Dr Nicholas Adams

What pronouns shall we use for God?

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Brief and Inexpensive: Exorcism in a London Pentecostal Community

Nicholas Adams, University of Birmingham

At the end of the 1900s, the English Anthropologist Timothy Jenkins published a book called Religion in English Everyday Life. It attracted intense interest from my circle of friends and colleagues for a three reasons. First, it was an account of some fieldwork done in a suburban town near Bristol: it was located in a particular place and offered a lot of detail about it. Second, the word ‘religion’ does not actually appear as a guiding category in the study at all: instead, the focus is on practices of various kinds. Third, it made the bold claim that what are often named ‘religious’ practices are best interpreted as ways of making sense of the world and adapting to changing circumstances.

I want to put Jenkins’ description of small town English town to work in considering how to interpret and understand practices of deliverance in a Nigerian diaspora community in London.
Jenkins’ most arresting claim is this: the everyday practices of life in small towns often seem banal to city-dwelling theorists. What small town folk do often seems inconsequential and devoid of interest. In the case of his fieldwork in Kingswood, the townsfolk processed through the town once a year on a ‘Whitwalk’. It is because of the perceived banality that urban-based anthropologists prefer to do fieldwork in more exciting places where more unusual (to city-dwellers, that is) affairs are afoot. Jenkins issues a warning: do not be misled by what appears to be banal. One needs to learn to use the local categories, the concepts and ideas of the practitioners. More colloquially: just because it would be banal if you were to do it, that does not mean it is banal in any wider sense. And to put it very pointedly: if you take something to be banal and uninteresting, that may be a sign that you need to learn new categories, and to acquire a deeper familiarity with the lives of those whose practices you dismiss. And articulated as an encouragement, Jenkins says, ‘Be curious! Learn to find meaning in apparently inconsequential things.’

I want today to take this to heart. But I want to apply this excellent advice to the opposite problem. We are gathered at this symposium because something is happening in our communities that is the opposite of banal. The rise of deliverance ministry is not banal at all: it is interesting. Not only interesting: it appears exotic, fascinating, and compelling. Jesus in the Gospels from time to time does battles with demons, but for decades – in the wake of historical-criticism scholarship of the Bible – this was explained away as an artefact of the mentalité of the ancient world, a husk to be pried away from the kernal of the kerygma, a reflection of a worldview which no modern person would or could hold. But now, on our doorsteps, there are communities, often African diaspora communities, regularly doing battle with demons. How exciting! This brings long-dormant aspects of the Gospel vividly back to life for a jaded European palate and offers an opportunity to embrace a much more literal reading of the demon passages: Mark 1:21, Luke 4:31, Mark 5:1, Matt 8:28, Luke 8:26, Mark 3:20, Matt 12:22, Luke 11:14, Luke 4:41, Mark 9:14, Matt 17:14, Luke 9:37, Mark 7:24, Matt 15:21. Out with the new, in with the old.

Now I have no wish to pick a fight with literal interpreters of scripture. Indeed, I am concerned that the issue of deliverance ministry can become just another casualty of the culture wars. One’s position with respect to exorcism becomes a marker for where one stands in the battle between conservatives and liberals. If fighting demons becomes a proxy for fighting liberals, that will be a deep disappointment, a missed opportunity. It will also be a profound disservice to those communities for whom deliverance ministry is an ordinary part of liturgical life.

I don’t wish to pick a fight. But I do want to draw attention to a tendency to see deliverance ministry in general, and exorcism of demons in particular, as especially interesting. I do think it is interesting, for reasons that I will share in due course. But I want to suggest that just as the religious practices of small English towns are not banal, so the practices of diaspora communities are not exotic. If we find them exotic then this – to adapt Jenkins’ advice to anthropologists – may be a sign that we need to learn new categories, and to acquire a deeper familiarity with the communities who practise deliverance ministry. We will need, for the opposite reason, to be respond to his encouragement: be curious!

To help discharge this task, I have a piece of research to think with. This is a report of fieldwork done in a London Pentecostal community half a dozen years ago by the linguist Kirsty Rowan. Rowan published in 2016 an article with the title ‘“Who are you in this body?”: Identifying demons and the path to deliverance in a London Pentecostal church’. She did fieldwork in a London Pentecostal community in November 2013. The community had rented a 1,200 capacity theatre in the East End of London and pretty much filled it. This Nigerian diaspora community were linked to the home community via a live televised link. It was quite a long period of worship, and the deliverance ministry took place quite late on. Here is Rowan’s account directly:

Late in the afternoon, once sermons, talks, music, singing, and prayers have been performed and conducted, the London church is addressed from Nigeria by the ‘prophet’ of this church by a live televised link that is also streamed on the web. The ‘prophet’ informs the audience that he has specially sent blessed water to be sprayed on the congregants by the evangelists in London. It is after this address and the ‘prophet’s’ prayer that many members of the audience start to exhibit agitated forms of behaviour, which can be categorised as indexes of possession (Haustein 2011), such as vomiting, crying, falling to the floor, shaking, and convulsing. The evangelists’ attendants bring these individuals to the front of the theatre, but not onto the stage, and position them in a horizontal line. Other congregants who did not display this behaviour are invited to also join the ‘prayer line’ to receive the blessed water.
Starting at the beginning of the prayer line, the five evangelists take turns in dispensing the blessed water by spraying the participants in the face. The evangelists all have microphones and proceed to question one-by-one only those participants of the prayer line who recoil or react to being sprayed with the water. The attendants act as minders to assist with the physical safety of participants and the evangelists. The evangelists confirm the possession and perform the deliverance within a couple of minutes. Given the number of participants who join the deliverance prayer line, the evangelists must precipitate this ritual to allow all demon-possessed participants to be delivered within a prescribed timeframe.

Rowan’s professional interest is linguistic. So the detail of her analysis has as its focus the language used in the exorcism. She is particularly interested in the linguistic practices of both ‘evangelists’ and ‘participants’, and pays attention to questions of intonation, vocabulary and structure – especially the fact that the evangelists have a routine in which the same four questions are typically addressed to the demons: ‘who are you?’, ‘what have you done to this woman?’, ‘how long have you been there?’ and ‘how did you get in to her body?’, Once these questions have been answered, the demon is commanded to leave, in the name of Jesus and with the anointing water.

Rowan is also interested in rhythm: the Evangelist speaks, and the woman (the participants are nearly all women) responds. This rule is proved in the case of the participant named ‘Anna’, who is not familiar with the deliverance practices. Anna is in fact first in line for exorcism, but her case is presented last because it is anomalous. Because she is first in line, and because she is inexperienced, she does not know what to do. Anna talks over the evangelist – she does not wait for him to ask his questions but interrupts him - and does not answer his questions satisfactorily. The rhythm is disrupted. Instead of answering who the demon is, and instead of answering the question about what the demon has done, Anna’s demon repeatedly tells the evangelist to go away. Whereas for other participants the demons are named as Anger, Depression, Lust, Death and so forth, Anna’s demon remains unnamed.

Somewhat exasperated, or perhaps fatigued, the Evangelist cuts short the process. He does not ask how long or how the demon got there. Instead he abruptly declares the woman clean, in Jesus’ name, and Anna has to move aside for the next in line.

My interest is less in the linguistic details – fascinating though they are, and presented with exceptional clarity in the report – and more in certain features that are noted in general.

In this article, and in a companion piece published around the same time, jointly authored with Karen Dwyer (who has an interest in the linguistics of psychopathologies), Rowan makes a number of observations that are important for our purposes.

First, the service is well publicised on the web in advance, but no mention is made of deliverance ministry. It is not an advertised feature.

Second, no charge is made for attendance: it is free to attend (and there are over 1000 attendees).

Third, it is a brisk matter. Each deliverance lasts maybe two minutes. Certainly longer than distributing communion, but still pretty quick.

Fourth, the deliverance ministry is an ordinary practice with clear expectations for participants. The evangelists, the participants, and the demons, for the most part know their roles and for the most part play them fluently. Everyone gets in line, knows what to do, and gets on with it.

The anomaly case 'Anna' shows not only what the norms are, but the pragmatism of the exorcist in cutting things short, and getting through the line.

Rowan has an hour and 20 minutes of video of the deliverance portion, but some of this time is devoted, at the start, to identifying who needs deliverance. There are three phases to it. The first phase is the attendants noticing who is swaying or convulsing at the start of the process. Note that people do not sway or convulse until the prophet has announced that blessed water has been sent to be sprayed. They wait until it is time. Those who display these signs, and several others, are brought to the front. There is quite a number of people in a horizontal row. Five evangelists spray water in their faces. Those who react strongly are selected for deliverance – seventeen on this occasion – and then each one is processed in 2-3 minutes. It is efficient and quick.

These four features are interesting, although hardly exotic. It is not advertised, it is free, it is fast, and it has a simple repeated structure of questions, answers, and deliverance.

Its efficiency is particularly noteworthy. There are nearly 1,200 people in attendance. This is whittled down to seventeen deliverances in around 15 minutes through the expert diagnostic use of blessed water, and then a further 40-50 mins or so (by my rough calculation) to carry out seventeen deliverances.

What might we make of this?

This is a diaspora community from Nigeria within travelling distance of East London. The practice of deliverance is obviously a normal part of their worship: it does not even need to be advertised, and everyone knows what to do and when to do it. It is an ordinary, everyday practice – even the swaying, the convulsing, the vomiting, the falling to the floor. The existence of demons is no big issue. It is simply presupposed. Neither are demons a serious threat to the community or to the lives of those afflicted by them. They are quickly named, their ill effects are quickly identified, and they are quickly dispatched, restoring agency to the individual, and restoring the individual, now healed, to the community.

Diaspora communities adapt to changing circumstances in various ways: this hybrid event (in person and online – several years before Covid!) is one of many resources and, in the case of the event documented by Rowan, the presenting issue seems often to be women's difficulties with relationships, especially around questions of virtue and control. The purpose of the exorcism seems in part to restore reputation and to reassert the women's agency. Their responsibility for their difficulties is lifted from them and attributed to demons, who are banished. It is an engine for eliminating shame. It does this quickly and efficiently.

To circle back to the work done three decades ago by Timothy Jenkins, the practice of deliverance ministry in this diaspora community requires a certain curiosity about local categories and ways of making sense of the world, and in particular making sense of changes in the community, as when large numbers of people move from Nigeria to the area surrounding East London. These changes are often difficulty and, if this community is any guide, these difficulties often fall heavily on the shoulders of women and manifest in their relationships.

And to make the central point as directly as possible: it takes less time for an evangelist to cast out demons than it takes for a GP to see a patient on a busy Thursday morning.

Deliverance ministry is obviously a central and ordinary part of Nigerian communities and probably for many African diaspora communities in Britain. Whether it is a central and ordinary part of the life of the church for other communities is perhaps a matter for anthropologists. As for this theologian, I am grateful to Kirsty Rowan, Afe Adogame and others who document the beliefs, practices, and languages of diaspora ommunities who practise deliverance. There is much to learn from them.

If we are tempted to find these practices exotic, or if we are tempted to envy such communities for their proximity to the demon-battling Jesus of the Gospels, we should pause. But not only pause. We should listen to the encouragement of Timothy Jenkins: learn new categories; be curious!

Why won't Evangelical Christians stand with Muslims?

First: actually some will, but this is both more and less than we might expect. More on this in due course.

Second: it may be wise to suspend (but not cancel) judgement, at least for a short while. If you think that Evangelical Christians are basically Islamophobic and/or racist, then that is, quite probably, the end of this enquiry. Now there are undoubtedly Islamophobic and racist Evangelical Christians, and we should not hesitate to confront their wickedness openly and without apology. But I assume that where this is so, it is not because they are Evangelical Christians. I am interested in making sense of what many Evangelical Christians have said (and not said) in the wake of the Christchurch massacres, the Birmingham mosque attacks, and Cambridge University rescinding the invitation to Jordan Peterson.

Third: no secret or hidden motivations or reasons. Evangelicals are pretty up front about their thinking. The problem is that many people do not believe or understand what they are hearing.

Fourth: many Evangelicals. (Not all - this is a differentiated group.)

I do not agree with or support how many Evangelicals are dealing with violence against Muslims. But I want to understand it. This small enquiry is focused on Evangelicals in England for the most part.

Some facts. After the Christchurch massacres, many Evangelical Christians said, Well what about the attacks on Christians in Nigeria? Why is no-one talking about that? Archbishop Justin Welby, an Evangelical Christian, said, Hatred of Muslims denies and blasphemes Christ. Many Evangelicals were deeply dissatisfied with this, calling it 'too glib' or 'not thought out'. Justin Welby, sat next to the Mayor of London, Sadiq Khan, said the Church of England would explore being 'more effective in visible signs of togetherness'. Many Evangelical Christians ignored this, for the most part. After the attacks on Mosques in Birmingham, the (Anglican) Bishop of Birmingham, David Urquhart, an Evangelical Christian, did not make a statement as Bishop, but gathered with other religious leaders: jointly, under , they issued a statement 'We stand together as friends'. When Jordan Peterson's invitation to the Faculty of Divinity of Cambridge was rescinded, many Evangelical Christians said openly that this was a bad thing, and that the offending T-Shirt (in a paid-for photograph with a fan) which said 'I'm a Proud Islamophobe' was not so bad.

(Quite how some English Evangelicals have come to be defenders of Jordan Peterson deserves its own mini-enquiry. I am deeply disappointed by this, but as we are dealing in facts, it deserves to be reported.)

More facts: the Evangelical Alliance ('together making Jesus known') has a big banner in its 'News & views' on 'Religious freedom and the persecuted church', together with material on climate change, but nothing specific to the attacks in Christchurch or attacks on Muslims more broadly. An article 'Good news in a bad news world' is perhaps typical in its classification: 'The news headlines since Monday have been awash with the atrocities in New Zealand, Nigeria and the Netherlands, the heartbreak of Cyclone Idai, the confusion around Brexit...'. It does not mention Islam, Muslims, or mosques. They are absorbed into a wider ocean of suffering. Their names, their tradition, have already been subsumed.

What is to be made of this?

It's a mixed picture. Official statements by some Evangelicals say certain things. Unofficial conversation drifts in a rather different direction. You will struggle to find a statement of solidarity with Muslims by a prominent Evangelical that is endorsed by many Evangelicals. Why is that?

Most Evangelical Christians are quite open about two guiding commitments in their reasoning about everything (and everything includes Islam).

1. God has a knowable plan (for the world and for each person).
2. Scripture teaches plainly.

The geneaology of these commitments is perhaps unimportant, but it is worth indicating that these are versions of theodicy (making sense of God's action in a damaged world) and a shift of divine authority from institution to text. Both have their origins in patterns of thinking that are readily recognisable in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but of which there are signs far back in the Early Church. Anyone who refuses to take these commitments seriously will badly misunderstand Evangelical Christians in England (and elsewhere).

These commitments cannot be easily reconciled with other respectable theological views, such as the idea that God's plan is inscrutable (a lesson from the Book of Job), or the idea that Scripture does not teach plainly (it teaches in ways that permit a wide variation in interpretation) or that Scripture is not the kind of thing that teaches at all (it narrates more than it teaches, for example).

It is not the purpose of this enquiry to debate the inscrutability of God's plan, nor to argue about what kind of thing Scripture is. I'm not trying to agree with those Evangelicals who assert knowability and clarity. I want to understand them. If we want to understand Evangelical Christians, we need to understand their basic commitments.

What do we want to hear from Evangelicals about solidarity with Muslims?

Perhaps we want to hear 'We stand with Muslims' (which the Bishop of Birmingham said, at least in company). Perhaps we want to hear 'We are with you' (as the Archbishop of Canterbury said, at London Central Mosque). These are public statements by prominent Evangelical Christians, who are recognised as Evangelicals by other Evangelicals. If you want to hear this, then it has been said, under certain conditions, by some.

Do we want more? Well I do, certainly. But as things stand, it's unlikely. It's disappointing, but this is basically what is available at the moment. If we press for more, we'll get 'what about Christians in Nigeria?'. If we press for more, we'll get 'Uninviting Jordan Peterson was a Big Mistake '. We'll even get straight-faced defences of the 'I'm a Proud Islamophobe' T-shirt. Why is this?

Many Evangelical Christians cannot find a positive place for Muslims in God's knowable plan. God's plan is for the world to turn to Christ. To the extent that Muslims do not turn to Christ, there is for many Evangelicals no enduring place for them in God's plan. There should, in a quite simple sense, for Evangelicals, be no Muslims, except as signs of God's judgement. There is also no place for mosques if the plan is to conform society to Christ's reign. Justin Welby and David Urquhart will denounce violence, and will stand with Muslims against that violence. But they will not, because they cannot see how to, say that God's plan is for there to be Muslims.

This is because Scripture teaches plainly, for most Evangelicals. And what it teaches plainly, they say, is that the Gospel is to be preached to all peoples. Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you (Matt 28:19-20, NIV). For many Evangelical Christians, any positive account of Muslims is of Muslims as future Christians.

There are theologians who lament that there are not better theological accounts of interreligious engagements (and indeed of everything else that is contested in the Church, that is, quite a lot of things). But this seems to me both true and irrelevant. Yes it would be good to have more theological depth, but that may involve compromising (from the perspective of Evangelicals) the principles of God's knowable plan, and the plain teaching of Scripture. If we expect Evangelicals to compromise on this, we don't understand Evangelicals.

Does this mean it's hopeless, and we must resign ourselves to a diet of evasion (talking about Nigeria when New Zealand enters the conversation) or defensiveness (standing up for Jordan Peterson)? I do not think so.

There are dangerous voices calling for a new crusade, demanding a defence of European Christian civilization, condemning those who convert to Islam as civilisational traitors. Some Evangelicals may join this chorus, but - again - surely not because they are Evangelicals. God's knowable plan does not include crusades, and Scripture does not teach clearly that Europe needs to be defended. Evangelical principles cut both ways.

It is also an observable fact that Evangelical Christians do change (have changed) their minds about things (about women's leadership, about divorce, for example ). This does not happen because of a change in their commitments to God's knowable plan, nor to Scripture's plain teaching. Evangelical Christians change their minds for all sorts of reasons, none of them primarily theological. Meeting people, accompanying those who suffer, counselling the broken and broken-hearted, and most of all: praying.

Evangelical Christians, it seems to me, are in a place of discernment. It is obvious (to me, to many of them) that saying 'there is no place for Muslims in God's plan' is pregnant with death. There is, right now, no place in God's plan for saying there is no place for Muslims in God's plan. And you will not typically hear Evangelicals say it, even if they believe it. If we think this unimportant, we have missed something vital.

Evangelicals not saying things, like Sherlock Holmes' dog in the nighttime, is worth paying attention to. Their silence speaks loudly.

If we push them, they will speak (Evangelicals are typically not slow to speak, and tend to have a philosophy of language in which the truth is always sayable). But they will say, What about Nigeria? Jordan Peterson deserves a hearing. Pressing Evangelicals breaks a golden silence.

Some Evangelicals, some of the time, under some circumstances. These are important qualifiers, and they invite enquiry into local particularities rather than overgeneralised claims. Evangelical Christians and Muslims are not homogenous.

So here is a non-generalisable local enquiry into what happens at my church.

I worship in a charismatic Evangelical church. Every Tuesday morning, there is a Toddler Group for children aged 0-4 years. My family supports this in various ways. The group is for everyone in the local community, and there are many Muslim parents who bring their children to play in church. Following the Christchurch attacks on Muslims, and following the local attacks on mosques, the team wanted to make something clear. At the end of the session this week, a brief message was said plainly: Everyone is welcome at our church toddlers group. Everyone was given a yellow rose with a note on which was written: 'You are welcome. You are loved!'

There is hope.

In Cairo for the Al-Azhar-UK scholarships panel.

In the photograph below, the Grand Imam of Al-Azhar, Dr Ahmed el-Tayeb is viewing the Birmingham Qur'an (https://tinyurl.com/Brumquran) at Lambeth Palace.

This was at the invitation of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby; on the other side of the Grand Imam is the Anglican Bishop of Egypt, Mouneer Anis, who is serving as the Grand Imam's translator.

Dr El-Tayeb has long had a vision for connecting Al-Azhar University (one of the oldest universities in the world, founded around 970) with universities in Britain. When he became President of Al-Azhar University in 2003 Dr El-Tayyeb forged a collaboration with the British Council in Egypt, directed at that time by Paul Smith, to deliver an English Language programme to young scholars at Al Azhar. This was established in 2007. Its goal was and is to enable students at the university to engage scholarship and institutions in the English speaking world, to connect scholars across cultures and traditions. (https://www.britishcouncil.org.eg/en/programmes/education/al-azhar-university)

The programme received a significant boost in prominence when Dr El-Tayyeb was appointed Grand Imam of Al-Azhar in 2010. The British Council Al-Azhar programme is firmly established, and over 10 years on it now serves around 100 students each year, with significant numbers going on to higher education. Al-Azhar has sent several of its graduates on Fulbright scholarships to the USA and Chevening scholarships to Britain.

In 2014 John Casson became British Ambassador to Egypt. Noting the obvious success of the Al-Azhar English Training Centre, which had by then become a worldwide model for British Council language provision, Casson and El-Tayeb considered how the British Embassy could support the next phase of this work, in collaboration with British universities.

In 2015 a programme was devised to support doctoral study in Britain by the best Al-Azhar religion scholars : the Al-Azhar-UK Scholarship scheme was set up, supported by Egyptian philanthropists and the UK Government, and it awarded its first scholarships in 2016.

Now in its fourth year, we have sent scholars, men and women, to study in many different British universities on a wide range of topics in the study of religion. All will return to Al-Azhar as teaching staff. They bring their scholarship and networks to British universities during their period of study, and they will bring their scholarship and their networks back to Egypt during their period of teaching, to serve and shape the next generations of religious leaders.

I am proud to chair the selection panel, working with Amira Bennison (Cambridge) and James Walters (LSE), and grateful to the University of Birmingham for enabling this work (and for its commitment to sharing the Birmingham Qur'an). We are fortunate to have this collaboration between Al-Azhar University, the British Council Egypt, and the British Embassy in Cairo: it has forged an academic and diplomatic initiative culminating in a visionary doctoral scholarship programme in the study of religions.

It is one of the most generative long-term interreligious cross-cultural initiatives in universities in existence. Teaching and learning languages is arguably the single most important interreligious activity one can do. Long may it continue.

Birmingham Mosques have been attacked.

Four buildings have been damaged overnight: Witton Road Islamic Centre, Jame Masjid Birchfield, Masjid Faizul Islam Perry Barr, and the Mosque and Muslim Community Centre Aston, and possibly a fifth on Slade Road, Erdington.

West Midlands Police are doing what they can, but this is not just a police matter, for the rest of us to watch from the sidelines.

We stand in solidarity and friendship with Muslims.

Christians need to say this clearly.

Evangelical Christians, some - not all - who until now have rather held their noses, or preferred to speak about attacks on Christians in Nigeria, need to say this clearly. We need you. We need your leadership on this.

All of us.

This is not because we'll be next. It is not because if we help Muslims now, Muslims will help us later. It is not because we share a common religious root.

It is because we are called to love our neighbours. It is because our Muslim neighbours need our help. It is because this is happening on our doorstep. It is because suffering calls for healing.

Everything you wanted to know about Islamophobia but were afraid to ask Feminism

or, How Christians Can Mess This Up Good

There are some simple and horrible truths to learn from feminist analysis. Two of the simplest and most horrible are these:

1. Men want to turn the conversation around to men
2. Except when we want to turn the conversation around to women.

This can simply and horribly be put differently:

1. For men, the most interesting subjects are men
2. Except when we need women to be subjects.

The conditions for turning the conversation around to women, when women get to be subjects (and not just objects of others' subjectivity) are limited. They include most obviously the conditions of violence. When there is violence in the frame, then suddenly what women do is of intense interest. Active verbs: what were they saying or wearing; where were they going; what precautions were they taking? Passive verbs: were they hit; were they attacked; were they r***d?

1. Men are pleased to talk about men
2. Except in cases of violence, when we are pleased to talk about women.

The terrorist attack in Christchurch presents a simple and horrible temptation for Christians. We will be tempted to talk about ourselves. Except when we want to talk about Muslims. This will very likely be because violence is in the frame. Muslims get to be subjects under these conditions: violent Muslims, angry Muslims. If there is violence against Muslims, it is possible Muslims will be permitted to be victims, but probably not for long. Muslims are asking for it (because they choose to immigrate). Muslims are drawing attention to themselves (by praying, growing beards, wearing hijab, building mosques).

We will want, badly, urgently, to talk about violence against Christians (in Nigeria, in Indonesia, in Pakistan, in Egypt). This will have the welcome and soothing effect of talking about ourselves and not having to talk about (or at least talking less about) Muslims being victims.

Black lives matter? All lives matter!

Muslims are under attack? Christians are under attack too!

After Christchurch, Christians can mess things up in two principal ways. The first is to stress how our Christian culture is under attack (from liberal whites and conservative browns). The second is to stress how Christians are the victims of Muslim violence.

Feminism is the best medicine for this highly contagious condition.

When someone else is talking, don't interrupt.
When the conversation is about someone else, don't make the conversation all about you.
When someone diagnoses Christian white supremacist violence, don't say, 'Not all Christians.'

'But Christians *are* under attack!'
'But Christians *are* the victims of violence!'
'But what about... what about...'

We weren't talking about Christians... and now, what a surprise, we simply and horribly are.

Have we learned nothing?