Recently I have been trying to read more in the area of “peacemaking” literature. I seem to be bumping up against this topic a lot in my circle of friends.
So here is my brief review of the newest book in this field of study:
A review of Andrew DeCort, Blessed are the Others: Jesus’ Way in a Violent World (Bittersweet Books, 2024, 178 pp., $19.95)
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
–Yeats, “The Second Coming”
Andrew DeCort has an amazing, horrific story to tell, and he tells it well in his new book Blessed are the Others: Jesus’ Way in a Violent World. Civil war breaks out while Andrew and his wife are living and developing Christian ministries in Ethiopia. As Christian workers committed to serving in the kingdom of God and following the nonviolent way of Jesus, the DeCorts begin bravely to advocate for peace and reconciliation in a variety of important ways among the various parties in Ethiopia’s bloody conflict.
Eventually, they are branded as traitors by those in power. They receive death threats from authority figures who could easily carry out their threats at any time. If the enemy of your enemy is your friend, then the peacemaking enemies of warfare make themselves the enemies of warmongers who will eventually seek to eliminate you.
By the time the DeCorts leave Ethiopia for their own safety, Andrew is (unsurprisingly) experiencing serious emotional and psychological upheaval. Though he never uses the term, he undoubtedly experienced full–blown attacks of PTSD, complete with the entire range of physical and psychological symptoms involved. These experiences of warfare, trauma, peacemaking and persecution become the setting for DeCort’s exposition of the Beatitudes found in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 5:3–12); this is the subject matter of Blessed are the Others.
There can be no doubt that DeCort’s experiences have equipped him to provide wise, first–hand insights into the dynamics involved in the beatific states of poverty of spirit, meekness, peacemaking and being persecuted for the sake of righteousness. In circumstances where many would have abandoned Christian faith altogether, DeCort has persisted in wrestling with questions of faith all throughout his dramatic journey.
Yet, it is the power of DeCort’s storytelling that also raises several problems for this reviewer. For instance, a reader cannot help but feel deep sympathy and admiration for DeCort while reading his story. Much of this book reads like a series of journal entries kept during the author’s counseling sessions. Taking the step to risk such public transparency lends DeCort a moral authority, at least for the sensitive reader, that is easily transferred from the confessional sections of the book to the expository sections dealing with scripture. Thus, the reader is invited to embrace DeCort’s explanations of the biblical text with the same quality of sympathetic acceptance as the reader has already extended to DeCort’s dramatic storytelling.
But is this a wise step to take?
Throughout the book, DeCort reminds his readers that the Beatitudes are God’s recipe for becoming “humanely happy.” But for all their value in illustrating how and why DeCort has arrived at his theology of peacemaking and humane happiness, there is a difference between telling powerful stories to illustrate biblical teaching and telling stories to determine the intent of biblical teaching. For DeCort, his authority for explaining the specifics of humane happiness appears in the therapeutic lessons he has discovered throughout the long process of coming to grips with his trauma. The meaning of the biblical text ultimately becomes subservient to his lived experience, not the other way around (as it should be).
At the end of the day, Jesus’ experience on earth is reflected in DeCort’s; and DeCort’s life of trauma becomes the very image of Jesus’ experience. When answering the question, “How did Jesus make peace in society?” DeCort answers, “It’s clear that Jesus’ peacemaking began with himself. Having survived acute trauma (i.e., Jesus was traumatized by his parents’ flight into Egypt), there is no other way. He went out to the wilderness, wrestled with his demons . . . He took time to rest and to grieve his suffering” (129). Note that Jesus was not recovering from his suffering on the cross, but from his childhood trauma. That was Jesus’ therapeutic path to peacemaking. Thus, Jesus has been conformed to the image of DeCort, and DeCort has become the model for Jesus.
Earlier in the book, DeCort rooted our humane task as peacemakers in God’s role as Creator, rather than in God’s work as Redeemer—where I believe it belongs. Therefore, Jesus’ model of suffering is exemplary for all humanity, just as “God is actually our parent” who “calls us all beloved children” (147). The natural relationships forged within creation have priority. DeCort introduces his perspective early in the book: “Jesus of Nazareth invites us into a strange wisdom as ancient as the pillars of creation. He promises that opening ourselves to our pain is the beginning of the Beatitudinal Way. Paradoxically, this is the path of humane happiness” (11).
Note that, for DeCort, the Beatitudes describe a natural process rooted in creation. The key to learning the Beatitudes is therapy, opening ourselves to our pain. How the eschatological arrival of God’s kingdom may be subverting the natural relationships of a fallen creation is never discussed. I find this surprising given that the Beatitudes describe kingdom citizenship, not the natural order of things. The kingdom does not arise from within creation! It invades creation from without. But this oddity becomes understandable once we recognize that, for DeCort, the therapeutic has overwhelmed the exegetical.
An obvious sign of this unfortunate interpretive move appears in the way Moses and Joshua are turned into Old Testament villains. As the people of Israel emerge from their own four–hundred–year period of trauma in Egyptian bondage, Moses undermines the possibility of Israel’s healing by instituting the Sinai Covenant—a series of obligations and blessings based on the misbegotten notion of Israel’s election as God’s chosen people (24, 27, 38, 100, 108, 127, 130). This retrograde idea of chosenness then sets the stage for Moses’ (and Joshua’s) horrific calls for Israel to ethnically cleanse the land of Canaan (25). It also presents us with a wrathful, nationalistic God of vengeance who is hardly the kind of deity who calls his people to become peacemakers, opposing civil wars and working for reconciliation.
In effect, DeCort is presenting us with another form of Marcionism. Marcion was an early church father/heretic who taught that the Old and New Testaments told the stories of two different gods: an OT god of wrath and warfare, and a NT god of love and peace. For Marcion, the OT god had to go. DeCort appears to follow suit.
In making this interpretive move, DeCort follows an old, old pathway. This method is sometimes called Tendenz Kritik. In other words, the interpreter fixes upon a certain tendency or theme which takes centerstage in the interpretive process. This theme is made canonical. Any texts or theological implications that appear to diverge from this preferred theme are downgraded or excised from the Bible in one way or another. Enlightenment Rationalists eliminated the supernatural from scripture because it conflicted with their elevation of human reason. Rudolf Bultmann developed his program of demythologizing for the same purpose. As he famously said (my paraphrase), “No one who uses an electric light can possibly take the NT miracle stories literally.” DeCort is offering his readers his own form of Tendenz Kritik. Anything that does not cohere with his understanding of a peacemaking Jesus activating principles rooted in creation must be rewritten or rejected outright.
When everything else is said and done, I cannot help but conclude that Andrew DeCort is offering us another version of Walter Rauschenbusch’s rationalistic, nineteenth–century Social Gospel filtered through the lens of the Ethiopian civil war and the personal trauma it created for the author. As Rauschenbusch explained, Jesus’ exemplary life is intended to reveal the universal Fatherhood of God and the universal brotherhood of humanity. The Beatitudes lay out Jesus’ instructions for “humane happiness” in this world where divine, universal love is not taken seriously enough. DeCort is clearly reading from this script.
DeCort’s idiosyncratic version of the social gospel also reminds me of the classic work by Philip Reiff, The Triumph of the Therapeutic: Uses of Faith after Freud. In that book, Reiff details the extent to which the processes and benefits of psychotherapy have replaced the historic liturgies, traditions and authority of religious (Christian) faith in modernity. Reiff explains that:
Any religious exercise is justified only by being something men (sic) do for themselves, that is, for the enrichment of their own experience . . . What then should churchmen (sic) do? The answer returns clearly: become, avowedly, therapists, administrating a therapeutic institution—under the justificatory mandate that Jesus himself was the first therapeutic. (215)
DeCort’s “exposition” of the Beatitudes closely conforms to Reiff’s prescription for modern religious leaders. It is, indeed, the triumph of the therapeutic.
But this is nothing new; it is an old, old story.
In 1906 Albert Schweitzer published his important book, The Quest for the Historical Jesus. After surveying every scholarly effort to recover the Jesus of history from the accumulated traditions of two–thousand years of Christian development, Schweitzer concluded (I am paraphrasing): “After peering down history’s well, searching for the historical Jesus, all that researchers have discovered is their own reflection staring back at them.”
Reading about DeCort’s reflections on himself, superimposed onto the Beatitudes, is not without some interest; the human story is compelling. But the theological conclusions he draws, concerning Jesus and the Beatitudes, must be taken with a large block of salt. I’d like to see more of the incarnate Jesus who suffered on the cross in order to make peace between his heavenly Father and fallen human beings, and less about the power of therapeutic empathy to perfect human happiness through “peacemaking.”
That difference is stark.
