Though it grew up in Latin America, liberation theology continues to have lessons for the faithful north of the border.

People who think of "liberation theology" as a 1960s fad should get to know Fordham University Professor Michael Lee, one of a new generation of Catholic theologians.

Lee's faith was transformed when he put it to work among the poor after college, and liberation theology gave him a way to think about his experience. Now he uses it to help undergrads understand the connection between faith and the needs of the world.

"Liberation theology invites people to respond to the gospel in profoundly concrete ways, to establish relationships of solidarity and community," he says. "Faith suddenly makes sense. Christian interaction with the world is richer, more meaningful."

Lee has seen his students' faith become more active in the struggle for justice, even when it comes down to where they buy their clothes, as in the case of the anti-sweatshop movement on college campuses. "Students have been able to question the effects of buying something at Old Navy or the Gap," he says. "And they're just beginning to put the pieces together."

But a "liberation spirituality" isn't just for Catholic college students. "We live in an age of globalized technology, communication, and business," Lee says. "People of faith need to reflect on how faith itself is globalized. We can't be ignorant of these places of suffering."

You teach "liberation theology." What exactly is it?

I always start by asking: What does liberation mean? The Second Vatican Council's Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World, Gaudium et Spes, begins by saying that the joys and hopes, the fears and anxieties of the people of this age, especially the poor, are those of the church. Liberation theology captured the hopes and the longings of poor people, especially in Latin America in the 1960s and 1970s.

I think at the very least liberation theology is a reflection on the fact that human liberation has to be part of the Christian understanding of salvation. Salvation isn't exclusively otherworldly; it has something to do with the here and now.
What about Latin America at the time explains why liberation theology emerged there?

It's hard for us, with a rich society and large middle class, to imagine societies where an elite 5 percent controls up to 80 percent of the wealth. There also was a long historical relationship between church and state that is different from our own country's experiences. Go to the plaza of any typical Latin American town. On one side you'll find the local or national government building and directly across the plaza you'll see the local Catholic Church.

As one historian has said, the conquest of the Americas came with a Bible in one hand and a sword in the other, and that's a long and tangled history. Fast forward to the 20th century, and poor people were beginning to long for a change that would alter the traditional relationship in which the church was more associated with those in power.

Communities of people, especially poor people, gathered to read the Bible and reflect on their faith. They moved from a fatalistic faith-one that said the poor should tolerate the present and put their hope in the afterlife-to a faith rooted in Jesus' preaching about a wholeness of life, which the prophets of the Hebrew Bible also talked about: caring for the widow, the orphan, the forgotten, the stranger.

Is liberation theology just for Latin America?

I don't think so. The famous photo of the Earth from space taken during the 1969 Apollo 11 mission allowed humanity to see our planet from a distance. Two thirds to three quarters of its people languish in poverty and disease or suffer as victims of war. That perspective demands a response from people of faith. Responsible faith cannot say that it's not our problem.

Does that mean we need to seek out poverty and suffering?

In U.S. society we're like chicks in an egg, and we have to crack through the tendency to be encapsulated in our small world. When my students are able to break through that shell by participating in service programs both here and abroad, where they meet and get to know poor people, it can really open that awareness. In my own life, it was when I had friends who were poor or homeless that I experienced a reorientation.

How did that happen for you?

I took a course in liberation theology as an undergraduate, and it really got me thinking. I wanted to go to Latin America when I graduated, but my professor encouraged me to stay and discover the poor of my own country. So I got involved in Andre House, a Catholic Worker community in Phoenix. That was a wonderful experience because the broad categories of "poor," "solidarity," "justice" were made flesh. They became concrete, and my own faith was transformed there as well.

Can you think of a specific example?

One night during the evening meal at Andre House, when we were trying to feed 800 people, a guy tried to cut in line. I told the person in front of the line about it, and the guy who cut spun around, lunged at me, and threw me on the ground. He was a middle-aged Navajo man, he was drunk, and it looked like he was about to kill me.

Then two interesting things happened. First the other guys came between us and protected me. Then the police came over and asked me if I wanted to press charges. I said no, there's no need for that. He looked at me and went away.
The next day he was back, and I thought: Oh God, here we go again. He walked right over to me and apologized. We went on to become great friends. Every day I looked forward to seeing him.

I later learned he was a Vietnam veteran and an oldest child trying to support his mother and other siblings. He had an amazing story, but one that I would never have heard if I hadn't been there. It was almost absurd for us to be friends, and yet we were, and I learned so much from being his friend.