In the final week of the liturgical year, the gospel readings portray certain unmistakable signs indicating the presence of God's coming kingdom in the world. For instance, we encounter the narrative of the poor widow who, in an act of devotion, donates her last two pennies in the temple for the glory of God (Mark 12). This account aligns with a broader pattern of signs, such as the story of Elijah and the starving widow of Zarephath in 1 Kings 17: 7-16. Faced with starvation alongside her son, the widow nevertheless sacrifices her last bit of food for the hungry stranger, Elijah, who arrives at her door, thereby honouring the principle of welcoming the stranger. It is a form of solidarity with the stranger that transcends the mere call for justice. In return for her kindness, God rewards her in a manner that ensures her and her son's safety throughout the famine.
Solidarity is about two things. Firstly, it involves an awareness that we are connected with each other and with the rest of creation. Secondly, it entails being willing to bear the consequences of that interconnectedness in the light of the gospel's mandate, come what may.
Beyond justice
Solidarity isn't just about giving to others from our abundance. Pope Benedict was quite clear about this. I cannot give something to another from my surplus because, if I didn't actually need it, and the other lacked it, it essentially belonged to another all along. In such a case, as the pope wrote in 2009, what occurs is a restoration of justice. The other receives back what rightfully belonged to them all along. Christian solidarity goes beyond the restoration of justice. Because love is about actually giving away what is mine to another. And once I've given it away, I truly miss it; it's no longer mine, and I genuinely have less.
Christian solidarity is, therefore, radical and uncomfortable; it genuinely comes at a cost. It's not about feeling good because you've expressed a politically correct opinion. Pop artist Bob Geldof referred to that as “the pornography of poverty”. We watch images, send money, experience a fleeting emotion, and convince ourselves we've done something good. But it's not a genuine feeling; it's not co-suffering. For theologians like Dorothee Soelle and Chiara Lubich, the ability to co-suffer was precisely the essence of Christian solidarity.
Together in Gethsemane
After the last supper, Jesus invites his disciples to join him in the Garden of Gethsemane, to pray with him, to be with him in his agony. Martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer argued that in Gethsemane, there is a complete reversal of everything religious people think they know about God. In Gethsemane, humanity is called to solidarity with the suffering of God in a world without God. Solidarity is co-suffering with God.
In a nutshell, Christian solidarity is not just about expressing a sense of sympathy or transferring funds to aid organisations. Christian solidarity truly begins when we begin to feel it ourselves, the moment we give away something we genuinely need. And yet, we can't do otherwise if we claim to be followers of Jesus the Messiah, who, out of solidarity, gave his life to liberate us all from anything that could keep us away from God.
The courage to act
The bottom line is that Christian solidarity inherently comes at a cost to ourselves, as individuals, as a society—only then is it truly love for our neighbours. I get it; it's hard to fathom, and yet, throughout history, many women and men have proven the opposite with their lives: Francis of Assisi, Martin de Porres, Frederic Ozanam, Robert Schumann, Mother Teresa, Dorothy Day, Chiara Lubich.
Who will muster the courage to walk in their path?
Excerpt from a lecture by Richard Steenvoorde on Solidarity in the 21st century, ATT Symposium, 's-Hertogenbosch, 18-11-2023.
Picture: thanks to Falco at Pixabay