Theological Journal - July 18 Lee Camp: Scandalous Witness (4)

PROPOSITION 4 Christianity Is Neither a Prostitute nor a Chaplain

Three Prayers

Father William Corby was present in early July 1863 at Gettysburg. The opposing armies faced off. Corby called the soldiers together for what became a famous moment. He offered the following prayer of absolution for their sins and blessed them in battle.

Colonel St. Clair Mulholland gave this account:

“There is yet a few minutes to spare before starting, and the time is occupied in one of the most impressive religious ceremonies I have ever witnessed. . . . [The Irish Brigade] stood in columns of regiments closed in mass. As the large majority of its members were Catholics, the Chaplain of the brigade Rev. William Corby, CSC, proposed to give a general absolution to all the men before going into the fight. While this is customary in the armies of Catholic countries of Europe, it was perhaps the first time it was ever witnessed on this continent. . . . Father Corby stood upon a large rock in front of the brigade, addressing the men; he explained what he was about to do, saying that each one would receive the benefit of the absolution by making a sincere Act of Contrition, and firmly resolving to embrace the first opportunity of confessing his sins, urging them to do their duty well, and reminding them of the high and sacred nature of their trust as soldiers and the noble object for which they fought. The brigade was standing at ‘Order arms,’ and as he closed his address, every man fell on his knees, with head bowed down. Then, stretching his right hand towards the brigade, Father Corby pronounced the words of absolution. The scene was more than impressive, it was awe-inspiring. Nearby, stood General Hancock, surrounded by a brilliant throng of officers, who had gathered to witness this very unusual occurrence and while there was profound silence in the ranks of the Second Corps, yet over to the left, out by the peach orchard and Little Round Top, where Weed, and Vincent, and Haslett were dying, the roar of the battle rose and swelled and reechoed through the woods. The act seemed to be in harmony with all the surroundings. I do not think there was a man in the brigade who did not offer up a heartfelt prayer. For some it was their last; they knelt there in their grave-clothes—in less than half an hour many of them were numbered with the dead of July 2.

The second prayer comes from Leo Tolstoy and is a parody of the sort of prayer Corby offered on the battlefield.

No one said to him: “The kings exercise authority among the nations, but among you it shall not be so. Do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not lay up riches, judge not, condemn not, resist not him that is evil.”

But they said to him: “You wish to be called a Christian and to continue to be the chieftain of the robbers—to kill, burn, fight, lust, execute, and live in luxury? That can all be arranged.”

And they arranged a Christianity for him, and arranged it very smoothly, better even than could have been expected. They foresaw that, reading the Gospels, it might occur to him that all this (i.e., a Christian life) is demanded—and not the building of temples or worshiping in them. This they foresaw, and they carefully devised such a Christianity for him as would let him continue to live his old heathen life unembarrassed. On the one hand Christ, God’s Son, only came to bring salvation to him and to everybody. Christ having died, Constantine can live as he likes. More even than that—one may repent and swallow a little bit of bread and some wine, and that will bring salvation, and all will be forgiven.

But more even than that: they sanctify his robber-chieftainship, and say that it proceeds from God, and they anoint him with holy oil. And he, on his side, arranges for them the congress of priests that they wish for, and orders them to say what each man’s relation to God should be, and orders every one to repeat what they say.

And they all started repeating it, and were contented, and how this same religion has existed for fifteen hundred years, and other robber-chiefs have adopted it, and they have all been lubricated with holy oil, and they were all, all ordained by God. If any scoundrel robs every one and slays many people, they will oil him, and he will then be from God. In Russia, Catharine II, the adulteress who killed her husband, was from God; so, in France, was Napoleon. . . .

And as soon as one of the anointed robber-chiefs wishes his own and another folk to begin slaying each other, the priest[s] immediately prepare some holy water, sprinkle a cross (which Christ bore and on which he died because he repudiated such robbers), take the cross and bless the robber-chief in his work of slaughtering, hanging, and destroying.

Here's a third prayer (by author Camp, I presume):

Friends, hear the word of the Lord: love your enemies; do good to those who despitefully use you; pray for those who hate you. This is your duty. Share your bread with the hungry. Put away your rifles, for our Lord has said that they who live by the sword will die by the sword. Put away your cannons, for the apostle said, “the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but they are mighty, through God, even to pull down strongholds.” It is true that there is a great war waging in our land, in which some would reduce all things to economic concerns; in which some would reduce all to the rights of states; in which some would reduce all to their right to enslave their brothers or sisters and to tear apart their families without compassion or the most basic tenderness that holds together the tendrils of human community. We must not turn our backs on such a war lest the blood of our brothers and sisters cry out from the ground. But we are called to an even greater war in which the war is not against flesh and blood but against the strongholds of darkness, which can only be defeated by light and love and perseverance in the ways of the great God of heaven, revealed in this Jesus of Nazareth.

In light of Camp’s first three propositions, this last prayer is one offered neither by a prostitute nor a chaplain.

“Here we begin to see the implications of the first three propositions.

1. Yes, justice for the oppressed matters because history matters. History is not merely one damn meaningless thing after another but an unfolding story in which the struggle for justice and liberty is central to the story line. History is an unfolding story of men and women grappling with courage and cowardice, seeking to give their lives in service to something larger than themselves, an awe-inspiring drama of the first order. In contrast, it was often the slave masters and their allied clergy who reduced Christianity to a mere chaplain spirituality that could, with a straight face, tell slaves to obey their masters and wait for the sweet by-and-by when they could receive their heavenly reward. It was the Christian slave masters who refused to realize that history matters, that history is the stage upon which the justice of God is and shall be played out.

2. The abolitionists knew better than the spiritualizing slave masters that we are created for good and for God, and thus such creation entailed just and merciful human relations. They further rightly understood that the practices of slavery had to be undone. They knew that the ends toward which history is headed could break out now in the midst of the broken social condition in which they found themselves.

3. But then came a choice. On one hand this: to wed the Christian hope of liberty and justice to the nation-state’s violence? Or on the other hand, this: to wed the Christian hope of liberty and justice to a proleptic stance in the world, in which Christians (a) would first do the hard work to abolish slavery among themselves, and then, or simultaneously, (b) call on their non-Christian neighbors to do the same and refuse to kill their unbelieving neighbor who has yet refused to accept the Christian practices of justice and mercy.” (Kindle Loc.784-801)

Could you have prayed this third prayer to a group expecting a prayer like Father Corby’s?