When Karl Marx put forth his philosophies on the ruling class and the working class, he framed his argument in terms of “the oppressor” and “the oppressed.” It wasn’t long before this way of thinking not only caught on and gave rise to the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia, but also began to spread to other areas of society and culture. Almost everywhere you look, debates are framed in terms of “the oppressor” and “the oppressed.” To wit: men are the oppressor and women are the oppressed; whites are the oppressor and every other race are the oppressed; if you’re pro-life you’re an oppressor and you’re oppressing those who are pro-abortion; and if you hold to Biblical views of sex and gender and all that, well, you are most certainly a whatever-phobic oppressor and everyone else who ascribes to the flavor of the day are most definitely the oppressed.
The problem is, the “oppressor and oppressed” way of thinking is a false dichotomy. It presents only two ways of looking at a situation, only two ways of categorizing the people within it, and if you’re not completely on one side, you’re completely on the other. There can be no discussion, no alternative. One need only stop and think for a moment about the animosity, anger, and division that this way of thinking has wrought and we can clearly see that it is not a way of thinking that comes from the Holy Spirit, but from something far more sinister, far more evil.
Some apply this oppressor-oppressed thinking when attacking Christianity. They mock the idea of “carrying a cross” and seek refuge in science and medicine and technology as a means of freeing them from any discomfort life may send their way. There’s a pain killer for every ache, a snack for every hunger pang, and glorious air conditioning to escape the slightest heat wave. The concept of suffering, even for a good cause, is as lost as is their faith in a God who loves them. Their logic goes, a loving God wouldn’t allow a lengthy illness any more than he would allow the weather to get above 73 degrees. Others use this thinking when attacking the Catholic Church, painting the Church is the oppressor. And who does she oppress? Poor indigenous people who the Church forced to convert, heretics the Church burned at the stake, countless generations of people who the Church prevented from reading the Bible, even we millions of modern-day Catholics who are forced to carry the yoke of rules and regulations and fasts and other man-made traditions. For those who believe such things, the list of the Church’s oppressive behavior is seemingly endless.
The work the Father gave Christ to do was the work of the Cross, and in one of the great mysteries of our faith, Christ’s two natures means that his human nature had the free will to choose to accept the Cross or choose to abandon it. He could have chosen to quit at any time, and after 33 years of living under Roman rule, from the moment he was arrested he would have known what actions could bring a swift end to his suffering with the swing of a Roman sword. Thus every wretched step along the Via Dolorosa, every moment of agony hanging on the Cross was work that our Redeemer chose to perform. One can almost see him smile as he shouts his victory cry, “It is finished!”… a smile not because he was free from oppression but because he had accomplished the work that was asked of him. God the Father was not an oppressor any more than Jesus Christ was oppressed.
Even when we’re aware of the oppressor-oppressed mindset of those around us, it’s still easy to slip into thinking that way for ourselves, in our own lives, and with the struggles we face. Everyone is given crosses to carry. Some of them are light, like a mere request for a quick hand or for a volunteer or even just for a few minutes of our time when we’re already busy. We can choose to pick these crosses up, or choose to hand them off, or even just choose to ignore them. Then there are other crosses that are heavy, ones that can’t be ignored, like health issues of our own or of those we love. At first our faith might motivate us to joyfully carry such crosses, but after a long and weary road our faith might falter and we fall. Maybe others come to help us and we get up and carry on only to fall again. The evil one sees us on the ground under the weight of our cross and tests our faith, whispering in our ear, “See what an oppressor God is, giving you this heavy burden? Why would a loving God do this to you if he loves you? God can’t help you. No one can.” We have the freedom to leave, to find someone else, to give up, or to just drop the cross and say, “I give up, it’s too heavy, I’m done.” As a Christian, we know that we are told by Jesus that we are to pick up our crosses and follow him. As Catholics, we know that to follow him means following him to the workshop at the top of Calvary, where he turns the wood of the Cross into the ark of our salvation: the Catholic Church, who has always carried the Cross of Christ, and in the end “she will follow her Lord in his death and Resurrection.”
The Catechism teaches us: “By his passion and death on the cross Christ has given a new meaning to suffering: it can henceforth configure us to him and unite us with his redemptive Passion.” Sure, we can see our crosses and our sufferings as oppressive, and doubt the goodness of the Father. Or in the model of Christ we can see our light crosses—as well as our heavy ones—as God’s work. Our Almighty Father is not an oppressive master. We are free to walk away from him, from our crosses, and from the work he asks us to do. But if we walk away, how can we expect God to give us his reward?