Enfleshing Witness: Eric Barreto

The following is a lightly edited transcript and a video of Rev. Dr. Eric Barreto’s talk from our 2021 Enfleshing Witness gathering. Eric preaches because the God who called him is a God who creates and delights in the storytelling of diverse communities. In short, he preaches because the way of Jesus's faith is not a solitary path, but one in which we lean on and learn from the stories of others. Eric preaches to followers of Jesus yearning to connect their community's reading of scripture with God's active grace in everyday life. He preaches so that followers of Jesus might see how their faithfulness is bound up in the lives and experiences of their diverse neighbors.  

If you didn't know, you will shortly know a very important unwritten rule.  An unwritten rule that extends beyond ritual or tradition and taps into the yearnings of a people and a place. 

You see, if you have ever flown to San Juan, Puerto Rico, the capital of the indisputably most beautiful island in the world, then you probably experienced this unwritten rule as the plane's wheels touched the ground and Puerto Ricans on the plane began to clap. Now, you have to understand that the clapping is not just an affirmation of the pilot's or crew's skills. 

No matter the quality of the landing, we clap. It is the fact of the landing that we applaud. For so many of us, landing back on this island is not the beginning of a vacation, but an emotional return to a place we seek  and yet cannot really find. 

Home. There's something powerful in that small but meaningful word.

Home. There's also something sad, challenging, even forlorn for many of us.  

For me, there's a certain bittersweetness in that Caribbean air and the taste of comida criolla, in the view of the Puerto Rican coast from the plane window that breaks the blue expanse of ocean.  

Home is both promise and grief.  

You see, imperial and colonial imaginations have made home complicated for some of us. 

For Puerto Ricans, colonial rule has taken the resources of the land, and then spread many of us in a diaspora across the United States and the world. For other communities, the slave ships tore apart families and places and belonging. For others, it was warfare and privation that led to migration. For yet others, it was rejection at home, at school, at church, about whom God has made you to be. 

That this home for many of us feels like it is somewhere else, but it's a somewhere else that lives largely in our hopes and imaginations, a somewhere else to which we cannot descend on a plane, even if we clap as the wheels touch the ground. 

In Luke 4, we read about Jesus's return home to Nazareth. There is initial applause. 

But that adulation quickly turns more dire. Jesus, you'll remember, reads from Isaiah at his home synagogue, announcing the ways God's grace is embodied in freedom for the imprisoned, liberation for the poor, wholeness for all those who lack. And at first his neighbors celebrate his prophetic voice, but then Jesus reminds them and us that God's grace falls upon those we don't think are worthy. And with that, applause turns to rage, and Jesus' neighbors seek to cast him from the nearest cliff.  

You see, Empire has taught us that grace is a zero-sum game, that our thriving requires the suffering of others, that there simply isn't enough to go around, so we must desperately hold on to whatever we have. 

Empire has lied to us. That grace for others means loss for us, and Jesus was trying to help his neighbors and to help us imagine something different.  Yet returning home apparently was simply not possible for a prophet. And I wonder if Jesus took this lesson with him on the road to Jerusalem, on the road to a Roman cross. 

In Luke 9:58, Jesus responds to a would-be disciple who perhaps impulsively declares that they would follow Jesus wherever he went.  Perhaps you, like me, have uttered such foolishness to Jesus,  forgetting to count the high cost of the Messiah's path. Jesus responds to them and to us: 

“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests. But the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”

Now, that's a word.  And I think we miss the point if we narrow the scope of this verse to be an indication of Jesus' itinerant life, or merely a biographical point.  No, I wonder if this is a way to think about life under the shadow of Empire, under the threat of the kind of imperial violence that will take Jesus' life. And which still stalks so many of us still today.  Perhaps home is just not possible  in the wake of Empire's violence. 

My friends, I yearn to be on a plane again, heading to an island that makes me who I am,  an island whose influence reverberates in the lives of those I love. I want to gaze expectantly to the horizon, waiting to see those green shores. 

I can't wait for the first step on that jet bridge, that first whiff of Caribbean air. Can't wait to be home again. But I also know that feeling, that yearning for home, will remain unrequited.  That home I yearn for no longer really exists, but what does exist is not the home I imagine.  But the tangible, real home I've created here in this home, with this family, with these friends.

Home is a place, yes, but it's also a commitment, a demand that God's justice would unfurl here and now, a faith that expects to taste God's grace in the people and the places where God has planted us.  Home is a feeling and a commitment. But it's also a sense of loss, an absence, an unfulfilled promise. And in all that, Jesus is our companion, and so also are all these marginalized folks yearning for home and finding it wherever we can. 

In the end, home is tinged with grief for many of us. God's promise is that home can also be a recognition.  Hard won to be sure, but a recognition of the immense grace that yet surrounds us.  And maybe as we clap when we land, we grieve what we have lost, and yet treasure the many gifts that have kept us alive. 

And in that space between grief and hope, loss and promise, life and death, we discover anew the shape of God's grace. And just maybe. Catch a glimpse of home right here and right now. 

We are excited to announce a new chapter in the Enfleshing Witness movement: “Enfleshing Witness: Rewilding Otherwise Preaching.” Learn more about this new grant opportunity and sign-up to stay connected as the project unfolds.

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Rev. Eric Bareto

Eric D. Barreto is the Weyerhaeuser Associate Professor of New Testament at Princeton Seminary. He holds a BA in religion from Oklahoma Baptist University, an MDiv from Princeton Seminary, and a PhD in New Testament from Emory University. Prior to coming to Princeton Seminary, he served as associate professor of New Testament at Luther Seminary, and also taught as an adjunct professor at the Candler School of Theology and McAfee School of Theology. 

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 Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.

As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.

When Home is Not Home

“When I think of home, I think of a place where there’s love overflowing.” These are lines from the song, “Home,” written by Charles Small. “Home” is a timeless crowd-pleaser and tearjerker from the musical, The Wiz. This Broadway production turned movie is the Black answer to The Wizard of Oz. In both play and film, Dorothy’s longing for her home in Kansas is most poignantly expressed in song. She intones, “I wish I was back there with the things I've been knowing.”

There is a safety, security of home at least for most of us. The onset of the COVID-19 pandemic has forced us to pause and consider our relationship with the place and people associated with our homes. Sudden shifts to working remotely and ad nauseam Zoom meetings have exposed parts of our lives which had been selectively disclosed.

Now people from across the country get to peep into our private spaces.

Not only are our material goods or the lack thereof on blast, but the swaddling clothes of classism come to bear. Wi-Fi conundrums do not get interpreted as merely a cable issue, but as a financial one, suggesting a co-worker or colleague cannot afford better service. And truth is, perchance the individual cannot.

This corona context quickly coerced students to leave colleges and universities and retreat to their homes. Whereas many grumbled about leaving the apex of their social ecosystem, others were anxious about returning to places of fiscal instability, social dis-ease, and familial dysfunction. One cannot discount students who were homeless before going to college and who have returned to homelessness. Administrators of Historically Black Colleges and Universities note this (in)security. 

It is existential dissonance to adhere to any mandate to shelter in place when one’s place of shelter is questionable or not existent.

People vulnerable pre-pandemic remain vulnerable during the pandemic. The pandemic is no pretty picture, but a painful panorama of physical, economic, and cultural inequities prior to its onset. What was broken before the virus, is still broken now and will remain fractured for days to come.

Life-work balance was a myth before talk of contact tracing. Today it is the unicorn in the room. Our homes are now offices, daycare centers, educational institutions, and religious facilities. E-learning quite often clashes with e-working, and the idea of e-worshipping seems like another online megillah. How dare anyone attempt to police what we do in our homes. This is not indicative of the “things we’ve been knowing,” and sometimes it does not feel “there’s love overflowing.”

When is home not home? For whom does home feel foreign?

African Americans question America as home. There is a perceived danger in our existence even when we are near or in our homes. The reckless, perpetual killing of Black bodies is evidence. Trayvon Martin was walking home when a no-cop killed him. Botham Jean was in his own apartment when a police office shot him. While on a call for one matter, police officers digressed and shot Keith Lamont Scott at his apartment complex. Playing a game with her nephew did not keep Atatiana Jefferson secure in her house. Sleeping while home was not a safety net for Breonna Taylor. #BlackLivesMatters resonates because for racist reasons we are deemed indispensable on playgrounds, at the beach, at the park, in the car, in church, and yes, even in our own homes.

When is home not home? For whom is home dangerous?

Victims of domestic violence are not “at home” during this pandemic. Studies show that domestic violence increases during natural disasters and crises. In a Covid context, where sheltering in place and physical distancing are the norm, isolation is one way in which perpetrators of intimate partner violence inflict abuse. Additionally, the increase in Zoom usage lends towards survivors reliving digital exploitation. Intimate partner violence has not only national, but global implications according to U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres, “For many women and girls, the threat looms largest where they should be safest — in their own homes.”

When is home not home? For whom is home a house of horror?

Children remain vulnerable to physical harm, verbal abuse, emotional hurt and sexual predatory practices. The shift to online learning means they are home more with their abusers. Without physical access to schools, libraries, religious institutions, or community centers, children are relegated to sheltering with adults who cannot shield them from trauma at their own hands. Targeting children and even pets becomes a means of furthering control in the home. Custody visits via Zoom can be uncomfortable if one parent wants to hide a home location. Sometimes home is just not home.

Hebrews 11:13-14 records, “All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland.” The writer was addressing a group who had become disheartened in their faith. Their social context threatened their spiritual walk. In order to encourage this community, the writer pointed to the testimony their ancestors.

The displacement the community was experiencing was not dissimilar to what their foreparents had faced.

Biblical history notes a longing for home. Our current context rubber stamps this continued pining. We are seeking a place to call home, a place where there’s love overflowing, a place where we can finally rest and just be.

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Dr. Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder

Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder, author, speaker and teacher, is a Baptist and Disciples of Christ minister who holds a Ph.D. in New Testament from Vanderbilt University. Her latest book is When Momma Speaks: The Bible and Motherhood from a Womanist Perspective. This #WomanistMomma currently serves as Associate Professor and Academic Dean at Chicago Theological Seminary.

Facebook: Stephanie Buckhanon Crowder
Twitter: @stepbcrowder
Instagram: StephBuckhanonC

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Church Anew has gathered a diverse group of Christian thought leaders to ignite innovation and imagination for leading congregations in a time like this.  These keynote speakers will amplify the voices of local leaders from the Minneapolis area, who will share stories of how the church is leading in our own context, particularly in response to systemic racism in our communities.

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Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.

As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.