Keep your conscience clear, so that, when you are maligned, those who abuse you for your good conduct in Christ may be put to shame. For it is better to suffer for doing good, if suffering should be God’s will, than to suffer for doing evil. – I Peter 3:16b-17
Like many people, I have been moved by the death of Alexei Navalny, the Russian opposition leader who was murdered while serving a 19-year prison sentence in an Arctic penal colony. Navalny famously returned to Russia, after recovering from an attempted poisoning while in exile. He led the opposition against the brutal Putin regime and the war against Ukraine, until he was arrested for his “subversive” activities.
What was the source of Navalny’s moral courage? During his trial in 2021, he spoke about his willingness to suffer in terms of his Christian faith.
“The fact is that I am a Christian, which usually sets me up as an example for constant ridicule in the Anti-Corruption Foundation, because mostly our people are atheists, and I was once quite a militant atheist myself,” Navalny said (as rendered by Google Translate). “But now I am a believer, and that helps me a lot in my activities because everything becomes much, much easier.”
“There are fewer dilemmas in my life, because there is a book in which, in general, it is more or less clearly written what action to take in every situation,” he explained. “It’s not always easy to follow this book, of course, but I am actually trying.”
Specifically, Navalny said, he was motivated by the words of Jesus: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied” (Matt. 5:6, NASB).
“I’ve always thought that this particular commandment is more or less an instruction to activity,” Navalny said. “And so, while certainly not really enjoying the place where I am, I have no regrets about coming back or about what I’m doing. It’s fine, because I did the right thing.”
“On the contrary, I feel a real kind of satisfaction,” he said. “Because at some difficult moment I did as required by the instructions and did not betray the commandment.”[1]
It’s fine, because I did the right thing. One doesn’t have to be a Christian in order to do the right thing. Christians do not have a monopoly on moral courage. But Navalny clearly grounded his commitment to nonviolent resistance against evil in Christian faith. More specifically, his trusted in the power of redemptive suffering, in the willingness to suffer for doing what is good no matter the consequences.
Navalny converted to Christianity only in the last few years of his life. Still, he quickly came to see the scriptures and, particularly, Jesus’ teaching in the sermon on the mount, as a set of operating instructions for the formation of his conscience. This teaching resonated deeply within his heart; it became something internal to him and not simply an external command. He identified with Jesus and chose to suffer voluntarily for the sake of the common good.
Here, Navalny intuitively grasped the meaning of Jesus own suffering. “For Christ also suffered for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order to bring you to God.”[2] Note that Jesus suffered for resisting evil, not as a punishment for sin but because of it. He died in solidarity with all who suffer, while at the same time refusing to repay evil for evil or abuse for abuse.[3] In his dying, he brings the cycle of retributive violence to a halt and reveals the corruption at the heart of unjust human systems.
In doing so, Jesus opens the way for the creation of a new creation, a new humanity, a new way of living as the beloved community. The writer of the First Letter of Peter sees the redemptive power of Christ’s suffering as universal, extending across time and space to bring all to God.[4] Through baptism, we are united with Christ in his death and resurrection, participating with him in his suffering and his glory, sharing in his ministry of reconciliation and this new creation.[5]
Alexei Navalny already was living in this new creation. This is what gave him the freedom to do what is right and to accept the consequences with equanimity. He was willing to give himself away in love for the sake of others because he had experienced, at a deep level, God’s self-giving love in Jesus. In union with Christ, he could live and die in love: even for his enemies. In this way, Navalny’s suffering, too, is redemptive. It reveals our potential for divinization: our capacity to manifest divine love no matter the cost.
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For many people, all this talk of redemptive suffering is suspect. Too many victims of evil have been told by pastors or priests to bear their suffering patiently, rather than resist it. Such passivity is a kind of complicity with evil. It requires discernment to recognize and respond to evil, and to distinguish between redemptive suffering and what Cynthia Bourgeault calls “stupid suffering.”[6]
“Stupid suffering” is the result of our conscious and unconscious complicity with evil. There are countless examples: slavery, racism, sexism, misogyny, antisemitism, domestic violence, exploitation of the poor, all the forms of greed and violence that mar our relationships with each other and with the earth community. Child abuse is stupid suffering. Terrorism – both state sponsored and otherwise – is stupid suffering. Poverty is stupid suffering. Anthropogenic climate change is stupid suffering. We are not meant to bear such suffering or blame the victims of it. We are called to accept the consequences for resisting the evil motives that cause it and the unjust structures that perpetuate it.
It is important to acknowledge how often Christian tradition – even today – has sought to justify stupid suffering. Marx critique of religion as the opiate of the people is a valid criticism of the way in which Christianity has taught people to be accept systemic injustice. Already in the First Letter of Peter, which in many ways expresses a profound understanding of the meaning of Jesus’ suffering and of Christian discipleship, we see a reactionary movement to suppress legitimate resistance to the evil of the institutions of slavery and the patriarchal family. Enslaved people were told to accept the authority of their masters and wives the authority of their husbands, and to endure pain while suffering unjustly. Clearly, there were some enslaved people and some women who were refusing to do so![7]
It is one thing to endure suffering for resisting such injustice; it is quite another thing to passively acquiesce to such injustice. The text of First Peter elides this vital distinction, and seeks to downplay the threat of Christianity to the established order. In doing so, it has contributed to intergenerational trauma to an extent that cannot be overemphasized. The Church has much to repent of in this regard.
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There is stupid suffering. But there is another kind of suffering that is endemic, part of the background conditions of existence. It is built into the cosmogonic principle governing the emergence of the universe. Cynthia Bourgeault describes it as the “law of world creation.”
“It basically stipulates that every phenomenon, at whatever scale (from the subatomic to the cosmic) and in whatever domain (scientific, sociological, political, literary personal) arises from the interaction of three independent forces, or lines of action. These are variously known as ‘affirming,’ ‘denying,’ and ‘reconciling’ . . . Affirming is the pushing force, the energy driving forward. Denying is the push back, which can present itself as either active resistance or simply the medium through which an action flows. Reconciling breaks the impasse between these two forces and allows them to come into a creative interweaving: a new synthesis, with its own integrity and creative potential.”[8]
Bourgeault emphasizes that these are three independent forces: a (affirming) + d (denying) + X = r (reconciling), where X is either a random element of chance or a quality of conscious attention that acts to catalyze the reconciliation. She gives the example of sailing a boat. A sailboat moves through the water through the opposing forces of the wind in its sails (a) and the water on its keel (d) . But it requires a third term, the helmsman with her hand on the tiller (X), so that a course can be established (r).[9]
This is the basic law governing the arising of any new phenomena. It requires a flow of energy (wind), the medium through which the energy flows (the boat in the water), and a catalyst to bring it into a new configuration (the helmsmen). This is the cosmogonic foundation upon which the doctrine of the Trinity rests. The Father is the creative ground (energy), the Son is the medium through which all things are made (the medium through which the energy flows), and the Spirit is the catalyst (the conscious attention which is the love between the Father and the Son). They constitute the relational field in which all things emerge from the abyss of divine creative force that seeks to manifest as divine love.[10]
This may seem a lengthy diversion, but the point is that suffering is intrinsic to the energetic dynamics of affirming and denying forces in creation, as well as the conscious attention that seeks to intervene in their reconciliation. Such suffering is not “stupid suffering,” it is simply a given condition for the emergence of life and the manifestation of agape love – a love that acts as a conscious force of attention to catalyze reconciliation. The suffering of birth pangs is not stupid suffering. The suffering of the decay of the body over time is not stupid suffering. The suffering of an exploding star is not stupid suffering. The suffering of the great flaring forth in the creative fire of the emergence of something out of nothing is not stupid suffering. These are simply constructal givens.
Now, how we respond to the constructal givens can create stupid suffering, and inevitably seems to do so. This is where the catalyst of agape love becomes the decisive “third force” in fostering reconciliation when the relational field of existence becomes marred by evil. This is why the willingness to suffer for doing good is redemptive suffering. Alexei Navalny’s imprisonment and death was not stupid suffering. His living and dying expressed the reconciling power of agape love. It remains to be seen what effect it will have, but his redemptive suffering already is inspiring a new generation of activists.
Here, it is worth quoting Bourgeault again.
“Suffering is real, ontologically necessary, and sacramental. I am not talking here about stupid suffering, our own conscious or unconscious complicity in stoking the fire. But beyond that, there remains an irreducible suffering which is the cost of manifestation itself, and the more we become clear and mature in our own being, the more we are both able and willing to take a part of that on. As we do this, our own lives become part of the continuing alchemy of divine love.”[11]
As I move through this Lenten season, I am holding Alexei Navalny in my heart as an icon of redemptive suffering. What part of redemptive suffering am I called to embrace? How is love serving as a catalyst for reconciliation and healing in my life? Am I willing to be united with Christ in his death and resurrection, and open my heart to his love and strength?
“Because the conditions here are hard, ‘God sent his only son.’ To accompany us, to shield us and to gentle our path so that we do not despair. The conditions must remain as they are, but we do not have to bear them alone, and Jesus’ willing kenosis on the cross furnishes both the model and the sacramental foretaste of the transfigured love that awaits us in full as we too become capable of such self-offering . . . and as we are willing to entrust our lives to the alchemical fire, pain is not an opposing force, but the ‘ground of motion: the first step in the journey whose fulfillment is the redemption of all things in love.’”[12]
Alexei Navalny, pray for us.
[1] Russell Moore, “What a Murdered Russian Dissident Can Teach Us About Moral Courage,” Christianity Today (February 21, 2024).
[2] I Peter 3:18.
[3] I Peter 3:9; cf. Romans 12:14-21 and Matthew 5:38-48.
[4] I Peter 3:18-22. The seemingly random digression on Jesus’ descent to the dead and proclamation of the Gospel there to those who had not received it, his resurrection, and ascension, all point to the universal scope of Jesus’ redemptive suffering.
[5] I Peter 4:1-16; cf. II Corinthians 5:16-21.
[6] Cynthia Bourgeault, The Corner of Fourth and Nondual, (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2022), p. 40.
[7] I Peter 2:18-3:7. This is a reactionary response to St. Paul’s radical insight that there is no longer slave or free, Jew or Gentile, male and female, for all are one in Christ. See Gal. 3:27-29, and his advocacy for the manumission of Onesimus in the Letter to Philemon.
[8] Bourgeault, p. 50.
[9] Ibid, p. 51-52.
[10] Ibid, p. 54-56.
[11] Ibid., p. 40-41.
[12] Ibid., p. 39-40.