Franke’s last chapter is called “The Many and the One.” It should be called “The Many, the One, and the Excluded.” He wants this whole thing to be a perichoretic dance, to be sure. But before we clasp hands in a mountain meadow, and sing a gentle chorus of inclusivity, we have to do something with the malcontents. There’s always somebody.
“It needs to be added here that while the one faith takes on multiple expressions, not all expressions of the one faith are appropriate. The problematic nature of some expressions of the faith points to the importance of the work of deconstruction” (p. 129).
I’m okay, you’re deconstructed. There go the neo-Confederate newsletters. There go all the voices that Franke is in favor of marginalizing. There’s good marginalization, you know, his kind, and the bad kind of marginalization, you know, the kind he disapproves of. But if he likes you, you are in the club all cozy-like.
“In other words, we should not expect agreement and commonality on all matters of theology and biblical interpretation” (p. 130).
Whew, disagreements allowed. That was close. But like every form of sham-diversity, disagreements about anything important or fundamental will be frogmarched to the door. Franke concludes by saying that the Christian community is defined as “the community of the oppressed which joins Jesus Christ in his fight for the liberation of mankind” (p. 131). Excluded, then, from that definition would be the oppressors. Those who own guns, drive pick-up trucks, and listen to Rosanne Cash need to look to themselves. Is there anybody who has been in the game for more than fifteen minutes who doesn’t understand the code here?
“Instead, the many parts of the church are called to participate together in a unity characterized by interdependent particularity” (p. 136). Unless your particularity is, you know, particular.