We live in a world that often appears to be the antithesis of shalom. As I sat in a movie theatre last week, I was reminded of the acute and all-encompassing brokenness present in our world. The film, The Bang Bang Club, exposed the hatred of man toward humanity for me as it followed the lives of four South African photographers as they captured images of the violence among South Africans in the early 1990’s. They witnessed senseless and horrifying acts of violence between Xhosa and Zulu South Africans, yet did nothing to stop the violence, developing a growing numbness toward the inhumanity of the brutality. I left the movie that night, overwhelmed by the nature of man and the lack of peace in the world still today. For though the tribal warfare of the early 1990’s is a thing of the past in South Africa, inequality, indignity, and violence continue. Peace is still all too clearly absent in every aspect of life.
Augustine names human nature as incurvatus in se, that is, continually curving inward on itself. I have been constantly struck by this image since I’ve been here is South Africa. Not because there is any greater amount or prevalence of sinfulness here, but simply because in comparing the paths of South Africa and the United States toward transformation, I’ve been able to see more clearly how far both still have to go. Humans, regardless of race, gender, or class, are bent inward on themselves. As our walls grow thicker and enclose us more tightly, we become isolated, and soon can see nothing but ourselves. As a vessel on a pottery wheel, our walls naturally curve in, and we revert to a crumpled mass of clay. We are constantly curving further and further in on ourselves, with eyes blinded to see, ears deadened to hear, and hearts numbed to feel any experiences outside of ourselves. Yet this is obviously not what God intended for humanity.
God’s intention is peace. Not just peace, as in the lack of violence. God’s vision of peace is shalom, the holistic peace. Wolsterstorff speaks of the nature of whole peace and justice, writing, "To guide our feet into the path of peace, of shalom: that is what the presence of Jesus in our midst means, that is the significance of this declaration in the synagogue and to John’s disciples– that in him the word of the prophet Isaiah is being fulfilled. For Isaiah was speaking of the day of shalom. In shalom there are no blind; all see. That is the significance of Jesus’ healing of the blind. In shalom there are no lame; all walk. There are no lepers; all are well. There are no deaf; all hear. There are no dead; all are alive. And there are no poor; all have plenty. To limp is to fall short of shalom. To be impoverished is to fall short of shalom. That is what is wrong with poverty. God is committed to shalom. Jesus came to bring shalom. In shalom there is no poverty" (77).
The world in which I live has obviously not reached this shalom. There is greater physical impoverishment present in Cape Town than I believed possible in the world. The lack of shalom is made more clear in the disparity between rich and poor; townships and informal settlements are rife with violence, disease, hunger, and littered with garbage, while suburbs next to the mountain are spacious, safe, well sanitized, and never hungry. The depth of poverty is perpetuated in part by the immensity of wealth. Township-dwellers travel to rich neighborhoods to work as cleaners, caretakers, car guards, gas pumpers, or taxi drivers, earn minimum wage serving the wealthy, and then return home with just enough money to survive. This poverty is more than just monetary; it is a social poverty. It is an impoverishment of dignity and an impoverishment of power for people to live physically as neighbors, yet socially and spiritually as strangers, isolated by human nature. These types of poverty, just as much as economic poverty, reveal the absence of shalom. Holistic poverty exists; therefore, shalom cannot.
In the midst of a wholly broken world, then, where is the hope for change? The possibility of shalom is birthed in the created nature of man. For though every person is perpetually curving further inward on him or herself, the seed of God’s original creation still exists within. Wolsterstorff quotes Calvin in speaking about the imago Dei, the image of God present in all of humanity (78). Just as much as human nature is recognizably broken and sinful, it just as clearly bears the image of God. According to Calvin, the seed of the imago Dei hidden within our incurvated nature is the foundation for relationship that leads toward compassion and love. Since the image of God gives every person worth in the eyes of God, it must also give every person worth in the eyes of the rest of humanity. Christ’s call to love your neighbor is then a call to recognize the imago Dei within one another. But how do we, with natures that are continually curving inward on ourselves, see outside ourselves to recognize the image of God in one another? The imago Dei is present within every person, yet is veiled, hidden, and marred. The continual inward curvature of self encloses and buries the image of God and blinds humanity to the image of God in the Other.
Human nature must be restored. The vessel that has fallen inward on itself must be reshaped and moulded to become curved outward, revealing the imago Dei within. Not only does this unveil the intended nature of an individual, but it also then shifts that person’s focus from looking inward to looking outward, to others and to the world. Both aspects of the reshaping of the vessel are necessary in the move away from brokenness and toward peace. By ourselves, we are unable to change our nature and our shape. It is only through Christ that we are able to be remoulded in this world. In Christ, what was once broken is being restored. His incarnation into the world demonstrated the perfect example of a life created in the image of God and focused outward. The Word became flesh and dwelt among men, and walked with them in His life. His pace was three miles an hour, not only living alongside people, but seeing them, hearing them, living with them, and loving them (Bonk 81). Christ’s life was our example, and His death and resurrection made it possible for us to be transformed by the Potter into vessels looking outward, following the example of His life.
God transforms us to live like Christ, yet this is meaningless as individuals. For centuries, Christians have tried to preach and live solely in salvation for the individual. This is not the Gospel Jesus preached and lived, nor is it not the Gospel that brings shalom. The church of the individual pietist has done nothing but create more strife, violence, and separation in the past. God desires shalom in this world, and shalom is a state, not of an individual, but of a community. Shalom will only begin to break through in this world by the transformation of community. Wolsterstorff declared that the coming of shalom is only possible through a change in communities, stating, “Only if we once again see society not as a heap of souls on a piece of ground, but as a God-willed community, as a living human organism, can there be a cure to the misery of poverty” (81). Becoming fully human, or returning to the original shape in which God created man, is a communal activity of deep redemption.
Imagine God reshaping a community, revealing the imago Dei within every person and shifting their gazes from themselves to the image of God in one another. In seeing one another’s humanity, we can see the hope for shalom. Yet it also becomes clear what stands in the way in society. Suddenly, it becomes impossible to ignore the spaces where shalom is absent, where race, class, and gender remain unreconciled. The oppression, injustice, and inequality created in the past and perpetuated in the present is made clear to both the oppressed and the oppressor. As a community founded in Christ and focused on the Other, this oppression is no longer acceptable, and the community stands together against injustice and inequality and for shalom. In her reflection on James, Tamez recognizes the power of this pursuit of peace in a community, stating, "In his eagerness to encourage the Christian communities James asks them to reflect on the positive side of experience of oppression. He does not perceive the recompense for this unjust suffering at the end of time; rather it occurs now, in the heart of praxis, in the life of the communities; they experience wholeness and integrity within themselves. Paradoxically this is a humanizing process. In the very process of resisting dehumanizing forces, the communities and their members are humanized" (Tamez 47). In seeing oppression and standing together against it, we are turned inside out more and more, living for one another rather than for ourselves. And as we live for one another, we live for shalom. We aim to see the end to every form of poverty that prevents and opposes shalom. As we do so within community, we act as true bearers of the imago Dei in a world that needs to see the presence of God more than ever.
A few weeks ago, I stood with a few of my co-workers in midst of the charred remains of a woefully small shack in Sweet Home Farm, an informal settlement the Warehouse works with closely. The shack had burned down around the the mother and her small child in minutes, and all that remained were the corrugated tin walls and a few pieces of garbage and nails on the dirt floor. We stood in this sorrowful space, overwhelmingly aware of the pain, loss, and structural brokenness it represented, and prayed, asking God to speak, to comfort, and to bring peace. As I looked out the gaping hole that was the roof, I could literally see shalom coming and shalom yet to come. With one glance, I could see both a landscape of shacks in the immediate foreground, as well as the mountain with all its associated wealth in the background. At the same time, though, I could see God’s peace breaking through as we prayed for healing and wholeness in the community. The sun broke through the clouds and shone down into the broken ruins, hitting us with rays of light and hope. Suddenly I imagined a small plant springing from the floor of the shack, a small but tangible piece of life growing out of death. This is the nature of God’s shalom. Out of a scarred and broken shell, the seeds of God in the world are slowly but surely giving birth to shalom within communities.
Shalom is not an easy aim in a world that exists in opposition to peace by nature of fallen humanity. Yet in the words of Wolsterstorff, “Shalom is both God’s cause in the world and our human calling” (72). Jesus calls us out of our inwardly curved natures into transformed community, where the image of God within individuals draws the body of Christ together toward holistic peace. This is God’s calling for us in the world. Though we live in a place where shalom is still so visibly absent, there are seeds being sown and springing to life in communities all around Cape Town, and all around the world. So we live in community, standing together against poverty and injustice, and standing together in hope as we seek God’s holistic peace.
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