Rev. Jason Cook

Anti-Racism and Anti-Oppression

 

Anti-racism, anti-oppression, and multicultural work is central to Unitarian Universalist faith communities because I believe it concretizes our implied core theology of loving one another, actualizing that love through the hard work of social justice and community building. In this sense—and building on our history and tradition--Unitarian Universalism has become for me a faith that is about acting God out, rather than determining what God is. While we can think of AR/AO work as large in scale, the reality is that daily we have the opportunity to act out our faith in small ways; in fact, every interaction (no matter how much we may be like someone else) is essentially a cross-cultural interaction and thus an opportunity to embody the love at our core. Unitarian Universalism, with its dynamism and openness, provides us the very qualities needed to do this important work. If, as Catherine Keller says, “radical uncertainty characterizes a world of becoming,” then we Unitarian Universalists are in an ideal position to deal with that radical uncertainty, which leads us toward a world of becoming in which the possibilities are limitless.

 

I don’t want to sound naively optimistic, however. While I firmly believe that Unitarian Universalists have something distinctive to offer the world in anti-oppression work, I also understand the realities of the system we exist in. Systematic oppression cannot be denied by any thoughtful individual. Iris Young’s articulation of the five faces of oppression has been essential to my understanding of systematic oppression, as it acknowledges everything from powerlessness, to the culture of silence, to the culture imperialism that we often do not see despite living with it on a daily basis. The work of Young and others has more fully brought me into touch with my own privilege, and I have done some deep (and often painful) theological reflection around how some of the things I benefit from most in life have been built upon the pain of others. These ideas are challenging for most people, to say the least, and in my ministry, I have struggled with how to explore the depths of these concerns with congregants who may or may not be prepared to engage directly with them. I have found that the use of stories focusing on the narratives of peoples’ lives has been very effective, as when I have preached about the people I encountered at the HIV clinic, showing how the multiple layers of oppression pressing down upon many of them were factors in the choices they had made with their lives. Likewise, I also find that pastoral presence is key to dealing with these issues. Arguing, shaming, and blaming does little from what I can see, whereas a curious, gentle approach focused on listening and understanding can work wonders.

 

This approach is key to the work I’ve done as a co-facilitator of “Beloved Conversations: Meditations on Race and Ethnicity.” A big focus of this program is on creating space to explore the intellectual and spiritual impact of racism in our lives. I have watched as adults arrive at the class, often very disconnected from their own concerns about reaching across racial boundaries. Through experiential learning and the cultivation of curiosity, these same adults leave the class with whole new levels of understanding of the “baggage” that gets in their way. As more and more of our congregants get empowered by getting in touch with their deeper, unresolved issues around race and other differences, I believe we will see AR/AO work becoming even more and more effective. Groups like Allies for Racial Equality also offer forums for examining some of our deepest beliefs around these issues, and this work is absolutely essential both for our movement and for us to live out our values as Unitarian Universalists.

 

Growing up as a gay boy in the Midwest in the 1970s and 80s, I experienced oppression in some of its most overt and ugly forms, whether it was verbal, physical, emotional, or psychological abuse. I still draw on those experiences—as difficult as they were—for the supportive people in my life at the time taught me the value of empathy, compassion, and love. My husband and I have been together for almost two decades, and becoming a part of his Latino family has also stretched my capacity for empathy, as well as my understanding of systematic oppression as concrete reality, not abstract theory. I recognize that people coming through the doors of our churches are carrying this oppression with them, whether they are people of color, LGBTQ, women, the poor, disabled, elderly, or anyone else. We all carry baggage from the society we live in, and in ministry, we must work to cultivate an atmosphere of radical hospitality and inclusion in our churches—an atmosphere that doesn’t deny or negate these identities and experiences, but also finds ways to move forward and deepen our connections to one another. We must create spaces that recognize the whole person, even as we also acknowledge the common humanity we share.

 

I have learned this first hand with my work at my teaching congregation. It has sometimes brought tears to my eyes to realize that I am in a place that has such beautiful diversity. We have several members of our congregation who were born in Ethiopia, others born in Mexico, others who identify as LGBTQ, as well as many who are struggling economically. Some members of our congregation even deal with intermittent homelessness. Sometimes unresolved issues around our diversity cause problems; we are still finding our way through the cultural differences in our congregation and the often deeply held assumptions that many carry. Often, however, our diversity brings us together in ways we couldn’t foresee, and in those moments, I see the possibility of who we could become as a larger church movement. Our church building has evidence all around of the diversity of its congregation, from the things you see on the walls, to the music we share each week, to the Spanish that begins each service, to the variety of people who speak from our pulpit. Our congregation has long been known as working against oppression, and that reputation has paved the way for diverse people to find us. The reason many have stayed is not because of that reputation, however; it’s because there was authentic welcome and inclusion once they came through our doors.

 

For me, this comes back to my theology of loving one another by opening up places for the exploration of the wholeness of body and spirit. By creating spaces where people can be their full selves, we offer them the opportunity to be in deeper relationship with others, which allows them to more fully love others. By understanding others’ perspectives and by learning about who others are, people more fully live out this theology of love, realized most fully on a deep level excavated through joy and communal exploration.  This is key to what I call a “fully lived loved life.” The fully lived loved life is elusive perhaps, and yet glimpsed in the small loving interactions we experience over weeks or months. In those moments of transcendence beyond selfishness, we see the potential for our lives—a potential almost overwhelming in its possibility and capacity for transformation. But beyond this overwhelming feeling—if we can just get past it--is more love of the deepest kind, love that is a reflection of both the smallest parts of ourselves and the vastness of the universe, love that is healing, redemptive, and the best that humanity can do, as close to the divine as we can be. I do not know if this is ever fully achievable or whether it is simply something we shall forever strive for, but I do know that anti-racism and anti-oppression work must be part of that struggle. To paraphrase Anthony Pinn, we struggle and work toward justice because it is our best option. I would add that there is joy in that option—the joy in finding and truly knowing one another.