I HAD all the time thought that studying theology should make me more complex, and that, by the point I left theological college, I might have an enormous vocabulary that I could use to impress members of the congregation. As time went on, nevertheless, l realised that the disciplines of theology and essay-writing is likely to be highly useful to the mind, but didn’t necessarily help one to develop common sense, or to be in contact with the bizarre lifetime of the faithful.
It was at this point that l began to fall in love with the theology of Fr Jean-Marc Ela, which was developed in context and based on his experience of living with those on the sting or the margins of society. I first encountered his works at theological college. He has revolutionised my approach to theology.
My centre of gravity first shifted when l read the theologian James H. Cone’s book God of the Oppressed, but Ela influenced me otherwise as I related to his symbols and descriptions, especially of the African village, and his advancing the case for reformation within the Roman Catholic Church. He was questioning why, for instance, it was not then permissible for locally produced (moderately than imported) food for use as the weather of the eucharist: why could palm wine not be used?
Fr Jean-Marc Ela (1936-2008) was born in southern Cameroon on 27 September 1936. He was ordained a Roman Catholic priest for Ebolowa diocese in 1963, and spent 14 years as a missionary serving the poor Kirdi people of northern Cameroon. He had doctorates in theology from the University of Strasbourg (1969), and in sociology from the Sorbonne (1978), and brought his sociological insights to bear on his theology, arguing that Christianity in Africa should find expression in an area context.
He was critical of the way in which wherein the Western Church was turning a blind eye to the conditions in parts of Africa, and argued that Christianity should resist oppression by a ruling elite. His most famous book, African Cry, epitomises sub-Saharan liberation theology. As a critic of the authorities, he was at risk of his life. After the murder of his friend and colleague Fr Engelbert Mveng, Ela fled to Canada, where he lived in exile for the remainder of his life, serving for a few years as a professor of theology.
ELA’s epistemology was that worship and Christianity must start with the mundane and bizarre lifetime of the African village. As someone with an African heritage living within the UK, I realised that my vocation must also start with the African village — not because that’s where Ela served, but since it represents the bizarre life from which my theology is to be formed.
AlamyA Kird village in Cameroon within the early a part of the twentieth century
Colonial history had an impact on migration as people left the agricultural areas looking for employment in towns and cities. In Zimbabwe more recently, nevertheless, things have modified once more, because the diaspora community realises that the “African village” is a special place, which speaks of industry, productivity, owning the technique of production, and having the ability to oversee business operations, amongst other things. Hence there may be now a rural migration, as Zimbabweans desert the once lucrative urban areas looking for simplicity of life and peace of mind, away from vehicle emissions and pollution.
All of this underlines the wisdom of Ela in attempting to reveal to African theologians of the longer term the necessity to resolve for themselves the challenges faced by the continent. In other words, an accumulation of information needn’t be for its own sake, but for transformative change, and progress within the lives of people and whole communities. The lifetime of struggle is the start of theology for the African, and that is what Ela argues, finding the presence of God and interpreting the gospel in the sunshine of individual circumstances.
SOMEONE used to inform me that, as they got older, it was if the memory took them back to their birthplace, and so they began to exhibit characteristic behaviour of that place. My wife and I didn’t understand this until our youngsters told us that we behaved like a few of the people they saw during our vacation in Zimbabwe. This made me realise that, perhaps, l am incapable of escaping my very own upbringing. So it’s important to discover what I can learn or draw inspiration from in that context.
For Ela, there was must draw inspiration from his memories of the African village, and his vocation was related to his own upbringing and experience among the many Kirdi people of north-west Cameroon. I actually have learned from him that what’s core to the Christian faith is to learn how one can tap into one’s own cultural resources and learn from other cultures. This realisation has been vital to my life as l have been engaged in mission within the north of England.
“Theology under the tree” is an try and simplify theology, to make it seem less like an instructional exercise without practical application. We are challenged as a substitute to see it as a way of bringing together our life experiences and interpreting them, using theological resources. This may involve difficult a few of the assumptions — and even a few of the doctrines — that we grew up with, in the event that they prevent our having fun with freedom in Christ.
When Ela asked why yam couldn’t be used as a substitute for wafer bread within the eucharist, that was a part of his belief that “We have to be attentive to the concrete problem of the church in Africa and grow to be aware of what have to be reinvented in ecclesiastical institutions to ensure that us to live our faith in a climate of freedom moderately than of constraint” (The African Cry, Wipf & Stock).
The Revd Dr Ericcson T. Mapfumo is Missional Priest-in Charge of Christ Church, Moldgreen, and St James’s, Rawthorpe, in Leeds diocese, and Anglican Chaplain on the University of Huddersfield. He is a trustee of the William Temple Foundation.
