The Lord is near to the broken-hearted, and saves the crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18 (NRSV)

“But Michael, the broken heart is the heart of black liberation theology.” 

I was interviewing my former pastor for a seminary term paper. I was exploring the impact of black liberation theology on the preaching and teaching ministries of my childhood home church in Los Angeles. I did not learn the tenets of black theology until I was in seminary. Therefore, I argued, black theology played no role in shaping the broader ministry of my home church. (I was so bold and naïve.)  The paper was a review of the assigned literature in dialogue with former and current pastoral staff of the church, as well as other leading African American pastors and black liberation theologians in the Los Angeles area.

All of my conversation partners were quick to defend the ministry of my home church. They were eager to help me understand the impact of black theology—and the civil rights and black power movements from which it was birthed—on the life and ministry of prominent black churches in Los Angeles, as well as its role in shaping the training, education and formation of clergy serving these faith communities. But none of them was as vehement in their defense as my childhood pastor, Elliott J. Mason Sr.—the one who baptized me, and the one who counseled me at age 12, when I announced a “call to the ministry.” 

“But Dr. Mason,” I argued, “I don’t remember your sermons being about a ‘preferential option for the poor’, or an engagement in a social, political, and racial analysis of our communities and society. I remember your sermons focusing on prayer, on spiritual renewal, on our personal relationship with Jesus, and on being able to approach God with a ‘broken heart.’”

“But Michael,” he replied, “the broken heart is the heart of black liberation theology. Your spiritual growth has social implications. The life of prayer is essential for a ministry of social justice.”

My pastor went on to explain that in the 1970s African American pastors had to wrestle with the compelling vision of black theology and the self-interests of the growing black middle class. The power of consumerism and individualism was already evident in the priorities of the black middle class church, even though many of its leaders participated in the civil rights and black power movements. People were tired of being “in the struggle.” They were ready to enjoy the fruits of the movement. Moreover, some were highly influenced by prominent televangelists who preached a message that focused on individual salvation and a personal relationship with Jesus.

But the spirit of justice and liberation did live in our church. After all, we had a social action ministry, ran a summer camp that served and employed local youths (including me), created a jobs training center, and hosted numerous events featuring local activists, liberation theologians and freedom fighters from the South African anti-Apartheid movement. Dr. Mason had the burden of linking our ministries with the broken-hearted in the community and the world to the “spirituality of broken-heartedness” that featured prominently in his preaching.

Theologian Dale Andrews in Practical Theology for Black Churches (2002, Westminster John Knox Press, p. 81) has observed the roles that American individualism and systemic racism play in creating a separation between one’s spiritual life and one’s socio-political life in the African American community—between the notion of the church as a place to find refuge from the troubles of the world, and the notion of the church as a catalyst for engagement with the world. The American religion of consumerism and individualism has its own spiritual formation program. It is in this context that we engage in ministries of spiritual formation and social justice.

So we must be mindful of the counter-cultural nature of both spiritual formation and social justice for the church. When we engage in prayer, the study of Scripture, fasting, simplicity, solitude, confession, worship, and the like, we are seeking an alternative to the spiritual formation agenda of our culture (Romans 12:2). Spiritual formation practices engage our broken spirits and contrite hearts (Psalm 51:17), and empower us to stand in solidarity with the broken-hearted in our communities and the crushed spirits in our world (Psalm 34:18).

Today, I work with community organizers, clergy, and congregants committed to “unlocking the power of people” to change their communities (www.piconetwork.org). I have learned it is just as possible to engage in social justice work that lacks spiritual formation as it is to engage spiritual formation practices with no view to social justice. We try to fashion a spiritual life over here and a socio-political life over there. What a broken construct!

The broken heart is the heart of spiritual formation. The broken heart is the heart of social justice ministry. Is not social justice ministry a practice in the spiritual formation of individuals and communities? Is not spiritual formation a quest for living in right (read: just) relationships with God and our sisters and brothers (read: the social order)? We know this. Micah teaches us: What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? (Micah 6:8) It takes a broken heart to do all three. May the struggle continue…