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Recently I’ve been reading J. Denny Weaver’s The Nonviolent Atonement, an exploration of atonement from an Anabaptist perspective that assumes the nonviolence of God. Weaver discards both traditional Anselmian substitutionary atonement and Abelardian Moral Influence atonement, embracing instead the earlier conception of atonment (popular with the church fathers) “Christus Victor“. In Christus Victor, Christ’s death is seen as a ransom to the Devil; Weaver reformulates this theory as “narrative Christus Victor”, explains the death of Christ not as a desirable facet of God’s plan for humanity or as instance of “divinely-sanctioned violence”, but rather as the inevitable result of a life lived in opposition to the violent powers of oppression in the world. The Resurrection thus demonstrates that the rule of these powers is shattered forever, and that the Kingdom of God is breaking into the world. Narrative Christus Victor emphasizes the entire life and work of Christ as central to the concept of atonement — not just the crucifixion and resurrection, which are here viewed as the natural result and final victory, respectively, of Christ’s message.

In three consecutive chapters of the book, Weaver examines the challenges to traditional substititonary atonement made by black theology, feminist theology, and womanist theology. Contextual theologies are especially valuable in considering the nature of Christ’s work becuase all three grow out of the historical situations of oppressed groups — exactly the sorts of group that Jesus himself focused on (Luke 4.18f). These examples of what might be termed “theology from the margins” all deal significant blows not just to traditional atonement, but also to traditional conceptions Christology.

Black, feminist, and womanist theologies stand largely outside of the doctrinal tradition of the Nicene and Chalcedonian creeds, and a central point that Weaver makes is that these creeds are just as contextualized and just as much a product of specific historical circumstances as are the theologies of various oppressed groups. In other words, the Nicene-Chalcedonian tradition is not a definition of “universal orthodoxy” any more than, say, the writings of James Cone, but the white European church has long assumed that this tradition is normative because of its status as the church of the privileged. All three of the contextual theologies that Weaver discusses note that the Christology embodied in the Nicene-Chalcedonian tradition de-emphasizes the ethical character of the Incarnation in favor of abstract metaphysical definitions (hypostasis, etc.). Indeed, the portion of the Nicene Creed that talks about Jesus skips straight from his birth to the crucifixion, without so much as a mention of his ministry. Black theology in particular notes that the philosophical abstraction of traditional orthodoxy allowed slave owners and other oppressors to be “good Christians” while systematically ignoring Christ’s ethical message.

All this is not to say that the Nicene and Chalcedonian creeds lack value in seeking to understand the person of Christ. But I believe that the Christology embodied in these statements is incomplete, and indeed is rather unimportant when compared to the things that are left out — especially ethics. Those of us who don’t hail from marginalized groups (i.e., those of us who are born into privilege) must recognize that our theological tradition is contextual too, and that its defects (especially its separation of metaphysical Christology from ethics) have been used to inflict oppression and injustice against others, including other Christians. We must supplement our philosophical Christology with what I would term a “narrative Christology”, a doctrine of Jesus that focuses on his ministry and life, which embodied a particular ethical message that should be normative for all Christians. A properly-formulated narrative Christology would reflect the insights of the contextual theologies of the oppressed and would help return the privileged segments of the Church to a fuller knowledge of what it means to be Christian.

Narrative Christology could very well be non-creedal, drawing from the Gospels alone rather than from “standardized” statements. But if a creed were needed (either for liturgical purposes or to help elevate narrative Christology to the status of the Nicene-Chalcedonian tradition), I would suggest one like this:

We confess Jesus Christ of Nazareth, born of Mary in the lowliest of places and amidst the oppression of Empire. We confess his message, a proclamation of good news to the poor, of liberty to captives, of sight to the blind, of freedom to the oppressed.

We confess that Jesus Christ of Nazareth resisted the temptations of the systems of the world. He healed the sick, cast out demons, fed the hungry, and preached to the poor. He brought a message of peace into a world of violence and a message of love into a world of legalism.

We confess that Jesus Christ of Nazareth challenged the hypocrisy, corruption, and oppression of the religious and political leaders of his day, and that he announced a new Kingdom in the midst of the old. We confess that for this, he was arrested, brought to trial, and crucified, the death of a criminal or insurrectionist.

We confess that Jesus Christ of Nazareth arose from death. We confess that in his resurrection he triumphed over the powers of oppression and evil that had killed him, and that in his resurrection he demonstrated the final efficacy of the message he proclaimed.

In the life and the resurrection of Jesus Christ of Nazareth we place our faith. Amen.

Narrative Christology, whether in creedal or non-creedal form, thus fills a critical gap in the most emphasized parts of traditional Christology. It is my hope that methods of Christological exploration like the one I describe here can be used to bridge the gaps between the theology of the church of privilege and the theologies of the oppressed. Vox victimarum, vox Dei.