Pope Leo XIV had bold words to kick off the Triduum this year. In the first of a series of Paschal reflections shared as X posts, he reminded us that the “imperialist occupation of the world is disrupted from within.”
To me, his reflection harkens back to a different understanding of Catholicism that was pioneered by Latin-American theologians looking to make sense of a turbulent 20th century and the grace with which Latin-American Catholics addressed their own suffering. These beliefs would come to be known as Liberation Theology.
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At its core, Liberation Theology is a philosophy that addresses the oftentimes unfortunate circumstances that define the lives of many Latin-American Catholics. It acknowledges that, despite the beauty of spirituality, we still may endure poverty, oppression, and other aggravating situations that make us question our belief in the existence of a benevolent god.
Pope Leo’s words filled me with new hope that the Church I’ve been devoted to my entire life may be reaching a turning point, that its leader would guide us to center the disenfranchised and challenge the forces that marginalize them.
Liberation Theology in the mainstream
I was born in Medellín, Colombia, to parents whose roots spread around the country’s Andean highlands. It’s a region where Roman Catholicism has been practiced almost universally for centuries. Despite dwindling church attendance, most of Colombian society still embodies a cultural Catholicism that can be felt in our continued reverence for Sunday Mass, lingo that often invokes Christ or the Virgin Mary, recipes that adhere to Easter dietary restrictions, cumbia and vallenato songs with lyrics that are more akin to prayers; and, above all, a belief in God’s mercy after which we model our own goodwill toward one another.
The Catholic Church in Colombia has been a refuge for countless impoverished families — including my maternal family, who received subsidized housing for years through the Saint Vincent De Paul Society — serving as a de-facto welfare office for many of the country’s maligned.
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While many countries in Latin America are made of a culturally Catholic polity that support societal almsgiving, Liberation Theology differs in its use of Marxist analysis and incompatibility with conservative politics, rendering it deeply critical of past Church doctrine. Coincidentally, Pope Leo recently issued a public apology for the Catholic Church’s involvement in chattel slavery, further ensconcing a new perspective reminiscent of Liberation Theology into mainstream discussions around modern Catholicism.
Knowing that the Church has both brought my people solace and has been instrumental in our ancestors’ suffering is a painful duality. It’s difficult to reconcile these opposing stances as someone who doesn’t reject his faith. But Catholics like Pope Leo and Gustavo Gutierrez, priest and author of “Liberation Theology,” are proof that many of us, even those in the Holy See, feel a responsibility to reflect on the Church’s past injustices. It’s because we want to see a Gospel of mercy and charity exercised to its fullest capacity. Nevertheless, it can be a difficult philosophy to live out when the Church’s legacy includes highly stratified societies on the basis of class and race, institutionalized homophobia, misogyny, I could go on. My friends with similar upbringings have advised me to turn away from Catholicism and spare myself the disappointment.
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Then I began to think of my faith and culture as one, similar to how Latin-American priests founded Liberation Theology in the context of their religious beliefs and the societies they lived in. It still isn’t always easy to work through, but when I think of my faith as something as inherent to me as the place I was born, I feel more at peace. I began to reflect more meaningfully on how there’s an often unspoken consensus among Latin-American Christians that we are put on this Earth to serve one another.
In Colombia, there’s a popular saying that roughly translates to “Where two can eat, so can three.” Philosophies like Liberation Theology offer a similar sentiment that encourages us to think critically about how Catholicism can encourage us to pursue social justice. It challenges us to advocate for the ostracized and give up our time and energy for others when they need it. Turning away from the faith I was born into would be like turning away from the vibrant culture that’s made me the generous person I am today.
A faith that pursues justice
I think back to when I was a brazen 17-year-old, leading a meditative “privilege walk exercise” with my church youth group – years before social justice became a topic du jour. I remember their confused stares and how they stumbled over their words as they tried to articulate why inequality exists in a world supposedly conceived by a just God.
As a cultural Catholic, I already understood that my faith didn’t have to be a barrier to promoting social justice in my daily life. I knew how cultural Catholics embody charity and sacrifice — oftentimes without regard for laws imposed on us. I saw it whenever my mom spent her last dollar to send remittances and boxes of toiletries back to her family in Medellín, when my parents would pray for protection before setting off to their new jobs with falsified documents, and in stories so many of us have of sheltering family members in our bedrooms or living rooms while they settled into a country that persecutes migrants. We lead with our own sense of justice rooted in the teachings of the Church and our lived experiences as Latin Americans.
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Cultural Catholicism has taught me to embrace being a dutiful caretaker to my parents as they navigate healthcare and immigration systems that consistently fail Latinx and working-class elders. It’s why I organize clothing donations for the majority-Latinx Christian congregation my Guatemalan friend belongs to. Above all, it’s why I devote my life to writing about the fascist politics spreading throughout our world.
When I feel myself losing sight of this path, I remember these words from St. Óscar Romero, a Salvadoran priest who was martyred by right-wing paramilitaries for his pro-peasant ministry: “The church, entrusted with the earth’s glory, believes that in each person is the Creator’s image and that everyone who tramples it offends God. As holy defender of God’s rights and of his images, the church must cry out.”
Questions for Reflection:
- What are some ways you can get involved to address issues of social injustice in your community?
- How has your cultural background shaped your understanding of Catholicism?
- How do you respond when your faith challenges you to step outside your comfort zone?
