The liberation of the poor from the vicious circle of poverty is different in form from the liberation of the rich from the vicious circle of riches, although both vicious circles are interlinked. (Moltmann, Jurgen. The Crucified God. Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress Publishers, 1993. pg 52.)

In the work cited above Moltmann points out, quite well, that when we speak of true liberation through Christian theology we are (or should be) speaking of a full liberation. I would like to ride on Moltmann’s coattails a little bit, expanding the idea into my own presentation with the simple idea that true liberation necessarily comes in twos.

If there are the oppressed who need liberation from the state of being oppressed, then there must also be an oppressor, and the latter, too, is in need of liberation. In terms of racism in America, for example, the Black is in need of liberation from White racism. But also, the White is in need of liberation from his own racism. The concept extends to most everything, and might be most easily summarized by saying we all need liberation from victimization; some of us as victims, and some of us as victimizers. As Moltmann puts it, “[The church] exists in the midst of a divided and mutually hostile world of inhuman people on one side and dehumanized people on the other…” Both groups need to be freed, but from quite different, interlinked problems.

I leave most of the connection-making as an exercise for the reader, but this idea fits in more than one way with last night’s post. The need for a personal realization that we all share in the need for liberation from the variously formulated vicious circles ensnaring us is one way it fits. The other way, far more complicated and problematic, rests in our arrogant propensity to try to convince others of the “true” nature of their own, particular vicious circles.

I WRITE on the current post’s topic occasionally. As I was thinking about it the other day, I remembered an interesting individual and thought I’d share my simple and brief memory of him. Some years ago, at a convenience store not far from my home worked a tall, slender thirty-something guy with a long red ponytail and a goatee. As he completed transactions for one customer after another, he would say, “Have a good day, my brother,” or, “Have a good night, my sister.” Now, his diction was distinct, so the phrases sounded more like “mah bruthuh” and “mah sistuh,” smooth and unhurried.

I spend a fair amount of money at convenience stores, especially since one of our local chains usually has a collocated burrito grill. So, I saw this guy a lot; several times a week anyway. After a while, it became clear to me that he really meant what he was saying. It wasn’t just a phrase. It wasn’t merely an article of a carefully polished image. He really meant it.

I realize I’m treading quite close to judging a book by its cover, but from physical appearance one might assume that you wouldn’t see this guy hanging out at a conservative church on Sunday mornings. In fact you might assume that you probably wouldn’t see him at any church on any morning. And maybe not. But, I will say I got the definite impression that if you were hurting, genuinely suffering from the human condition—which is to say if you were hurting over wrongs committed by or against you—this kid would sit outside with you and love you all day long until you knew that you had at least one ally in the world. And this is really the perfectly sensible part of what this one convenience store clerk meant to me.

You and I, and everybody else, truly are siblings in God. We really are. This is what I say from time to time and in various ways. But we are siblings at and only at the deepest, dirtiest, grimiest of human levels. We are siblings because of the very basic, the very fundamental experiences we share by nature of being human. We hurt. We agonize. We get sick. We fall down or get knocked down. We don’t accomplish all we would like. We aren’t quite as good or moral as we would like. We’re just, plain, weak in so many many ways. We are frail and susceptible. We live in poverty of one kind or another. And these things are true be we male or female, black, white, yellow, red brown or olive. They are true whether we are rich or poor, genius or mentally challenged, pretty or ugly, young or old. They are true no matter where we are born. They are true no matter what country we call "home."

THE THING is, we have to make a decision. You and I can’t be siblings unless we are willing to be so. We have to be willing to meet in the dirty mire of humanity; others’ and ours alike. There are three things which keep us from this. The two most obvious things are the refusal to accept those we consider frail, and the refusal to recognize, consider and accept ourselves as frail. But, the primary reason we are not willing to meet in the mire is our refusal to recognize that it is where we must meet; that it is the only True place to meet. We refuse to believe that our frailty is what makes us authentic, real humans. Most of us prefer to remain immovable in the belief that everything else defines us and makes us real. This is our grand mistake.

It takes no small amount of practice, but we can reach a place where we overcome these three barriers. Such a place changes our view of other people in an almost (or perhaps entirely) miraculous way. It becomes much harder to reject, blame, or hate them. It becomes much easier to accept, to forgive, to love them. And this cannot be a bad thing.

May God work in each of us to deliver us all there—together.