Turning the ribbon around

In college, my best friend accused me of being “ribbon boy.” I had a ribbon for every cause about which I felt passionate. My backpack was an array of yellow, red, purple, and green ribbons – along with the buttons that made the statements even more obvious. The epitome of the campus advocate, I often was able to couch my advocacy in terms of some faith-based language that somehow made me feel better about my passion for justice. I left the world of undergraduate education for Seminary to reconcile my faith and search for social justice. While I may not don ribbons so easily anymore, and I certainly have developed a deeper theological understanding of the prophetic call to justice, ribbons have recently forced me into deeper theological reflection.

Over the past few months I have noticed the phenomenon of the magnetic car ribbon. Almost all of these ribbon-shaped magnets are yellow, in support of the men and women in the armed forces, or incorporate some form of the American flag. The magnets in and of themselves are not a stumbling block. While I myself choose not to display my citizenship in this way, I respect that there are those that do. Yet, many of these magnets, which are offered for sale at some Christian bookstores, are not turned upright, so that they would be recognized in the shape of a ribbon. Turned on their sides, the ribbons subversively become the symbol of the ichthus (ΙΧΘΥΣ). The Greek word for fish, ichthus, is believed to be an acronym for the phrase, Jesus Christ Son of God, Savoir. Used in the early Church itself as a form of subversion, the ichthus was a way for persecuted disciples to claim their uniqueness in the midst of the Roman empire. It has been said that when one disciple would meet someone on the road, one would draw an arc in the dirt. If the other was a Christian, the arc would be recognized and another arc facing the other direction would be drawn, thus completing the symbol of the fish.

The Christian faith certainly holds no copyright on the religious imagery of the fish, yet I am forced to struggle with the conflation of the ribbon and the fish. The subversive nature of the fish symbol developed over and against the empire in which the early church found itself. Utilizing the cultural milieu surround them, early Christians were able to proclaim the discipling message of Jesus Christ, “come and I will make you fishers of men (sic)” (Mark 1:17). Proclaiming the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ is, at its very core, counter empire. Living the message of the Gospel is difficult when seen through what Lee Camp, author of Mere Discipleship, calls the “Constantinian cataract.” Being counter empire does not mean that Christians should not pray for the men and women who are in service to the empire, bureaucrats, military families, and elected officials. To not pray for them would assume that they are excluded from God’s love and grace. We who live as disciples cannot fall prey to political liberalism at the same time we forget God’s prevenient grace. At the same time, those who claim discipleship under Christ run the possibility of perverting the liberating, holistic good news – the good news that brings salvation to not only the soul, but to the body, mind, and social situations in which we find ourselves. The fusion of the ichthus with the empire that proclaims a message of war, prosperity, and ecological degradation that is counter to the gospel of healing transformation proclaimed by Jesus Christ. Certainly the messages of healing and wholeness found in the wearing of red ribbons for HIV/AIDS awareness, pink ribbons for breast cancer awareness, or purple ribbons for domestic violence awareness come closer to the heart of Christianity than the empire-fused ichthus, but why do we never see advocates for such movements turning their ribbons sideways? Indeed there are many Christians who are supportive of such awareness movements – not only because we are called to seek justice and make peace in all of creation, but also because such issues are at the heart of our own communities of faith. We undertake such healing advocacy because of our call to love of neighbor. Such love of neighbor and love of God’s creation is what also propels many of us to seek peace with justice.

Making such a statement, that the things for which we advocate are grounded in biblical theology, need not take a via negativa. Although the thought has crossed my mind more than once, we do not need to take to our local shopping malls and parking garages repositioning the ribbon-turned-ichthus magnets adorning our neighbor’s vehicles. This is counter to the Gospel of love of neighbor and doesn’t really make a theological point – all that it accomplishes is infuriation of our neighbors.

We can, however, turn our own ribbons on their sides. Whenever we wear a red ribbon to remember those in our communities and around the world who have died and are dying of HIV/AIDS, we do so out of hope for their lives and the lives of those who love them. Whenever we wear a pink ribbon, seeking education and prevention for breast cancer, we do so in the hope that such advocacy will bring about a transformed spirit, body, and mind. Whenever we wear a purple ribbon, we honor those victims of domestic violence as human beings, not as property to be abused at will. Whatever the color of the ribbon, whatever cause, we do so as disciples subverting the way of the world, subverting the empire-fused ichthus, and begin to see our advocacy through the lens of the Christ event. The positive approach to the situation employs a theological critique of what it means to be an advocate of a certain “secular” cause, challenges the “Constantinian cataract,” and engages Christian disciples in proclaiming the good news – that Christ’s victory over death brings hope for the healing of all the people in all the nations.

So, I guess that I’ve become the “ribbon boy” again – and that’s okay, especially when it proclaims the hope and healing found in the resurrected Christ.