I have never really given much of my own ink spilled for thoughts about Karl Barth's alleged affair or John Howard Yoder's sexual abuse, but both of those realities have tainted how I read the theologians' very important work. I've never sworn off use of Church Dogmatics or The Politics of Jesus, but I do believe serious questions have to be asked and answered by theologians who use the work of Barth or Yoder often and with any ethical commitments to the Gospel.
To be honest, that's probably because I never confronted their sin of the abuse of power and sex in any real way.
But the report that surfaced over the weekend about John Vanier's sexual sin have had me caught in the grips of grief -- and to be honest, existential questioning -- since comments first arose Saturday. Vanier, I (like so many others) now believe, initiated sexual relations with at least six (non-disabled) women, usually in the context of spiritual friendship/direction as a pastoral figure. In other words, he was in a position of power and abused that power.
Yes, the story isn't unusual. Any number of priests and pastors have had allegations made and often substantiated against them of abuse of parishioners. The imbalance of power in those relationships means those relationships turned coercive and abusive. All across the theological spectrum, it's happened and happening.
But Barth was easy to handle. Yoder was more of a challenge, but Hauerwas' treatment about the matter in Hannah's Child made me more comfortable. But Vanier -- this one has been harder than most.
Jean Vanier, to my mind, was exceptional, one of the few -- I thought -- who truly married thought and practice in a life well-lived. The L'Arche communities, which he founded, continue to offer a vivid picture of human life at its best: people of all abilities choosing to share life with one another and to treat each other with respect, dignity and grace. I had imagined that Vanier had severed ties with Fr Phillipe and the priest's own sinful acts in a way that made Vanier much less vulnerable. But, as it turns out, I was wrong.
News today that Harvey Weinstein was found guilty and taken into custody -- I anticipated that. I denounced him long ago and moved on. I, like so many others, had engaged in the cancelling culture that is part of the #MeToo Movement. Part of virtuous living in 2020 requires as much.
But when you're confronted by a sexual predator like Jean Vanier. What do you say? What to do you do with all his very important work and words. Vanier was a humanitarian, philosopher, theologian -- someone who devoted himself to thinking and writing about what it means to live a good life. His writings on the human need for trust, safety and belonging are profound. What is the meaning of those writings now, in light of his abuse of power over women in his spiritual care?
And what do I do with the fact that the revelations happened on the weekend of Transfiguration -- Wednesday following being Ash Wednesday?
This Wednesday is Ash Wednesday, the day in the liturgical calendar when we repent of our sins, when a priest marks us with ashes in the sign of the cross and reminds us that we are made of dust and will return to dust.
Part of the task of repentance is discerning what is sinful and naming it as such.
In light of last weekend's announcement, Jean Vanier now serves as a poignant reminder that human beings are capable of both goodness and evil, sometimes in a very complicated mixture. But acknowledging that complicated mixture is not the same thing as simply shaking our heads, sighing and saying that we're all sinners.
Yes, we're all indeed sinners -- I am no better or no worse than Vanier -- but I don't sexually abuse parishioners in my power. Sin is most certainly part of human experience. That's the point of Ash Wednesday. But I'm a pastor: I know that turning to that universal experience as a way of coping with the truth of what Vanier has done can serve to minimize these particular sins of his. It can serve to minimize the experiences of countless victims who have been similarly abused.
Sins are never atoned and forgiven when they're generalized and unnamed.
Given Kendra's work in criminal justice -- particularly in criminal profiling -- I've had to come face-to-face with what a theology of evil might look like. The name that keeps coming back in the midst of all that reflecting is Hannah Arendt.
Hannah Arendt, writing about the trial of Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann, famously coined the phrase "the banality of evil". Eichmann was not a monster, Arendt argued, but, more terrifyingly, a rather ordinary bureaucrat who had perpetrated horrific crimes. By naming Eichmann's evil as "banal", Arendt was not trying to make it less than what it was; her worry was that making monsters out of human beings such as Eichmann allows us to distance ourselves from the evil that is potentially present -- but not inevitably so -- in each of us. Arendt wanted to do the hard work of looking at Eichmann's life and deeds and naming the particular evils that she saw there. She felt that this work of judgment was an important response to the horrors of the Holocaust -- to assess accurately the evil that had been done, and why, and how, in order that it would not happen again.
Like Eichmann, Vanier was not a monster, but a human being with the capacity to do evil. Either cancelling Vanier altogether or pre-emptively appealing to the sinful condition that we all share poses a danger of skipping the hard work of naming his sin, considering its consequences, and paying attention to the systemic changes that need to take place so that this might not happen again.
I appreciate the L'Arche communities' willingness to name Vanier's sin for what it is. I appreciate their emphasis on the victims' experience, their acknowledgment of the victims' "courage and suffering" and willingness to speak truth. This is no small thing.
I know that the international community Jean Vanier founded is a gift of grace in a broken world. I now know that he also contributed to the brokenness of the world through the abusive relationships he fostered. I don't know exactly how to sit with this hard, heavy truth. For now, I think I want to let the heaviness of it all sink in, to let myself feel grief over his sin and the pain of his victims.
To be honest, that's probably because I never confronted their sin of the abuse of power and sex in any real way.
But the report that surfaced over the weekend about John Vanier's sexual sin have had me caught in the grips of grief -- and to be honest, existential questioning -- since comments first arose Saturday. Vanier, I (like so many others) now believe, initiated sexual relations with at least six (non-disabled) women, usually in the context of spiritual friendship/direction as a pastoral figure. In other words, he was in a position of power and abused that power.
Yes, the story isn't unusual. Any number of priests and pastors have had allegations made and often substantiated against them of abuse of parishioners. The imbalance of power in those relationships means those relationships turned coercive and abusive. All across the theological spectrum, it's happened and happening.
But Barth was easy to handle. Yoder was more of a challenge, but Hauerwas' treatment about the matter in Hannah's Child made me more comfortable. But Vanier -- this one has been harder than most.
Jean Vanier, to my mind, was exceptional, one of the few -- I thought -- who truly married thought and practice in a life well-lived. The L'Arche communities, which he founded, continue to offer a vivid picture of human life at its best: people of all abilities choosing to share life with one another and to treat each other with respect, dignity and grace. I had imagined that Vanier had severed ties with Fr Phillipe and the priest's own sinful acts in a way that made Vanier much less vulnerable. But, as it turns out, I was wrong.
News today that Harvey Weinstein was found guilty and taken into custody -- I anticipated that. I denounced him long ago and moved on. I, like so many others, had engaged in the cancelling culture that is part of the #MeToo Movement. Part of virtuous living in 2020 requires as much.
But when you're confronted by a sexual predator like Jean Vanier. What do you say? What to do you do with all his very important work and words. Vanier was a humanitarian, philosopher, theologian -- someone who devoted himself to thinking and writing about what it means to live a good life. His writings on the human need for trust, safety and belonging are profound. What is the meaning of those writings now, in light of his abuse of power over women in his spiritual care?
And what do I do with the fact that the revelations happened on the weekend of Transfiguration -- Wednesday following being Ash Wednesday?
This Wednesday is Ash Wednesday, the day in the liturgical calendar when we repent of our sins, when a priest marks us with ashes in the sign of the cross and reminds us that we are made of dust and will return to dust.
Part of the task of repentance is discerning what is sinful and naming it as such.
In light of last weekend's announcement, Jean Vanier now serves as a poignant reminder that human beings are capable of both goodness and evil, sometimes in a very complicated mixture. But acknowledging that complicated mixture is not the same thing as simply shaking our heads, sighing and saying that we're all sinners.
Yes, we're all indeed sinners -- I am no better or no worse than Vanier -- but I don't sexually abuse parishioners in my power. Sin is most certainly part of human experience. That's the point of Ash Wednesday. But I'm a pastor: I know that turning to that universal experience as a way of coping with the truth of what Vanier has done can serve to minimize these particular sins of his. It can serve to minimize the experiences of countless victims who have been similarly abused.
Sins are never atoned and forgiven when they're generalized and unnamed.
Given Kendra's work in criminal justice -- particularly in criminal profiling -- I've had to come face-to-face with what a theology of evil might look like. The name that keeps coming back in the midst of all that reflecting is Hannah Arendt.
Hannah Arendt, writing about the trial of Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann, famously coined the phrase "the banality of evil". Eichmann was not a monster, Arendt argued, but, more terrifyingly, a rather ordinary bureaucrat who had perpetrated horrific crimes. By naming Eichmann's evil as "banal", Arendt was not trying to make it less than what it was; her worry was that making monsters out of human beings such as Eichmann allows us to distance ourselves from the evil that is potentially present -- but not inevitably so -- in each of us. Arendt wanted to do the hard work of looking at Eichmann's life and deeds and naming the particular evils that she saw there. She felt that this work of judgment was an important response to the horrors of the Holocaust -- to assess accurately the evil that had been done, and why, and how, in order that it would not happen again.
Like Eichmann, Vanier was not a monster, but a human being with the capacity to do evil. Either cancelling Vanier altogether or pre-emptively appealing to the sinful condition that we all share poses a danger of skipping the hard work of naming his sin, considering its consequences, and paying attention to the systemic changes that need to take place so that this might not happen again.
I appreciate the L'Arche communities' willingness to name Vanier's sin for what it is. I appreciate their emphasis on the victims' experience, their acknowledgment of the victims' "courage and suffering" and willingness to speak truth. This is no small thing.
I know that the international community Jean Vanier founded is a gift of grace in a broken world. I now know that he also contributed to the brokenness of the world through the abusive relationships he fostered. I don't know exactly how to sit with this hard, heavy truth. For now, I think I want to let the heaviness of it all sink in, to let myself feel grief over his sin and the pain of his victims.