New Seeds of Revolution

According to a study by Oxfam, the 80 richest individuals in the world wield the same amount of wealth as the poorest 3.6 billion. At home, income inequality worsens. Wages are stagnant for the worker. Candidates for both the Republicans and Democrats are well aware of this, and are positioning themselves accordingly for a 2016 run. Over the last several years the country has seen organized anger aimed toward Wall Street. The deaths of Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, and Eric Garner—to name just a few—have sparked protests over racial prejudice and police brutality. Millions of women and children are hungry in the United States and worldwide, despite a global infrastructure capable of producing more goods than ever before. In France it’s je suis Charlie. In Baga, Nigeria, Boko Haram dropped two thousand dead.

In other words, indiscriminate injustice thrives in this world. A post-Enlightenment, scientifically knowledgeable, technologically astounding race of human beings has done nothing to stymie oppression, greed, and prejudice. Citing facts and articles and statistics seems banal in some way. I probably don’t need any of that to convince the reader of the harshness of this life.

Are the seeds of a revolution being sown? At here in the United States or worldwide? Actor Donald Sutherland—who stars in the Hunger Games series—tells the Guardian that he hopes so. Maybe the success of the series in which he stars means that his ideas aren’t just the lost thoughts of an old man. Maybe the protests, the anger, and the cries for justice signal that his anticipation is well-founded. So the question: Is there a revolution coming? What kind? On what scale? Against which authorities? (Are the authorities too strong?) And is revolution the best way to fight injustice?

Believe it or not, these same injustices and inequalities existed 2,000 years ago. Despite some attempts to paint the Roman Empire in a retroactive whitewashed light, the ancient world’s preeminent power freely exercised its brutality domestically and abroad. Material greed in Rome’s elite drove rampant corruption. Heavy taxation and military occupation upheld the venerable Pax Romana—and despite its palatable name, the Pax Romana ran the way that it did not out of the kindness out of the emperor’s heart, but because it was simply a more efficient way to rule, extort, and exploit. Imperial worship cast the emperor in a falsified divine light. And if you thought Rome’s conquests entailed entirely peaceful assimilations, read about the triumphs of emperors and generals, triumphs in which mass executions of foreigners were the most beloved events of the citizens.

Any evil alive today existed in Rome yesterday, yet Christ did not once call for a revolution of arms. Instead, he said to pay your taxes—to the occupying empire. John the Baptist, too, preached no revolution.

Tax collectors also came to be baptized and said to him, “Teacher, what shall we do?” And he said to them, “Collect no more than you are authorized to do.” Soldiers also asked him, “And we, what shall we do?” And he said to them, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or by false accusation, and be content with your wages” (Luke 3:12-14).

Not only did John the Baptist not incite the people to an insurrection, he didn’t encourage tax collectors—i.e., collaborators with the occupying force—or even the soldiers of Rome to quit their jobs.

The Bible is a story about God, but it is also a story about man. The Bible, despite its many commandments and creeds, is about interior transformation. From the Ten Commandments—“thou shall not covet”—to Jeremiah—“the heart is deceitful above all things; and desperately sick”—to the Psalms—“I shall not want”—to the Sermon on the Mount—“blessed are the pure in heart”—the message is the definition, diagnosis, and transformation of the interior self.

I think that to be radical is to reign in one’s own soul—to admit that the oppression, greed, and prejudice that steep this world in evil fester in one’s own heart. The same motivations that drive dictators to oppress their people live in me. I am guilty of being greedy, of heaping up silly treasures in my house. A new watch, or some fancy socks, or a pair of Italian loafers. I own more than I need. In my mind I know how superfluous these things are, yet still I crave them. I am guilty of using power or position to manipulate, to subjugate others, however small my ways. I am guilty of being a bully. And I am guilty of prejudice, very guilty. In fact I judge almost every moment; I assess harshly; I like to be right; I like to win; and I like when others are wrong next to my own rightness.

I believe that the injustice of the world finds its birth in the individual human heart—in my individual human heart—not in systems or powers external to me. If what Christ taught is true—if the disease of man that fosters injustice is an interior, spiritual problem—then we will not win with revolution; we will fail to conquer evil, even a little. Goodness begins with interior transformation. Goodness begins with the discovery of the true self—the secret self hidden in the mystery of Christ.

In Luke 5, Christ heals a paralytic whose friends lower him through the roof of a house in which Christ is preaching.

When he saw their faith, he said, “Man, your sins are forgiven you.” And the scribes and the Pharisees began to question, saying, “Who is this who speaks blasphemies? Who can forgive sins but God alone?” When Jesus perceived their thoughts, he answered them, “Why do you question in your hearts? Which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven you,’ or to say, ‘Rise and walk’? But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins”—he said to the man who was paralyzed, “I say to you, rise, pick up your bed and go home.”

Christ healed the man’s spiritual disease first, the man’s physical disease second. And so it is throughout his ministry, for to be a Christian is to be a person who undergoes an interior, spiritual revolution thanks to the grace and love of God. This is radical love, radical change. This is the divine, pure love that shapes the individual into someone capable of changing the world.