (1516) the British (1917) and (controversially) the Israelis (1948 / 67). As for the geo-political element, Raheb works with the story of a particular land and its inhabitants, whose experience has been profoundly shaped by its geographical location vis-á-vis the centres of power. Further, he names as subjects ‘the people of the land’ (Am Ha’aretz) who are defined by long-term habitation in this region rather than by any ethnic, religious or linguistic markers which have varied greatly over the centuries. The case of his own father illustrates some of this complexity. He was born in 1905 as an Ottoman citizen with Ottoman identification papers. He then became a citizen of Mandate Palestine with a Palestinian passport issued by the British Mandate Government. In 1949 he became a citizen of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, and when he died in 1975 he held an ID card issued by Israel. And yet he was the same person throughout, living in the same geographical space. Beneath all this flux, the native inhabitants are “the enduring continuum” (12).

Mitri Raheb’s hermeneutic is also political in that it recognises and highlights the anti-imperial stance of much of the Bible. This anti-colonial perspective has received increasing emphasis in biblical studies over the last two decades, though it is has seldom been applied to the State of Israel, the ‘Empire by proxy’ which exercises Raheb in this book. It is this which makes the book controversial, along with the distinctive reading which places the Palestinian ‘people of the land’ rather than the Jews or Israel as privileged heirs to the biblical story. Palestinians find themselves today the victims of the actions of those who were themselves victims. The long shadow of the Holocaust has, for many in the West, obscured “the fact that Israel has developed … to become the seventh-largest military power in the world, with nuclear weapons and an advanced military industrial complex.” (16) Only recently has the plight of the Palestinians come into focus on the world stage. It is hard to argue against the voice of personal experience as Raheb describes life in Gaza and the West Bank against seven patterns common to most imperial contexts, including control of movement and resources, and settlement policies. It is a damning description. Raheb’s reading resists making a connection between the State of Israel and the biblical entity of the same name, a connection which typically either casts the Palestinians as ‘Canaanites’ or renders them theologically invisible.

Raheb lays the groundwork for a contextual Palestinian theology around four existential questions that arise from the geopolitical situation over the centuries: Where are you, God? Who is my neighbour? Which way to liberation? and When will we have a state? The beginnings of answers to these are worked out in trinitarian mode and in conversation with Scripture over three chapters entitled God, Jesus and Spirit. These chapters sparkle with insights which are all too briefly developed, but which hold out promise for future work. One example of reading ‘through Palestinian eyes’ with a sensitivity to geopolitical issues and the patterns of Empire and occupation and using a longue durée lens is Raheb’s interpretation of the Beatitude “Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the land” (Matt 5:5). ‘Land’ is a correction of a mistranslation of the Greek ge, which can be rendered ‘earth’ (most common in biblical translations) or land -which makes most sense contextually. This is a hope-generating promise, which history has proved true time and again, that the Empire does not last forever. Imperial occupiers come and go, even if they seem invincible and eternal at the time, but the powerless will outlast them. It is ultimately to them that the Land belongs. Another biblical interpretation he offers works with the frequent connection made between the Tower of Babel and Pentecost. For Raheb, Babel is the arch-narrative of the imperial project which is answered by the counter-image of Pentecost. Paying careful attention to the list of nationalities in Acts 2, he notes that the community brought into being by the Spirit brings together as equals those who historically have been oppressed and oppressor, still maintaining their diverse identities within a greater unity. “The church born in Jerusalem was meant to counter the empire, not by creating another, but by providing a new, pluralistic Euro-Mediterranean vision.” (113). 

Having given this tantalising overture to a contextual reading of the Bible, I hope that Raheb will follow up this book with some more more detailed biblical studies. The scope of the material covered in a mere 130 pages, if one excludes notes, means that there are as many questions raised as answered, and the author tends to evoke and assert rather than give detailed arguments for his positions. One aspect in particular that I would have liked him to address is the biblical story of the Return in Ezra and Nehemiah where the community of returned exiles define themselves over against the Am Ha’aretz, the people of the land. Another small omission that struck me occurs in the Epilogue, Imagination and Hope. Here Raheb combines realism and hopeful openness to the future, stressing the role of faith in imagining and living into God’s future. “Hope is faith in action in the face of the empire.” (130) Rich as this chapter is, I noted that one element of the triad is missing – love. Raheb does advocate nonviolent, creative resistance that aims at abundant life for all, but I was left wondering whether faith and hope, tied in with the exercise of the imagination, should be fueled more explicitly with love.

 

The book is engaging and throught-provoking. A reader would need to have a good general grasp of the biblical stories to fully appreciate his rather brief sketches of how these look ‘through Palestinian eyes’. A basic understanding of the Palestinian situation is also assumed. His is an articulate and prophetic Palestinian Christian voice, and one that needs to be heard.

Advertisements

Alone and on Foot

Standard

This is a review of a book I’ve read for a course in Spiritual Direction …

Alone and on Foot

Brian Grogan SJ, Alone and on Foot. Ignatius of Loyola (Dublin: Veritas 2008) ISBN 9781847301345 (Paperback), 223 pages (Available here)

This biography of Ignatius of Loyola is an abridged translation of the Spanish Sola y a Pie by Jose Ignacio Tellechea. That original is noted for being by a compatriot of Ignatius, a Basque, who is also a medievalist and, unusual among biographers of Ignatius, not a Jesuit. This version, however, is by an Irish Jesuit. I am not sure what difference that makes, other than that it certainly strikes me as being very ‘Ignatian’ in this retelling. Biographers of Ignatius are fortunate in having both the Autobiography and witness statements for the canonisation process from people who remembered Ignatius, so the interesting small details and insights with which this book abounds are probably more than the imaginative recreations of an able storyteller. Perhaps as a result of the choices Grogan made in shortening the original, what we have here is a sharply drawn and utterly fascinating verbal portrait of Ignatius, with just enough historical and cultural context given to make sense of the story without losing focus on Ignatius and his companions. The narrative is the verbal equivalent of the delightful black and white illustrations throughout the book – simple, uncluttered, and quietly evocative of an intriguing personality.

Alone and on Foot tells the story of Ignatius as a graced personal history, and it is designed to be read slowly. The book is not overly long – 223 pages – but those pages are divided into 70 chapters, around 3 pages long. Each chapter should be savoured and mulled over; one can’t read the book in a few sittings. The final page of every chapter has a shaded sidebar with a sentence from the chapter quoted in the upper part and a question for the reader to ponder in light of the chapter at the bottom. It is perhaps this above all else which makes the experience of reading the book one of listening to a personal faith journey more than an historical exercise, and also a journey of understanding one’s own life story as graced history.

These questions enriched my reading experience, but occasionally they jarred by cutting across the direction of my own thoughts in response to the narrative, knocking them right out of my head, much like an ill-timed comment or question from a spiritual director might shatter a sacred moment for the directee. After a while I began reading with a piece of paper obscuring the sidebar until I was ready to reflect on the chapter, meaning I could benefit both from my own musings and the insightful direction of Grogan. Often these questions were predictable enough, but there were times they were utterly unexpected and illuminating precisely because they caught me off guard. One of my favourite was: “How do you think God finds the task of teaching you?” (p66)

I would recommend the book to anyone interested in Ignatius and the Jesuits. It is not a scholarly account in that only sometimes is the source of the material made explicit, so it would not be the go-to-book for historians, but for those who are interested in the spiritual life. For those engaged in Spiritual Direction, this book can accomplish several things at once. It is an excellent way to get to know the story of Ignatius, precisely because it is told as a graced personal history. The questions invite one to reflect on one’s own journey. It is also an indirect education in good questions to ask of someone in order to encourage deep reflection on their life with God. It is a concise book, but paradoxically not a book that can be read quickly. One needs to work through it from beginning to end, not dip in and out of it, and the best would be to read only one chapter in a sitting. I’d even recommend it as a prayer companion.