Review: “Evangelical Postcolonial Conversations”

Friends – I’m pleased to offer this review of one of the most important ministry-related titles you probably haven’t heard of this year.

Enjoy this response from the estimable Dr. Brandon D. Rhodes, in his PARSE debut. (As an aside: look for Brandon’s first book next year, titled Blip: The Making and Unmaking of the Petrol-Driven Church.) I especially urge you to read Brandon’s summary of postcolonial thought and "response" section below, and begin to ponder how it could impact your life and ministry.Thoughts on where to start? Please share in the comments.– Paul

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"Oh great: another book about white guilt. Ugh."

I’m not proud that those were my first thoughts when Paul Pastor asked me to review Evangelical Postcolonial Conversations: Global Awakenings in Theology and Praxis(IVP, June 2014). But they were. I can recall multiple conversations with postcolonial practitioners whose tone spasmed between smug I’m-so-aware-about-colonialism inaction to an action-stopping attitude of everything-is-problematic-and-whoops-I-think-I-just-deconstructed-myself obstructionism.

Why would I want either of those attitudes?

But my reaction was completely unfair (and perhaps a bit too convenient, since I’m a white, straight, middle-class, educated, US American male). Wanting to pass over this book because of the few postcolonialists who may convey their convictions brassily is as unfair as if I had passed over the book for its other trigger word—“evangelical”—because of experiences with bad examples of our tribe.

The challenge of a book which begins to hybridize these two sometimes contentious communities is impressive. I am happy to report, though, that the authors and editors of Postcolonial Evangelical Conversations have done a fine job drawing the richness of both traditions together. Most compelling to me was the call to actual practices evangelicals can take in response to postcolonial critiques. These highlight that the point of the conversation is repentant response.

Postcolonialism surveyed

If you’re new to postcolonialism, here’s a quick summary (from page 31):

“[P]ostcolonialism is not so much a theory as it is criticism. It is the adoption of a critical stance in favor of those suppressed in colonial and postcolonial circumstances. The purpose of the criticism is to generate ‘counterdiscursive practices’ that correct and undo so-called Western hegemony.”

That’s a fancy-talk way of putting it. My translation goes something like this: if history is written by the victors, theologies and worldviews and just about everything else are too. Everyday interactions today—including church ministry and pastoral work—still resonate with past political and economic conquests. Postcolonialism scrutinizes how history’s winners have defined so much of our modern world, helps us see past victories still active today, and suggests how to develop as healthy communities and persons in light of all that. Postcolonial practices help keep residents of a colonized or colonizing culture aware of dynamics that are often assumed as the only way things could be, and validates marginal voices and peoples.

Everyday interactions today—including church ministry and pastoral work—still resonate with past political and economic conquests.

Postcolonialism is a lens that helps us better understand any power relation over time. First Nations and European-American settlers, the Dutch in South Africa, whites toward blacks in the United States, men toward women, Romans toward first-century Jews, and Israelis toward Palestinians. The list goes on, and this book covers them all. Well, almost all: there are a couple glaring omissions for a US American readership, but I’ll get to that later.

An avenue of repentance

Postcolonialism is deeper than politically correct finger-wagging. The point of it is not to shame colonizers, but to summon them toward an ongoing conversion out of cultural captivity and toward humble creativity.

Let me be clear, though: postcolonial thought isn’t the gospel, and it can’t be the church. But it is a very natural conversation partner for a people who worship a colonized (by Rome) blue-collar worker (carpenter) killed for speaking truthfully to the colonial status quo of kingdom. The authors of this volume argue as much: postcolonialism is about humility, living with honesty about our cultural captivity. It trains us to scrutinize our host culture not with hate, but with loving honesty. It helps us detangle the gospel from our culture. Postcolonialism is (or should be) the sharply honest cutting edge of cultural exegesis.

I agree with the authors that postcolonialism can strongly complement evangelicalism’s historic distinctives, while also challenging each to be more deeply practiced. For example, postcolonialism enriches evangelicalism’s focus on conversion by calling us to an ongoing conversion and freedom in Christ from the powers of colonialism which are so enmeshed in our day to day lives. Such enrichment of our tradition is wisely explored in the Introduction and in Part Four of the book, with particular guile by Kay Higuera Smith in her chapter, “Embracing the Other: A Vision for Evangelical Identity.”

Postcolonialism can strongly complement evangelicalism’s historic distinctives, while also challenging each to be more deeply practiced

This may come as a surprise—in my experience, many evangelicals feel that postcolonial conversation falls somewhere between a liberal distraction from the gospel and an anti-American atheist conspiracy. But as Saint Paul encouraged the Philippian church, “whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable — if anything is excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things.” Regardless of the political or confessional affiliations of postcolonialists: there are many true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy things in it to think through. And this book does that very well.

Blurred (class) lines

Evangelical Postcolonial Conversations gets a lot right: its contributors redemptively address racism, apartheid, post-slavery America, genocide of indigenous peoples, and sexism. But one blind spot seem achingly evident: classism. By that I refer to the variously legitimized privileges and perceptions of the upper and middle economic classes toward lower economic classes in most societies. I would love to know why the authors do not explore issues of class in this volume.

I bring this omission up here because the pain of class lines is felt most acutely these days at the intersection of church-planting and gentrification (the expulsion of longer-term residents of a lower-income neighborhood by higher-income new residents). As more and more middle-class whites lose their love affair with the suburbs and are re-enchanted by walkable neighborhoods, their fatter wallets squeeze “natives” out. It’s people with privilege getting what they want, which isn’t wrong per-se, but it comes at the expense of less privileged folk, which is an injustice. That the class lines drawn around gentrified neighborhoods are also often racial lines reveals the miserable truth: gentrification is baldly colonial. If you want to see colonialism at work, walk to the nearest urban cupcake shop. Odds are, you’ll be enjoying its artisanal wonders in a neighborhood that ten years ago was populated by the poor.

Here in Portland, Oregon, evangelicals are increasingly planting churches and multisite campuses in gentrifying neighborhoods. Rarely do we get to the poor neighborhood before the gentrifying masses. Instead, we tend to follow the money—a colonial move. It seems odd to say it, but church planting success stories are thus often built on the backs of colonized peoples who are being displaced. These churches are often doing tremendous good in many respects (expanding missional practice brilliantly at times). But we must remember that missional is related to mission—which, if you’ve ever visited Latin America or the US southwest, is related to colonialism. That legacy should not be underestimated.

I bring this up because it’s something that most of us can take responsibility for. You don’t have to live near an urban center to be close to gentrification or classism. This means your community can begin to act out of the wisdom of Evangelical Postcolonial Conversations promptly. I feel convicted that I and others can deepen our faithfulness to Jesus Christ by beginning to live out of repentance in this area.

Christena Cleveland, Ross Halbach, Noel Castellanos, Paul Louis Metzger, Efrem Smith, and a handful of others have begun to publicly address the church’s (largely unconscious) culpability in this head-on. But there should be more. I suspect that when pastors read this book, many of us will begin to see patterns of colonialism at work in their tribe’s church planting. But will we act?

From 3 easy steps to 3 slow practices

Action, fortunately, is one of the central hopes of this book. The authors don’t seem primarily interested in changing our “public position” on an issue. Rather, they call for postures of ongoing repentance. By “postures” I mean practiced dispositions and life patterns which open up otherwise hidden possibilities. Postures are about having eyes to see. They don’t guarantee results, but they do deepen faithfulness.

As evangelicals, we’re primed to want simple blueprints for how to promptly “be postcolonial.” Just tell me what to do.

As evangelicals, we’re primed to want simple blueprints for how to promptly “be postcolonial.” Just tell me what to do. Unfortunately, postcolonial practitioners insist that the actual journey is much slower and nuanced—because it is enmeshed in the particularities of relationships. Attending a conference or hiring a consultant simply won’t do. Evangelicals (like me) who desire to live a more robustly postcolonial discipleship in Jesus Christ will need patience.

Contributor Kay Higuera Smith suggests three practices for readers which may in time yield a richer witness and faithfulness in our churches. She assumes each are shared practices, not individual pursuits. Moreover these practices assume that no matter our background—black or white, man or woman, documented or undocumented—we all carry some inherited sense of power and privilege. Even the most dominated of persons can still in some ways be colonial. (Echoes here, of course, of original sin.)

The first suggested posture is what I would dub cruciformity—socially relating in a way that self-empties as God in Christ did most evidently on the cross (Philippians 2). Smith suggests we “[interrogate] power in all our social relations and structures.” To me this means have eyes open for how cultural privilege may intrude in our relationships. This lends itself to gentleness, patience, and care for the marginalized.

The second posture is what I would call deep hospitality. Colonizers, Smith says, tend to objectify the colonized, thus cleansing themselves of any need to change or accommodate or create room for others. This puts the burden of cultural adjustment on the colonized. Smith argues that the key to colonizers overcoming this alienation from the colonized is to let themselves be changed by the marginalized.

Third is a posture of humble curiosity—a disciplined listening to those outside the halls of your own tradition, and hearing them as having an equal voice. Challenge yourself. Read theology and biblical studies from global voices, or from historically marginalized peoples or groups. Groups other than your own. Choose to be mentored, as my neighbor Leroy Barber suggests, by someone your demographic has colonized (if you’re white, actively seek a mentor of African descent). Read histories that fairly explore the underside of your society’s legacy, such as (for me) A People’s History of the United States.

This journey doesn’t necessarily mean changing our theology or ethics, but it ought to change our hearts.

This journey doesn’t necessarily mean changing our theology or ethics, but it ought to change our hearts. And that changed heart in turn may mean fresh openness to learn, and willingness to concede our own lack of understanding. Deepening our humility and opening ourselves to the wisdom of the oppressed enacts postcolonialism’s deepest hopes while providing a potent (if quiet) witness to a world that rolls its eyes at a know-it-all evangelicalism.

Conclusion

My friends Mark and Amy Van Steenwyk of Minneapolis don’t say they live in “Minnesota.” They are teaching their son that they live in a part of God’s creation that today’s politicians name as “Minnesota,” but that before them the Sioux people called something else. And before even the Sioux, the land’s deepest naming is as “God’s creation.” This practice helps them remember reality truthfully. It liberates their land from the lines that history’s victors have drawn on it.

My other friend Jesus (and his friend Paul) invited colonizers and the colonized to feast together regularly. They broke down the us-versus-them attitudes that colonialism thrives on precisely by insisting that the proverbial “them” of that equation are beloved creatures of Yahweh intended to be part of God’s one family. “Greeks and Jews” dining together was (and is) a postcolonial practice that helps the Church remember our deepest, common identity as members of Christ’s Body.

Evangelical Postcolonial Conversations has much to offer the local church. I hope many pastors and seminarians will read it. More importantly, I hope they will read it with others. More importantly still, I hope they will read it with someone from a colonized people group.

One of the most challenging lessons the book conveys is that we cannot be postcolonial alone, nor does a postcolonial-conversant evangelicalism lend itself to church boards enacting top-down acts of repentance. If evangelicalism in North America is to take its legacy and future seriously, slow journeys of patient conversation and mutual submission must take place at all layers of church life between colonized and colonizers.

EDIT: As a bonus for PARSE readers, IVP has offered the following special discount codes through Sept. 28th (45% off) for readers wishing to purchasetitles from diverse theological voices, including the book featured in this review:

Brandon D. Rhodes is a grassroots scholar, writer, and small business owner in Lents, Oregon, closely involved with Springwater, an Anabaptist parish church.