Post-Easter history is replete with distortions of the message of Jesus, a reforming religious teacher crucified for undermining the religious and political powers of his day, and who promoted an alternative lifestyle of non-violence, unconditional inclusion, radical generosity and selfless love.
The use of Christian scripture to not only excuse slavery, the Crusades, the subjugation of women, colonialism – ubiquitously accompanied by genocide and cultural destruction – and the weaponised prejudice against LGBTIQA+ and other minority groups demonstrates the way faith is often used to maintain and expand control, wealth and influence.
I was born into an ultraconservative faith community where women had to wear head coverings in church, where I was taught that neither people of other faiths nor other Christian traditions could be trusted to maintain the “truth” and that people of different sexualities or non-binary genders were abhorrent to God and destined for eternal punishment.
The journey of “unlearning” in this environment is more than difficult.
It takes a concerted decision to dismantle your worldview – the way you have made sense of relationships, right and wrong, spirituality, money, education, career and the very purpose of life.
At every stage, the easy thing to do is to revert to type, to assume the persona that will protect your position and reputation. The hard thing to do is admit things aren’t right, that you have been a part of that culture, giving tacit or overt support and promotion of it – in order to call out the harm, the contradictions and the vested interests.
Occasionally there’s a moment of revelation that radically shifts your perspective and allows you to ask questions you have never before given yourself permission to. But more often, it’s a gnawing feeling that what is dressed up as being for the good of others in fact exists to maintain a system of control, to perpetuate its structures and to grow its influence.
This journey – and the response of conservative institutions both religious and political – mirrors that of broader society. We see the slow decay of patriarchy as our workforce and political representation reflects the advance of gender equality and the gradual erosion of traditional gender norms in family, sport and cultural expression.
We also see the backlash as those to whom these changes represent an existential challenge to their worldview, privilege and power utilise fear to direct blame towards increasingly irrational causes like all-gender toilets, trans-women in sport, belief in the science of climate change or the growing cultural diversity of our cities.
Change isn’t linear, and so we see the billionaire class using their wealth to amplify these fears through militant nationalism and the promise of returning to a past that seems to reflect a familiar worldview, in which one could safely be homophobic, misogynist, patriotic and prejudiced without fear of being out of step with social norms and acceptable behaviour.
Where charismatic leaders, funded by the wealthy protecting their power, make people feel like the acceleration of their economic insecurity is caused by those who possess a different worldview, we will continue to see political victories for despots or support for the One Nations and Donald Trumps of the world.
Yet, as Dr Martin Luther King Jr said: “The arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.”
We see this in Australia with the punishment of the Liberal party for pandering to a shrinking rump of extreme conservatism, and even in Pauline Hanson’s calling out of Mark Latham’s despicable homophobia.
Over time, we know that more and more people are realising the barriers they face are due to exclusionary systems and attitudes.
At the same time, they observe the changes happening around them – a senator wearing hijab in parliament due to her faith rather than to insult a faith community, the highest number of women ever in Australian parliament and the normalisation of same-sex marriage in mainstream culture.
It’s easy to get caught up in decrying people for what they once believed, or to ignore the shifts that have already taken place in individuals and institutions. My experience has taught me that using shame and guilt more firmly entrenches divides than enables discussion, and that every step forward should be celebrated and every authentic question embraced as an opportunity.
It is in the Easter story that the tools of progress might be found. We read of a religious leader who taught in word and deed that a better future is not found in coercive power, exclusion, greed or violence, but rather in true solidarity, recognising the intrinsic equality of every human.
Personal, institutional or political transformation doesn’t make right the impact of the wrongs inflicted on people before or during the process of progress. We must never shy away from calling out and advocating for the moral arc of the universe to bend towards justice at a faster rate.
It will ever be uncomfortable for those resisting the inexorable move to inclusion, equality, the redistribution of wealth and social justice. But along the journey every step forward is important and should be embraced. The alternative is that divisions are entrenched, progress is hampered, and harm is perpetuated indefinitely.
Brad Chilcott is the founder and director of Welcoming Australia
