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| One of the deadliest days Catholic-Protestant tension: Saint Bartholomew's Day Massacre by Francois Dubois. Wikipedia Commons. |
I often encounter so much resistance from Christians to the cause of Christian unity.
I am often left baffled.
In my humble opinion, there doesn't seem to be enough theological justification for this resistance. There aren't enough cultural reasons, either.
That's certainly debatable, of course. Many would challenge me on this.
But I still get a sense that there is something else going on—some people have an almost visceral reaction toward other Christian groups that is hard to explain through merely doctrinal differences alone.
So what is driving this?
It's like there's an invisible force. Or a ghost, perhaps.
Well, in a sense, I think this is true.
In this blog we often explore the symptoms of a fractured people—in particular, divisions in Christianity. Those fall along doctrinal lines, national origin lines, racial lines and class lines. But they also fall along historical lines.
I'm amazed by how many Christians want to be isolated from other Christians. For example, there are many evangelical Christians in the rural U.S. South who just want to be left alone. They don't want any relationship with any other church, even within their own denomination. Is this just personal preference or is there a back story? Is this what Jesus asks for those who follow in his way?
Perhaps we today don't have a living memory of persecution. Perhaps we don't remember being abandoned or being rejected or having to uproot our family and travel westward to a new country just to get away from all the strife back in Europe. We didn't personally experience the nasty and cruel ways various Christian groups treated each other—up to and including wars and death.
But somewhere deep down in our bones we feel the result of this wound. The memory may be gone but the trauma—and the coping mechanisms—remain. We are only at the beginning stages of understanding how experiences of trauma can be passed down to subsequent generations. But we know it experientially: Once you start attempting to heal any of these divisions it becomes abundantly clear right away that past is prologue.
Coco
The Disney Pixar movie Coco does a fantastic job of showing how this multi-generational trauma works. This family in Mexico that just seemed to hate music. They did everything they could to avoid music and punish harshly any family member who attempted to play music. Nobody remembered why and nobody really bothered to ask. It's just the way it was. They just hated music and wanted to be left alone.
[spoiler alert follows!]
As the movie progresses, we discover that the reason this family hates music is that a great-great-grandfather was presumed to abandon his family to pursue a life on the road as a musician. He left a wife and young daughter to fend for themselves, never to see them again. Through great difficulty and innovation, his wife built a new life—but utter contempt for music and anything related to it was painfully stitched into every moment of their lives going forward. I imagine every sound of music brought with it painful memories and grumblings which her daughter and grandchildren picked up on. I imagine they didn't want to see her in pain so they also did everything to shield her from music. Music brought her pain, and it was painful for her daughter and grandchildren to witness this, so music ended up bringing them pain, too—they appropriated her pain. Hating music just became part of the family ethos.
We eventually find out the truth is still more complex—the father intended to leave the road and come home but was murdered by a jealous music partner who wanted his songs to himself. Tragic misunderstandings often play a huge role.
Christian Prologue
How much do the historical treatments of Christians to one another matter today?
They matter a lot—it is the pain on which so many of our patterns and attitudes have been built. The pain and coping patterns remain long after the original incidents are forgotten.
I can prove it. What happens when you read the word "Viking"? Do you imagine an adventurous seafaring people from Northern Europe? You probably imagine brutal terrorists. Their descendants today are the quite peaceful Scandanvian people. But yet to this day the word "viking" conjures up foreboding. That's because for a period of time the Vikings terrorized much of mainland Europe. Their time attacking coastal Europe was a long, long time ago. Yet this period was sufficiently brutal and psychologically traumatizing enough to carry their reputation forward to the present day.
The church of the western Roman Empire (now called the Catholic Church) actually attacked and sacked Constantinople, the seat of the eastern church (now called the Orthodox Church). Certainly wars between Christians have been common throughout the years, but this was more explicitly tied to religious divisions itself, at least on the surface. It was a thousand years ago but if you unpack the layers of frosty relationship between Catholics and Orthodox, you will quickly notice the impact of this and other similar events.
Catholics murdered Protestants. Catholic and Protestants murdered Anabaptists. And many Christians persecuted pagans, Jewish people and Gypsies.
A colleague explained to me how the Civil War, for example, split denominations in many ways. The different experiences in the North and the South—the suffering, the years of hunger, the humiliation of loss, the feeling of abandonment by their brothers and sister in the faith on the other side of the Mason Dixon line—have left lasting scars that remain to this day. Many today on one side don't even know why they have such feelings toward those on the other side, but they know they do.
Think of how much fear and misunderstanding Christians have for Muslims. Some of this is just stirred up by political forces today. But this negative view of Islam has its root in history. Europe experienced serious defeats during the Crusades. Empires of Muslim people made inroads into Europe in Span, Turkey and Southeast Europe. This menacing, looming shadow was just beyond the sea, ready to strike at any moment. Perhaps they see Christians the same way—it's all perspective.
Actually, Muslim people are as normal and peaceful as people in any nation. But we've been kept apart for so long where fears turn people into caricatures. Just like walking through a dark forest on Halloween, where every noise makes you worry there's a giant or monster right around the corner. This is what fear does. This is why it's so important to get to know people in the present day to dispel those fears and to make sure political forces aren't using those fears to manipulate us.
Going Forward
Even when memory of an event is long gong, the reaction to that pain is often still with us. It may still be in the drivers seat, whether we know it or not. It's actually harder when we are unaware of it—because we are triggered and reacting and there doesn't seem to be a logical reason for it, but logic is not enough to build the bridge. We have to find out what's driving out reactions to one another.
When you start reconciling with people from another group, you may start crying over pain from centuries ago—pain you never even dreamed was relevant to you at all. That's how multi-generational trauma works.
That is why we can't enter a dialogue as isolated individuals. We all come with a history and out of a context, and we all need to respect that. Unity requires lots of reconciliation with the past. It requires lots of apologies and amends and at the very least an awareness of its impact on us today. Even a thousand years later, the pain doesn't simply just go away on its own until it is lovingly healed.
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This is part 3 in a series around remembering the voices from the past: All Saints Day, All Souls Day and Day of the Dead in Hispanic cultures. Reformation Sunday in Protestant churches. How do narratives we have inherited from the past—accurate or not—affect who we are today?
Part 1: A Tale of Two Americas
Part 2: Family Separation: My Personal Story
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