The Politics of the Beatitudes: Reflecting Matthew 5:1-12

Who are the blessed people in our world today? Are they the wealthy, the powerful, the privileged, the successful, the influential, or those who occupy positions of authority? In a world where blessedness is often measured by prosperity, possessions, privilege and power, Jesus offers a radically different understanding of what it means to be blessed. When Jesus proclaims, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3), he offers more than spiritual consolation. He is announcing a radical reversal of the world's values. He challenges the prevailing structures of power and privilege, redefining blessedness from the perspective of those pushed to the margins.

Matthew 5:1–12 forms the opening of Jesus’ first major public discourse among the five discourses recorded in the Gospel according to Matthew. Chapters 5–7 are popularly known as the ‘Sermon on the Mount,’ while these opening proclamations are traditionally called the ‘Beatitudes.’ However, the Beatitudes are much more than a collection of beautiful spiritual sayings or moral instructions for personal piety. They are deeply political, profoundly theological and radically transformative proclamations of God's reign in a world organised by empire, domination and exclusion. For me, the Beatitudes invite us to recognise the politics of Jesus' gaze, the politics of blessedness, the politics of God's kingdom and, ultimately, the politics of God.

1. The Politics of Jesus' Gaze: Seeing the People on the Margins

What prompted Jesus to offer this discourse and begin teaching? Matthew 4:23–25 provides the immediate context. Jesus had been travelling throughout Galilee, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, teaching in synagogues and healing people suffering from various diseases and afflictions. Crowds gathered around him from Galilee, the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea and beyond the Jordan. Then Matthew 5:1 records something significant. “When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain.” The theological significance of this discourse begins with Jesus “seeing” the crowds. Jesus does not begin with a theological proposition, a Biblical exposition or an institutional agenda. He begins by seeing people, discerning their circumstances and responding to their lived realities. The Greek word used for crowds is ‘ochloi,’ the plural of ‘ochlos,’ commonly referring to crowds or multitudes of people. While the word does not necessarily mean that every person in the crowd was poor or marginalised, Matthew's description of those seeking Jesus' healing suggests that many were ordinary people living with suffering, vulnerability and social insecurity. These were not predominantly the privileged elites of Roman society. They included people struggling under the political, economic, social and religious realities of first-century Palestine. Jesus' gaze was therefore not a casual glance. It was an empathetic, discerning and justice-seeking gaze. He saw people whom the empire often regarded as insignificant. He recognised the humanity of those whose dignity was diminished by structures of domination.

For me, this is where spirituality begins. For spirituality to follow the way of Jesus, it must begin not simply with established doctrines but with discerning the signs of the times, listening to people's experiences and recognising the struggles of those on the margins. The politics of theological discourse begins with the politics of seeing.

Whom do we see when we look at our communities? Do we see those experiencing poverty, homelessness and hunger? Do we see refugees seeking sanctuary, migrants struggling for belonging, people facing racism, Dalits experiencing caste discrimination, and those whose lives are made vulnerable by unjust political and economic systems? Or have we become so accustomed to privilege that we no longer recognise the people whom our societies have rendered invisible? Jesus' gaze challenges the Church to move beyond looking at people as objects of charity and instead recognise them as co-partners with dignity, agency and liberation. The politics of the Beatitudes begins when we learn to see those whom the world refuses to see.

2. The Politics of Discernment: What Did Jesus See?

What did Jesus see when he looked at the crowds? Reading the Beatitudes against the backdrop of Roman occupation allows us to imagine the political and social realities that shaped the lives of those gathered around Jesus. Jesus saw people experiencing poverty under systems of taxation, economic exploitation and unequal access to resources. He saw those who mourned, perhaps grieving loved ones lost to illness, violence, dispossession and the brutalities associated with imperial domination. He saw the meek, those without the political or military power to assert themselves against the structures that controlled their lives. He saw people hungering and thirsting for righteousness, longing for justice in a world where the powerful frequently determined whose lives mattered. He saw people practising mercy and compassion despite living under conditions that often rewarded cruelty and indifference. He saw those seeking purity of heart, whose integrity and devotion to God resisted the corrupting influences of power and privilege. He saw peacemakers striving for reconciliation and justice in a society shaped by violence, occupation and conflict. He saw those persecuted for righteousness, people who suffered because they refused to surrender their commitment to truth and justice. Not every historical circumstance can be established directly from these verses. Nevertheless, the realities of Roman occupation and the social conditions of first-century Palestine provide an important context for understanding the radical character of Jesus' proclamations.

Jesus discerned the suffering of people without reducing them to their suffering. He recognised their struggles, but he also recognised their courage, resistance, compassion and longing for transformation. This is an important theological distinction. The people gathered around Jesus were not merely passive victims awaiting rescue. They were people whose experiences, struggles and aspirations revealed the contradictions of the political and religious systems governing their lives. In this sense, Jesus' discernment was both pastoral and political. It was pastoral because he recognised their pain. It was political because he recognised the structures that contributed to their suffering. It was prophetic because he proclaimed a different reality in which their dignity, humanity and belonging were affirmed. The Beatitudes therefore challenge theological communities to develop a spirituality of discernment that does not separate personal suffering from structural injustice.

When people are hungry, we must ask why food is inaccessible. When people are homeless, we must ask why housing has become unaffordable. When migrants are excluded, we must ask why borders and citizenship have become instruments of discrimination. When people are persecuted for seeking justice, we must ask whose interests are protected by their persecution. To see suffering without questioning the systems that produce it is to offer sympathy without justice. Jesus' gaze invites us towards a deeper theological discernment, one that recognises the connections between suffering, power, resistance and liberation.

3. The Politics of Blessedness: Decolonising ‘Makarios’

Having seen and discerned the circumstances of the crowds, Jesus begins his discourse with a series of remarkable proclamations. Blessed are the poor in spirit. Blessed are those who mourn. Blessed are the meek. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

The Greek word translated as “blessed” is ‘makarios.’ In ancient Greek usage, ‘makarios’ could describe the blessed condition of the gods, the fortunate or those enjoying an enviable state of life. It was also used in Jewish religious traditions to describe those who lived in accordance with God's wisdom and righteousness. Jesus' use of ‘makarios’ is therefore not entirely without precedent. The Hebrew Scriptures already contain powerful traditions that identify God's concern for the poor and oppressed. Yet, in the context of imperial power and social inequality, Jesus' application of blessedness to the poor, the mourning, the meek and the persecuted becomes profoundly subversive. Jesus takes a language associated with happiness, flourishing and divine favour and proclaims it over those people whose circumstances appear to contradict conventional understandings of a blessed life. This is a radical reversal. The coloniality of the world often declares this way, Blessed are the wealthy, for they possess the resources of the earth. Blessed are the powerful, for they control the affairs of nations. Blessed are the influential, for their voices are heard. Blessed are the victorious, for history remembers their achievements. Blessed are the privileged, for society protects their interests.

But Jesus announces something entirely different in his prophetic proclamations. Jesus is not romanticising poverty or suggesting that suffering itself is a blessing. Neither is he encouraging people to remain content with oppression. Rather, he is declaring that the circumstances imposed upon people by unjust systems do not determine their worth before God. Poverty does not diminish their dignity. Mourning does not erase their hope. Meekness does not make them insignificant. Persecution does not invalidate their struggle for justice. Their blessedness emerges not because suffering is desirable but because God's reign refuses to abandon them to suffering. From a decolonial theological perspective, Jesus is disrupting the dominant grammar of blessedness. He refuses to allow empire, wealth, social status or political privilege to determine who is worthy of honour and divine recognition. Instead, he relocates blessedness among those whom dominant structures regard as expendable.

This is the decolonising politics of the Beatitudes. It is a theological reversal of the world's hierarchies. The people whom the empire considers insignificant are declared significant in God's reign. Those whom society treats as disposable are affirmed as bearers of divine dignity. Those whose voices are silenced become central to God's proclamation of hope. The Beatitudes are not blessings pronounced upon suffering; they are God's protest against a world that produces suffering and then refuses to recognise the humanity of those who suffer.

4. The Politics of God's Kingdom: A Reign from the Margins

What do these proclamations reveal about Jesus and the kingdom of God? The Beatitudes are the opening manifesto of Jesus' public teaching in Matthew. They offer a vision of God's reign that stands in sharp contrast to the political imagination of the Roman Empire. Rome organised its world through conquest, hierarchy, military strength, taxation, violence and imperial authority. Its political order depended upon maintaining distinctions between rulers and subjects, citizens and outsiders, the powerful and the powerless.

Jesus announces a kingdom whose values challenge this imperial logic. The poor in spirit are promised the kingdom of heaven. Those who mourn are promised comfort. The meek are promised the earth. Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness are promised fulfilment. The merciful are promised mercy. The pure in heart are promised the vision of God. The peacemakers are recognised as children of God. Those persecuted for righteousness are assured that the kingdom of heaven belongs to them. These promises are not simply rewards deferred to a distant heavenly future. They announce God's reign breaking into the present while also pointing towards its future fulfilment.

The kingdom of heaven is not a kingdom that reproduces the privileges of empire. It is a kingdom that challenges the very structures through which empire operates. Where empire glorifies domination, Jesus honours meekness. Where empire celebrates military victory, Jesus recognises peacemakers. Where empire protects privilege, Jesus proclaims justice. Where empire produces fear, Jesus announces hope. Where empire excludes, Jesus affirms belonging. The Beatitudes therefore reveal the preferential orientation of God's kingdom towards those who have been marginalised, colonised and crucified by the powers of their world. However, God's preferential option for those on the margins is not an invitation to reverse oppression by creating another hierarchy of domination. Rather, it is the beginning of a transformed social order in which all people can flourish through justice, mutual dignity and shared humanity.

Jesus' kingdom is not centred on accumulating power but on transforming relationships. It is not sustained through violence but through justice-seeking peace. It is not defined by exclusion but by radical belonging. It is not governed by privilege but by grace. This is particularly significant when Jesus declares: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” Peace in the Roman world was frequently associated with ‘Pax Romana,’ the imperial peace maintained through military domination and political control. Jesus' understanding of peace challenges any notion that peace can simply mean the absence of visible conflict while injustice continues. The peace of God's kingdom is inseparable from righteousness. It is a peace rooted in justice, reconciliation, restored relationships and the dignity of all people. Peacemakers are therefore not merely those who avoid confrontation. They are those who courageously work to transform the conditions that produce violence, division and oppression.

Similarly, when Jesus declares that the meek will inherit the earth, he challenges the imperial assumption that land belongs to those who possess the military and political power to conquer it. The inheritance of the earth is promised not to the conquerors but to the meek. Here, Jesus echoes Psalm 37:11, where the meek inherit the land and delight in abundant peace. This is a powerful theological challenge to the politics of conquest, dispossession and territorial domination. The kingdom of God belongs not to those who claim ownership through violence but to those whose lives reflect God's justice and peace. The politics of God's kingdom is the transformation of a world organised around the privileges of the powerful into a world where the dignity of the marginalised becomes the measure of justice.

5. The Politics of God: The God of the Outcast, the Struggling and the Crucified

What kind of God is revealed through these prophetic proclamations of blessedness? For me, this is perhaps the most profound theological question emerging from the Beatitudes. The God of the Beatitudes is not a God who remains neutral in the face of oppression. Neither is this a God whose presence is confined to temples, religious institutions, centres of political power or the privileges of the wealthy. The God of the Beatitudes is the God of the outcast, the struggling and the crucified communities. This is the God who hears the cries of enslaved people in Egypt, who accompanies the exiles, who speaks through the prophets against injustice, and who comes among humanity in Jesus Christ. The God of the Beatitudes is the God who sees those whom society refuses to see. The God who hears those whom the powerful refuse to hear. The God who remembers those whom history attempts to forget. The God who stands alongside those whom empire attempts to erase.

When Jesus declares the poor in spirit blessed, he reveals a God whose kingdom is open to those deprived of worldly power and security. When Jesus declares those who mourn blessed, he reveals a God who does not dismiss grief but promises comfort and restoration. When Jesus declares the meek blessed, he reveals a God who refuses to equate strength with domination. When Jesus declares those hungering and thirsting for righteousness blessed, he reveals a God who takes the longing for justice seriously. When Jesus declares the merciful blessed, he reveals a God whose compassion challenges the cruelty of the world. When Jesus declares the pure in heart blessed, he reveals a God who values integrity over religious performance and political convenience. When Jesus declares the peacemakers blessed, he reveals a God whose peace is rooted in justice rather than domination. When Jesus declares those persecuted for righteousness blessed, he reveals a God who stands in solidarity with those who suffer for their commitment to truth and justice.

The God of the Beatitudes is therefore not a neutral God. God's love is universal, but God's solidarity is particularly revealed among those whose dignity and humanity have been denied. This is not because God loves some people more than others, but because divine justice necessarily confronts the unequal distribution of power, privilege and suffering. From a Dalit theological perspective, the Beatitudes resonate profoundly with the experiences of communities historically subjected to caste oppression, untouchability, humiliation and exclusion. Dalit communities have often been told that their suffering is divinely ordained, that their social location is determined by religiously sanctioned hierarchies, or that their liberation must await another life.

The Beatitudes challenge such theological justifications of oppression. They announce that those treated as inferior are not inferior before God. Those denied dignity are not denied divine belonging. Those excluded from the centres of power are not excluded from God's reign. Indeed, the very communities regarded as insignificant by dominant social and religious systems become the privileged locations for discerning God's liberating presence. The God of the Beatitudes is not the God who sanctifies caste hierarchy but the God who challenges it. Not the God who legitimises colonial domination but the God who stands with colonised peoples. Not the God who blesses racial superiority but the God who affirms the dignity of those experiencing racism. Not the God who endorses the exclusion of migrants but the God whose reign creates belonging beyond boundaries. Not the God who justifies war and occupation but the God who blesses those working for a just peace.

In this sense, the Beatitudes invite us to move from a theology that merely speaks about marginalised communities towards a theology that recognises God's presence among us. This is also where the politics of the Beatitudes anticipates the politics of the cross. The Jesus who proclaims blessedness upon those persecuted for righteousness will himself be persecuted, condemned and crucified under Roman imperial authority. The one who blesses the mourners will become the object of mourning. The one who blesses the meek will refuse the politics of violent domination. The one who blesses the peacemakers will be executed through the violence of empire. The one who proclaims the kingdom of heaven to the marginalised will himself be pushed outside the city and crucified. The cross therefore reveals the cost of the politics of the Beatitudes. Yet the resurrection proclaims that imperial violence does not have the final word. The God of the Beatitudes is the God who raises the crucified Jesus, affirming that the powers of death, domination and exclusion cannot ultimately defeat God's liberating love. The God of the Beatitudes is not found among those who crucify in the name of power, but is revealed in solidarity with those whom the powers of the world crucify.

Living the Politics of the Beatitudes Today

What does it mean to proclaim the Beatitudes in our world today? We live in a world where wealth continues to accumulate among a privileged few while millions struggle to meet their basic needs. We live in a world where migrants and refugees are frequently portrayed as threats rather than welcomed as fellow human beings. We live in a world where racism, caste discrimination, xenophobia and religious hatred continue to determine whose lives are valued and whose dignity is denied. We live in a world where wars, occupations and violent conflicts produce countless mourners, while political powers often speak of peace without addressing the injustices that sustain violence. We live in a world where those who resist oppression, defend human rights, seek environmental justice and advocate for the dignity of marginalised communities are sometimes ridiculed, criminalised or persecuted.

Against these realities, the Beatitudes remain profoundly relevant. When Jesus says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” we are challenged to confront economic systems that privilege wealth over human dignity. When Jesus says, “Blessed are those who mourn,” we are called to stand alongside those grieving the consequences of war, violence, displacement and injustice. When Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek,” we are invited to resist political cultures that celebrate domination, aggression and the accumulation of power. When Jesus says, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,” we are challenged to transform our hunger for personal success into a collective longing for justice. When Jesus says, “Blessed are the merciful,” we are called to practise compassion in societies increasingly shaped by hostility, suspicion and indifference. When Jesus says, “Blessed are the pure in heart,” we are challenged to cultivate integrity, refusing to separate our religious commitments from our public responsibilities. When Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers,” we are invited to pursue peace through justice rather than settle for the silence imposed by oppression. When Jesus says, “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness,” we are reminded that standing for justice may carry a cost, but that cost does not invalidate the struggle.

For the Church today, the Beatitudes cannot remain merely comforting words recited during worship. They must become a public theological manifesto shaping our discipleship, mission and witness. A Church shaped by the Beatitudes cannot celebrate blessedness while remaining indifferent to poverty. We cannot proclaim peace while remaining silent about injustice. We cannot preach belonging while excluding migrants and refugees. We cannot speak of human dignity while tolerating caste discrimination and racism. We cannot worship the crucified Christ while ignoring the crucified communities of our world.

The politics of the Beatitudes calls us, the Church, to become a community of sanctuary, offering hope, home and healing to those whose lives have been wounded by the powers of exclusion. It calls us to move from charity towards justice, from sympathy towards solidarity, from institutional preservation towards prophetic witness, and from religious privilege towards radical hospitality. Perhaps the greatest challenge of the Beatitudes is that they compel us to reconsider where we locate God.

Do we continue to search for God primarily in the centres of power, wealth and religious respectability? Or are we willing to recognise God's presence among those living on the margins? For Jesus, the politics of blessedness begins with seeing the people whom the world refuses to see. It continues through discerning the injustices that shape their lives. It becomes prophetic through proclaiming their dignity, belonging and hope. And it becomes transformative when we participate in God's work of justice, liberation and peace.

The Beatitudes do not simply ask us to become better individuals. They invite us to imagine and embody a different world. A world where the poor are not abandoned. A world where mourners are comforted. A world where the meek are not crushed. A world where justice is not endlessly postponed. A world where mercy overcomes cruelty. A world where peace is built upon justice. A world where those persecuted for righteousness are not forgotten. A world where everyone belongs.

The politics of the Beatitudes is the politics of God's reign, where those pushed to the margins are brought into the centre of divine concern, where the crucified are affirmed in their dignity, and where blessedness is measured not by how much power we possess but by how deeply we participate in God's justice and love. Perhaps, then, the most unsettling question the Beatitudes place before us today is this: If God calls the poor, the grieving, the meek and the persecuted blessed, why does our world continue to treat them as cursed? And perhaps the equally unsettling question for the Church is: If these are the people whom Jesus calls blessed, why are they so often the very people whom our churches, societies and political systems struggle to welcome? The Beatitudes invite us not merely to admire Jesus' words but to join Jesus in transforming the world. For blessedness is not the privilege of those who possess the world. Blessedness is God's promise to those whom the world has dispossessed, and God's invitation to all of us to participate in the making of a just, peaceful and life-giving world.

Raj Bharat Patta,

1st November 2026

Pic courtesy: https://soulstorywriter.net/207-becoming-a-beatitude-church

Why Should Christians Do Interfaith? Reflections for UK Inter Faith Week

As the United Kingdom celebrates Inter Faith Week 2026, from 8–15 November, the theme “Lighting the Way for a Shared Future” invites people of different faiths and beliefs to build relationships of friendship, mutual respect and solidarity. At a time when racism, xenophobia, antisemitism, Islamophobia, anti-migrant hostility and far-right extremism threaten our shared life, interfaith engagement is not merely a matter of religious courtesy, but rather a prophetic intervention of faith in the public sphere. For Christians, it is even more: a theological, ethical and public responsibility.

My active involvement in interfaith engagements, whether attending Iftars at local mosques, participating in Mitzvah Day at our local synagogue, joining Diwali celebrations, engaging in conversations with friends of the Bahá'í faith, or participating in various civic and multifaith initiatives, has occasionally raised eyebrows. Some people have expressed theological nervousness, while others have openly challenged me with questions: Does engaging with other religions compromise Christian faith? Does it mean accepting that all religions are the same? Does interfaith undermine evangelism? Does respecting other faiths mean accepting other gods? Furthermore, my prayers addressing contemporary global injustices have sometimes been criticised as being ‘too political’, while my involvement in interfaith activities has even earned me the label ‘woke’. Such responses reveal not only theological anxieties but also the tensions surrounding what it means to live out Christian faith publicly in an increasingly diverse and polarised society. For me, however, interfaith engagement is neither a fashionable political position nor a dilution of Christian convictions. Rather, it is an expression of my Christian discipleship, rooted in the gospel's call to love our neighbours, challenge injustice and recognise the God-given dignity of every person. These questions and criticisms deserve thoughtful theological engagement, not defensive dismissal. Before addressing them, however, let me begin with my own lived experience of interfaith.

Interfaith: From India to Stockport

Having been born and brought up in India, interfaith was not something I first encountered as an academic discipline. For me, it was a lived reality. My school friends belonged to different religious traditions. We visited one another's homes, shared food, celebrated festivals and received each other's hospitality. Religious differences did not prevent friendships; rather, friendships taught us to appreciate our differences. My earliest lessons in interfaith were learnt not in a religious education classroom but through everyday encounters.

Having said that, I must also acknowledge that my theological education and academic engagement with interfaith have further strengthened my convictions. What began as a lived experience of religious diversity during my childhood in India gradually developed into a deeper theological commitment. My academic journey provided opportunities to explore Christian–Hindu dialogue through my master's thesis and subsequently to pursue doctoral research in public theology. These theological explorations have helped me recognise that interfaith is not merely about understanding different religious traditions but also about critically examining how faith communities engage with one another in the public sphere, negotiate differences, challenge structures of exclusion and contribute to the common good. My lived experiences have informed my theological reflections, just as my theological learning has enriched my interfaith practice. For me, interfaith is therefore neither merely an academic discipline nor simply a civic activity; it is a way of living out my Christian faith, where theology encounters everyday life, and faith becomes a public commitment to justice, dignity and shared flourishing.

Now living and ministering in Stockport, Britain, I continue to experience the transformative power of interfaith relationships. Through the Stockport Multifaith Network, and through the Greater Manchester Faith & Belief Panel, we have nurtured friendships, strengthened community cohesion and stood together during celebrations and crises. During COVID-19, we advocated for vaccination and organised reflection days remembering those who died in the pandemic. When local mosques experienced Islamophobic attacks, we stood alongside our Muslim neighbours. Following the attack on the Heaton Park synagogue in Manchester, we expressed solidarity with Jewish communities. Our Jewish neighbours have also collected winter clothing for refugees and asylum seekers, demonstrating that interfaith hospitality is reciprocal. We have celebrated Iftars, Diwali, Nowruz and other religious festivals. When far-right extremism threatened Stockport, faith communities worked alongside civic organisations to affirm our borough as a sanctuary of hope, home and hospitality. These experiences have taught me that interfaith is not simply religious leaders discussing theological differences. Interfaith is friendship in everyday life, hospitality in celebration, solidarity in suffering and prophetic resistance in times of injustice. Far from weakening my Christian faith, these encounters have deepened my understanding of following Jesus Christ.

Interfaith Deepens Christian Faith

Jesus repeatedly crossed religious, cultural and social boundaries. His encounter with Photini, the Samaritan woman (John 4:1–42), provides a compelling theological foundation for interfaith engagement. Despite historical tensions between Jews and Samaritans, Jesus initiated conversation with Photini in Samaria. Significantly, he began not by asserting religious superiority but by requesting water: “Give me a drink” (John 4:7). Jesus approached religious difference through vulnerability and mutual dependence. Likewise, in the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37), Jesus presents a religious ‘outsider’ as the embodiment of neighbourly love. The Samaritan becomes the moral teacher while religious insiders fail to demonstrate compassion. These encounters challenge Christians to recognise that God's love cannot be imprisoned within institutional boundaries. Interfaith engagement need not compromise Christian identity. Instead, it can deepen our discipleship by challenging prejudices, expanding theological imagination and revealing God's grace through unexpected neighbours.

 

Interfaith Is Not Religious Uniformity

Interfaith engagement does not require Christians to believe that all religions are identical or that theological differences are insignificant. Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Sikhism, Judaism, Buddhism, Jainism, Baháʼí, and other traditions possess distinctive understandings of God, humanity and salvation. Authentic interfaith relationships allow people to remain faithful to their convictions while respecting those of others. Traditional Christian discussions of religious diversity have frequently employed the categories of exclusivism, inclusivism and pluralism. While important, these frameworks can overlook the power relationships shaping religious encounters. From my own Dalit, decolonial and liberation theological perspective, I propose moving beyond asking merely, “Which religion is right?” towards asking, “How do our religious convictions contribute to justice, dignity, peace and the flourishing of marginalised communities?” When Muslims experience Islamophobia or Jewish neighbours face antisemitism, Christians do not need theological agreement before expressing solidarity. Interfaith is learning to disagree without dehumanising, remaining different without becoming distant, and living together without demanding sameness.

When people ask me, “What do you actually do at interfaith gatherings?” my response is simple: “As people of different faiths, we learn to celebrate our differences rather than fear them, nurture relationships rooted in mutual respect and dignity, and commit ourselves to working together for the transformation of our communities.” For me, interfaith is not about making our religions the same, but about recognising our shared humanity amid our religious diversity. It is about moving beyond mere tolerance towards friendship, beyond coexistence towards solidarity, and beyond dialogue towards collective action for justice, peace and the flourishing of all people and creation. We do not need to believe the same to belong together, nor do we need to worship together to work together for the common good.

Interfaith as Christian Witness

I have learnt that some Christians fear that interfaith engagement undermines evangelism. However, Christian mission must be distinguished from religious conquest. In Acts 17:16–34, Paul engages the religious diversity of Athens by observing its practices, conversing with philosophers and drawing upon their cultural traditions. He does not abandon his Christian convictions; rather, he communicates them through meaningful engagement. Historically, colonial Christianity frequently associated evangelism with cultural superiority and the demonisation of indigenous religions. From my Dalit theological perspective, such approaches demand critical examination. Christian witness cannot faithfully communicate Christ's love through coercion, manipulation or the denial of another person's dignity. The Indian theologian M. M. Thomas challenged Christians “to risk Christ for Christ's sake,” moving beyond defensive religious identities towards participation in humanity's struggles. When Christians work alongside other faith communities to support refugees, resist hatred or promote public wellbeing, they are not abandoning mission. They are embodying Christ's commandment to love their neighbours. Christian witness must be authentic, humble and respectful, never using friendship as a disguised strategy for conversion. On the other hand, Christian witness is about affirming Christian presence through love in our world today.

 

Recognising God's Image Beyond Religious Boundaries

Few friends have asked me, “Does interfaith mean accepting other gods?” Respecting another person's religious identity does not require affirming every theological claim of their tradition. Genesis 1:26–27 affirms that humanity is created in God's image. For me, human dignity therefore precedes religious institutions and cannot depend upon membership in any particular faith community. In Acts 10, Peter's encounter with Cornelius transforms his understanding of God's activity. Peter declares that God shows no partiality (Acts 10:34). Interfaith encounters can similarly challenge Christians to reconsider assumptions about who belongs within God's purposes. We may disagree theologically while remaining committed to loving one another. Indeed, claims about loving God become ethically questionable when used to justify hatred towards God's creation. To put it in other words, the more grounded I am in the God who met me in Jesus Christ, the more open I can be in celebrating the equal image of God among all people, transcending all boundaries and barriers.

Interfaith as a Decolonial Practice of De-othering

Colonial Christianity frequently constructed divisions between Christians and non-Christians, the civilised and the uncivilised, the saved and the unsaved. Even these binaries are not neat and are an invention of coloniality. These classifications reinforced political, cultural and economic domination. Contemporary Britain witnesses echoes of these divisions when Christianity becomes a symbol of exclusionary nationalism or religious minorities are portrayed as threats to national identity. As a Dalit Christian migrant minister, I understand interfaith engagement as a commitment to challenging the intersecting injustices of race, caste, migration, patriarchy, class and religious discrimination. Interfaith therefore becomes a decolonial practice of de-othering, transforming those labelled strangers into neighbours and those portrayed as threats into partners in our shared humanity. Our commitment to ‘the city of sanctuary’ movement expresses this conviction: belonging must never be determined by religion, race, nationality or migration status.

 

Interfaith as Prophetic Public Theology and Subversive Spirituality

Interfaith engagement is a prophetic act in a world increasingly shaped by secularisation and the powerful nexus of capitalism, consumerism and individualism, where human worth is often measured by wealth, productivity and consumption rather than dignity, compassion and relationships. In such a context, interfaith offers a countercultural witness, inviting people of different faiths to reclaim the sacredness of life, pursue the path of love and nurture relationships of mutual accountability, solidarity and responsibility. Interfaith calls religious communities to move beyond their institutional interests and work together for the mutual flourishing of all people and the whole of creation. It becomes a prophetic resistance to religious fundamentalism, exclusionary nationalism and far-right extremism, which weaponise religious identities to divide communities and demonise those perceived as different; by cultivating mutual respect, theological humility and a willingness to learn from one another, interfaith challenges the politics of fear and theologies of superiority.

 

Isaiah 11:1–9 imagines a world where the wolf lives with the lamb and a little child leads them. This vision is not sentimental harmony; it is a radical transformation of relationships shaped by justice for the poor and equity for the vulnerable. Different religious traditions offer distinctive visions of peace through concepts such as ‘Shalom, Salaam and Shanti.’ These provide opportunities for mutual learning and cooperation without erasing theological differences. I propose understanding interfaith as a form of subversive spirituality, one that resists domination, challenges exclusion, and discovers the sacred through solidarity with marginalised communities.

 

In Luke 13:22–30, Jesus speaks of people arriving from east, west, north and south to participate in God's banquet. This challenges religious complacency and assumptions about belonging. Interfaith must therefore ask not simply who sits around the dialogue table, but whose voices remain excluded. Where are migrants, refugees, working-class communities and people experiencing discrimination? Some of the most profound expressions of interfaith spirituality occur not in conference halls but through everyday solidarity, like supporting a mosque following an attack, collecting clothing for refugees or standing together against far-right hatred. Interfaith is therefore not merely about tolerating the religious other; it is about recognising one another as neighbours, becoming mutually accountable for each other's wellbeing and collectively resisting the forces that deny life, dignity and flourishing.

Ten Commitments for Christian Interfaith Engagement

Inter Faith Week offers churches an opportunity to translate theological convictions into practical commitments: Allow me to propose ten commitments for interfaith:

 

1. Begin with friendship, not conversion. Develop genuine relationships without hidden agendas by nurturing friendships and investing in conversations.

2. Visit places of worship. Learn respectfully from neighbouring religious communities.

3. Celebrate religious diversity. Share greetings during religious festivals and celebrations.

4. Create opportunities for learning. Encourage honest conversations about faith, justice and shared concerns.

5. Share hospitality. Build friendships through meals while respecting religious dietary practices.

6. Stand against religious hatred. Challenge antisemitism, Islamophobia, racism and discrimination.

7. Work together for justice. Collaborate on issues like homelessness, poverty, refugee support and creation care.

8. Involve children and young people. Nurture friendships that challenge inherited prejudices.

9. Create spaces for prayerful solidarity. Gather respectfully during crises, allowing each tradition to express its spirituality.

10. Let just-love be the lens for mutual respect, mutual accountability and mutual co-operation. For just-love does not demand religious sameness; rather, it inspires us to embrace our differences, resist injustice together and transform our communities through solidarity, compassion and hope.

Lighting the Way Together

Jesus declares, “I am the light of the world” (John 8:12), and tells his followers, “You are the light of the world” (Matthew 5:14). This light is not ours to monopolise but to share through love, compassion, justice and hospitality. Perhaps the most important question is not whether interfaith engagement compromises Christianity, but whether refusing to love, listen to and stand alongside our neighbours compromises Christian discipleship. From my childhood friendships in India to theological education to interfaith solidarity in Stockport, I have learnt that we need not become the same to walk together, agree on everything to resist injustice, or abandon our faith to recognise the dignity of others. Let our churches become communities of sanctuary. Let our spirituality become subversive enough to challenge exclusion and courageous enough to embrace difference. For the light of Christ is not given to Christians to cast shadows upon others, but to illuminate pathways of love, justice and peace. Let us light the way together.

 

Rev. Dr. Raj Bharat Patta

Co-Chair, Greater Manchester Faith & Belief Panel

Chair, Stockport Multifaith Network
30th October 2026

 

Exploring and Situating the Divine among the Margins: Reflecting on Matthew 20:1-16

 Reading the parable in today’s context

Unemployment continues to be a serious concern in the United Kingdom and across the world. The Office for National Statistics estimated that 1.778 million people aged 16 and over were unemployed in the UK in May to July 2026, an unemployment rate of 4.9%. This was 83,000 higher than a year earlier, although the quarterly change was small. Behind these figures are people seeking work, dignity, security and recognition. Why are people not employed? Who defines merit, and whose gifts are overlooked? It is in this context that the parable in Matthew 20:1-16 must be read and re-read.

Many migrants attend interviews possessing all the required qualifications, skills and experience, yet repeatedly find themselves unsuccessful in securing employment. This recurring pattern cannot always be explained as an individual failure or a lack of merit. Among the many possible reasons are the often-unspoken realities of racism and xenophobia, expressed through prejudice about a person’s name, accent, ethnicity, nationality, migration status or overseas qualifications. In our quest to build a fairer and more inclusive society, we must therefore interrogate what we mean by success, merit, ability and capability. We must also challenge the ideology of the “survival of the fittest,” because those considered “fittest” are often those already favoured by systems of privilege. The question raised by Matthew 20 is not simply, “Why have these people not succeeded?” but, “What barriers have prevented them from being recognised, welcomed and employed?”

The parable of the labourers in the vineyard tells of a landowner who hires workers at about six in the morning, nine in the morning, noon, three in the afternoon and five in the evening. We might imagine that those judged strongest, most experienced and most impressive were chosen first, while others were repeatedly passed over. Yet the landowner returns even at five in the evening and asks those still waiting, ‘Why are you standing here idle all day?’ They answer, ‘Because no one has hired us’ (verses 6-7). Their answer shifts our attention from supposed idleness to exclusion: they are waiting because no one has made room for them.

1.     The Kingdom of heaven disrupts the norms of the meritoriously powerful:

Why had no one hired those who remained at five o’clock? Perhaps they could not compete in a world where the powerful define merit and then use their own standards to judge others as incapable. Perhaps they were disabled people excluded by ableist assumptions, women constrained by patriarchal stereotypes, outcasted Dalits who couldn’t compete in the meritocracy of dominant castes, refugees or people seeking asylum denied opportunity by immigration status or language barriers, or people from minoritised ethnic communities facing structural discrimination. The label ‘idle’ conceals the systems that have repeatedly refused them work.

The Kingdom of heaven therefore disrupts the norms of the meritoriously powerful. It exposes the fiction that those selected first are necessarily more worthy, and it refuses to let market success determine human value. God’s economy begins with the equal worth of every person, not with the rankings created by privilege.

2.     The Kingdom of heaven directs us to meet the divine on and among the margins:

The landowner keeps returning to the marketplace. The final journey at five o’clock is not an afterthought; it reveals where the kingdom directs us to look. God is encountered on and among the margins, with those still waiting to be seen, called and welcomed. The question is not only, ‘Why are they standing there?’ but also, ‘Why has no one hired them?’ It moves responsibility from those who have been excluded to the social, economic and political arrangements that exclude.

In an economy that often prizes profit above human worth, powers such as patriarchy, caste, class, racism, ableism, war and xenophobia continue to decide who is preferred and who must wait. The parable calls the church to shift its location and attention towards those waiting at five o’clock. Unless friends and communities at the margins become central to our mission, our faith loses its savour and public relevance.

3.     The Kingdom of heaven demonstrates love, justice, equity and liberation:

The landowner not only hires the people who are still waiting at five o’clock; he also pays them the same daily wage as those hired earlier. This unsettles those who assumed that longer service gave them a greater claim to generosity. The payment is not a denial of work but an affirmation that every household needs enough to live. Here the kingdom demonstrates love, justice, equity and liberation by ensuring that nobody is abandoned to poverty because they were chosen last.

Equality gives each worker the same wage; equity recognises that each worker needs the means to live. Divine grace challenges an economy organised around deserving and undeserving people. It invites us to build communities in which dignity is not earned through productivity, and nobody’s life is treated as disposable.

A call to the church

The call before us is to recognise God among those still waiting at five o’clock, affirm the worth God has given equally to all, and confront the forces that push people into unemployment and poverty. This requires more than charity. It calls us to challenge discriminatory recruitment, resist the stigma attached to unemployment, support fair wages and secure work, listen to people most affected, and advocate for social arrangements in which all can flourish.

Where is God in this parable? For me, God is present among the people still standing “idle” at five o’clock, waiting to be employed and hoping against hope that someone will recognise their worth. They are called idle, yet they have not abandoned hope; they remain present, expectant and ready to work. The God revealed in Jesus does not look upon them from a distance but identifies with them and becomes one among them, the rejected, overlooked and last in line. God meets them in their waiting, restores their dignity and offers them hope and justice. The God of this parable is therefore the five-o’clock God. The God who stands with those whom society has passed over and insists that they, too, deserve life in all its fullness.

By locating the divine among the margins, we are challenged to become a church that stands with people pushed into poverty and exclusion. A church with the poor becomes credible only by becoming a church of and from the poor. May we therefore join God at the five o’clock marketplace and work for a kingdom that disrupts privilege, meets us among the margins, and embodies love, justice, equity and liberation.

Rev. Dr Raj Bharat Patta

20.09.2026

Pic Courtesy: The Red Vineyard / Red Vineyard at Arles (Montmajour),

Painted by Vincent Van Gogh (1853–1890),
Painted in Arles on 4 November 1888,
Oil on canvas
© Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts, Moscow

https://christian.art/daily-gospel-reading/matthew-20-1-16-2023-2/

A Prayer When the Mountains Weep: Prayer for Nepal and Tibet

As catastrophic floods and debris flows devastate Nepal and Tibet, hundreds have lost their lives, and many remain missing. Families and communities are facing unimaginable grief, uncertainty and displacement.

May I invite you to join in prayer and solidarity, remembering those who have died, those awaiting news of loved ones, and all involved in rescue and relief efforts. When the mountains weep, may humanity refuse to look away.

@rajpatta,

27.08.2026

Celebrating Dolly Parton: A Christian Faith Lived Through Love in the Public Sphere

I did not grow up listening to Dolly Parton’s music. In my youth, living in a rural town in India, I had little exposure to English-language music. It was only much later, while listening to BBC Radio, that I began to hear some of her songs. In fact, I first saw what Dolly Parton looked like only two years ago. At our church’s special Christmas carol service for people living with mental health challenges, I watched a video of Dolly singing “Circle of Love.” I was deeply inspired by its message, that we are all held within a circle of love. I asked who the singer was and was told, to my surprise, that she was Dolly Parton. When I admitted that I did not know who she was, some of my church friends could hardly believe me. Dolly was, after all, an icon loved by millions across the world. Later that day, someone introduced her to me as “the Taylor Swift of the 1970s and ’80s.” From then on, I developed a keen interest in Dolly Parton, learning more about her life and listening to more of her songs.

Today, upon hearing the news of her death on the 25th of August 2026, I cannot help but thank God for Dolly Parton, who touched millions of lives through her songs, distinctive voice, and, above all, her love and generosity. Her 80 years of life were well lived in song, music, faith, love and generosity.

What stands out to me most is the way Dolly lived out her Christian faith in the public sphere. Raised in a conservative Pentecostal Christian family in Tennessee, she expressed her faith not through rigid dogma or doctrine, creeds or traditions; not through exclusion or fundamentalism; not through oppressive interpretations of sacred texts or colonial missionary legacies; and not through hellfire and brimstone. Rather, she embodied her faith through love, compassion, generosity and joyful acceptance.

Whether through her songs, her ‘Imagination Library’ or her many acts of philanthropy, the faith in Jesus Christ that Dolly embodied was expressed in ways that were neither judgemental nor threatening. Hers was a faith that offered love to all, and all truly meant all, particularly those pushed towards society’s margins.

As a person of faith, what do I learn from Dolly Parton?

I learn to keep singing songs of love, for love is at the heart of Christian discipleship. I learn to create new melodies of hope; to welcome and receive all people; to give as generously as I can; and never to forget my roots. I learn to let the fruits of my life speak more powerfully than any awards or accolades I may receive.

I learn to be authentically myself, refusing to allow others to define who I am; to remain true to myself; and to be content with what I have. I learn never to surrender to far-right extremism or defend Christian nationalism, but instead to resist them by joyfully singing songs of love and loving others just as they are.

Following Jesus Christ in the public sphere is costly. It is the way of the cross: resisting the powers of exclusion, domination and hatred while standing in loving solidarity with those pushed to the margins. It calls each of us to embody the love of God, not merely through what we profess, but through how we welcome, give, resist injustice and love others as they are. Such love is not passive sentimentality; it is a courageous public witness to the inclusive and transforming reign of God.

Among Dolly’s songs, my favourites include “Coat of Many Colours,” which I used during our Racial Justice Sunday service in 2025 when I preached about Joseph’s multicoloured coat, and “Circle of Love,” her beautiful Christmas song. I also cherish “Islands in the Stream” and the timeless “I Will Always Love You.”

Thank you, Dolly Parton. Your songs of love will live on, and your faith in Jesus, a faith embodied through love, will continue to be remembered and celebrated.

Long live your legacy of love.

Rest in love and rise in love, Dolly Parton.

@rajpatta,

26.08.2026

Celebrating Photini’s Waters of Life: Jubilee Mission from the Margins: Reflecting on John 4

In our world today, the whole creation is groaning with the pain of thirst, longing for life. What, then, does mission mean in such a context? When more than two billion people globally lack safely managed drinking water, their thirst challenges the Church to respond. Rivers and wells are drying up as temperatures rise, while floods, droughts, groundwater depletion, pollution and increasing salinity are deepening the ecological crisis. Mission today must therefore break open these grounds of thirst by protecting creation and defending water as God’s gift and the right of every living being. The water crisis is particularly acute across South Asia. Climate-induced droughts, floods and heatwaves are contaminating water sources and making safe water increasingly difficult to obtain. UNICEF reports that 347 million children in South Asia lack access to safe water, the highest number of any region in the world.[2]

This crisis also has a distinctly gendered face. In many rural communities, women and girls must walk about six kilometres, and sometimes considerably farther, to fetch water for their households. They carry heavy vessels in intense heat, often making the journey more than once a day. For example, UNICEF tells the story of a girl in Sindh, Pakistan, who walked seven kilometres with her mother to the nearest clean-water source, sometimes three times a day. Such journeys consume time that could otherwise be devoted to education, employment, rest and participation in community life.[3]

When we meet an unnamed woman in Samaria walking towards Jacob’s well in John 4, therefore, we also see the faces of millions of South Asian women and girls who continue to walk long distances in search of water. This unnamed woman in Samaria’s journey is not merely an ancient biblical detail; it is a living reality. The water jar she carries represents gendered labour, social inequality, ecological injustice and the daily struggle for survival. Jesus’ meeting with her at the well invites the Church to encounter God among those whose bodies bear the burden of the water crisis.

At the same time, the denial of access to water for Dalits in India remains a painful reality, sustained by the casteist belief that Dalits “pollute” drinking-water sources. Their cry echoes from the margins: “We thirst.” Who will hear their cry, and who will help quench their thirst? Mission requires us, on the one hand, to repent of the human actions that have wounded creation, sometimes beyond repair and, on the other, to rediscover the meaning and relevance of Christ’s promise of living water for our times and contexts.

In this Bible study, I shall explore several missional themes emerging from John 4. Drawing upon the portrayal of this encounter in The Chosen[4] as a form of visual Scripture, I shall ask what it means to re-envision mission as Jubilee today, particularly from a decolonial perspective. I will begin by discussing decolonial mission and explaining why a decolonial reading of the Bible matters. I will then explore the politics of naming and reclaim the woman from Samaria’s identity as Photini, the name by which she is remembered in Christian tradition.

Next, I will consider the significance of Jesus offering the first explicit “I am” revelation in John’s Gospel during his encounter with Photini, a woman living at the margins. I will reflect upon the intercultural and theological conversation between Jesus and Photini before examining how mission to Samaria is undertaken by a Samaritan woman herself. I will then explore the profound meaning of Photini leaving her water jar beside the well. Finally, I will offer some signposts for understanding and practising mission as Jubilee, liberating women from the burden of water collection, resisting caste-based exclusion, restoring wounded ecosystems and ensuring that living water flows freely for all in our thirsty and wounded world today.

1. Why Does a Decolonial Reading of the Bible Matter?

I conclude every reading of the Bible by asking, “How is this the Word of God?” This is a question I learnt through the chaplaincy at the University of Manchester. It invites us not simply to declare that the Bible is the Word of God, but to discern how God’s life-giving, liberating Word emerges from the text in our particular contexts. Coloniality refers to the enduring patterns of power inherited from dominant empires. These patterns continue even after formal colonial rule has ended. Colonial powers have often selected biblical texts and imposed interpretations that legitimise domination over the powerless and maintain control over people’s bodies, lands, minds, cultures and Indigenous spiritualities. In this process, coloniality has filtered, distorted and sometimes obstructed the liberating Word of God from reaching communities at the margins. A decolonial reading of the Bible is therefore essential. It seeks to liberate oppressed communities—and biblical interpretation itself—from the continuing chains of coloniality. It asks not only, “What does this text mean?” but also: Who has interpreted this text? From which social location? Whose interests has that interpretation served? Whose voices have been silenced? And how might this text become God’s liberating Word today?

A decolonial reading of the Bible involves:

• Analysing the power relations within the text, behind the text and in its interpretation.

• Listening to unnamed, silenced and marginalised people within the biblical narrative.

• Disrupting interpretations that demand unquestioning obedience to religious, political or social authority.

• Reading from the lived experiences, struggles and wisdom of oppressed communities.

• Liberating readers—particularly the powerless—to recognise their dignity and agency.

• Liberating Christian faith and theological language from the chains of colonialism.

 

Reading from a Dalit Theological Perspective

From a Dalit theological perspective, decolonial interpretation takes the form of a subaltern biblical hermeneutic. It reads the Bible from below from the locations of those who have been crushed, excluded, silenced and treated as socially insignificant. Its purpose is not merely to understand the text but to participate in the transformation of unjust realities. Understanding without transformation can leave existing structures of power untouched. The drum can serve as a symbol of this subaltern hermeneutic. Historically associated with Dalit life, labour, communication, resistance and celebration, the drum represents an oral and embodied way of knowing. Its sound interrupts the silence imposed by caste and colonial power. It gathers the community, announces resistance and makes unheard voices audible.

The drum therefore becomes a new theological locale, a place from which God is heard and theology is articulated. Decolonial interpretation moves biblical reflection away from the exclusive control of dominant pulpits, academic institutions and written commentaries, and towards the songs, stories, rhythms, memories and struggles of subaltern communities. It invites us to hear the Word of God not only from the written page but also through the resonating drumbeats of people struggling for dignity, justice and life.

2. Redeeming the “Unnamed woman” of Samaria with a Name

Would we ordinarily call someone the “Chennai woman,” the “Delhi woman” the “Aizwal woman”, or the “Dhaka woman”? Then why has the woman in John 4 been remembered for centuries simply as “the Samaritan woman”? “Samaritan” identifies her religious and ethnic community, but when it becomes her only name, her individual identity can disappear behind a contested geography. She is defined according to how dominant society sees her: a woman, a Samaritan, a foreigner, an outsider and an “other.” In the eyes of the dominant order, she becomes an “unwoman”, someone whose humanity, dignity and voice are not fully recognised. The Gospel of John does not tell us her name. Yet the Eastern Christian tradition remembers her as St Photini from the Greek phōteinē, meaning “luminous,” “enlightened” or “the radiant one.” According to this tradition, Photini is the woman with whom Jesus conversed at Jacob’s well in John 4:5–42. Naming her Photini is therefore a decolonial act of remembrance. It resists the erasure of her identity and celebrates her as a bearer of Christ’s light.

Challenging the Labels Placed upon Her

Photini has been burdened by several intersecting forms of marginalisation:

• She comes from Samaria, a contested geography.

• She is a woman engaging publicly in theological conversation with a Jewish man.

• She belongs to a community regarded with hostility and suspicion by many Jews of that period.

• She has frequently been judged through a moralising interpretation of her five husbands.

• Her arrival at the well at noon has often been interpreted as evidence that she was isolated or rejected by her community.

• 
  

The biblical text, however, never calls Photini immoral or sexually sinful. We are not told why she had five husbands. She may have experienced repeated bereavement, divorce, abandonment, economic vulnerability or the consequences of patriarchal marriage arrangements. These men may represent what had happened to her, rather than evidence of wrongdoing by her. To reduce her story to sexual morality is to place the burden of patriarchy upon the woman while leaving the actions and power of men unquestioned. Likewise, John tells us that she came to the well at about noon, but does not explicitly say that she came because she was ostracised. That familiar interpretation may reveal more about the assumptions of interpreters than about Photini herself. A decolonial reading distinguishes carefully between what the text says and the judgements that later readers have imposed upon her.

From a Nameless “Other” to Luminous Witness

Jesus does not treat Photini as an object of shame. He recognises her as a theological conversation partner. She questions him, challenges inherited boundaries, discusses worship, anticipates the Messiah and gradually recognises who Jesus is. Their conversation is the longest recorded conversation between Jesus and an individual in the Gospels. Photini then becomes an interpreter, witness and missionary to her own community. The people of her city come to Jesus not because she remains silent and obedient, but because she speaks: “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” Her question creates space for others to encounter Christ for themselves.

To call her Photini is therefore to celebrate her movement:

• From unnamed woman to recognised person;

• From imposed shame to restored dignity;

• From object of interpretation to theological interpreter;

• From the margins of the story to the centre of mission;

• From carrying a water jar to carrying the testimony of living water.

Photini is not merely “the Samaritan woman.” She is the luminous one, a theologian, witness and apostle from the margins through whom the light of Christ reaches Samaria.

3. Revealing the “I Am”: Divine Disclosure at the Margins

Which is the first “I am” saying of Jesus in John’s Gospel? If we mean the well-known metaphorical sayings “I am the bread of life,” “I am the light of the world,” and so forth, the first occurs in John 6:35: “I am the bread of life.” But the first time Jesus uses the significant expression egō eimi “I am” to reveal his identity occurs earlier, in his conversation with Photini: “I know that Messiah is coming… When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.” Jesus said to her, “I am—the one who is speaking to you.” John 4:25–26 The Greek reads: Egō eimi, ho lalōn soi literally, “I am, the one speaking with you.” It can naturally be translated, “I am he,” meaning, “I am the Messiah.” Yet within John’s Gospel, egō eimi also carries a deeper theological resonance, recalling God’s self-revelation to Moses: “I AM WHO I AM” (Exodus 3:14). John 4:26 therefore holds together Jesus’ messianic identity and the possibility of divine self-disclosure.

To Whom Is the “I Am” Revealed?

This revelation does not first occur in the Temple, before the religious authorities or among Jesus’ disciples. It takes place beside a well in Samaria during a theological conversation with a woman from a marginalised community.

Jesus reveals himself to:

• A woman in a patriarchal society;

• A Samaritan in the context of Jewish–Samaritan hostility;

• A person outside his own religious community;

• Someone repeatedly burdened by later interpreters with assumptions of shame and immorality;

• Photini, who questions, reasons and theologises with him.

The geography of revelation is therefore significant. The “I Am” is disclosed at a well, beyond the recognised centres of religious power. Divine revelation moves from the centre towards the margins and is received, interpreted and proclaimed from the margins.

Revelation Through Intercultural Conversation

The disclosure comes only after a long and demanding conversation. Jesus and Photini discuss water, ancestry, gender, ethnicity, worship, contested sacred places and the coming Messiah. She does not remain a passive recipient of Jesus’ teaching. She asks questions, challenges assumptions and moves the conversation into deeper theological territory. We should be cautious about claiming that Jesus only then discovered his divinity, because the text does not explicitly say this. Nevertheless, we can say that his identity is disclosed relationally through an encounter with Photini. The Word who became flesh communicates through genuine conversation. Jesus does not merely speak to Photini; he speaks with her. In the course of their meeting, each ministers to the other. Photini receives the promise of living water and recognition of her theological agency. Jesus receives water, hospitality within conversation and an opening into the Samaritan community. Barriers are crossed, inherited hostilities are disrupted, and a new relationship becomes possible—between Jew and Samaritan, man and woman, and human beings and God.

 

Mission as Mutual Transformation

This encounter challenges models of mission in which a powerful Christian centre carries God to supposedly godless margins. Jesus is already present at the margins, yet his identity is publicly disclosed there through conversation with a marginalised woman. Mission is therefore not a one-way movement from the knowledgeable to the ignorant, the powerful to the powerless, or the “saved” to the “unsaved.” Mission is a meeting in which both participants become vulnerable to conversation, relationships are transformed, and new understandings of God emerge. Photini does not simply receive a revelation. She helps create the conversational space in which the revelation is spoken. She then carries it to her community, becoming an interpreter and witness of the “I Am.” The margins are thus not merely the objects or destinations of mission; they are the theological locations from which mission begins.

This is Jubilee mission from the margins: Christ is disclosed through boundary-crossing relationships, marginalised people become theologians and witnesses, and communities divided by inherited hostility are invited into new life.

4. Mission as Intercultural/interfaith Conversation

The meeting between Jesus and Photini is an intercultural and interreligious encounter. They come from two historically related but deeply divided communities, Jewish and Samaritan. Their peoples carry competing memories, contested scriptures, rival sacred geographies and inherited hostility. Yet beside Jacob’s well, these differences become the subject of conversation rather than reasons for separation.

Photini is not merely waiting for Jesus to give her the correct answers. She is a truth-seeker who brings her community’s theological questions into the conversation:

“Our ancestors worshipped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” John 4:20

Her question concerns Mount Gerizim, the sacred centre of Samaritan worship, and Jerusalem, the centre of Jewish worship. It is a question about land, ancestry, religious identity, contested sacred space and the power to decide where God may be encountered. Photini is asking: Who controls worship? Which community owns sacred truth? Where does God dwell?

Photini as a Subversive Theologian

Photini’s question challenges Jesus to respond to a dispute that has divided their communities. She is not a passive learner but a theologian who directs the conversation towards one of the most contested religious questions of her time. Her thirst is not only for physical water but also for truth, dignity and worship liberated from exclusion. Photini’s subversive theology destabilises the boundaries between teacher and learner, missionary and mission field, centre and margin. She demonstrates that people at the margins do not merely receive theology formulated elsewhere; they ask the disruptive questions through which new theological understanding emerges. The conversation at the well teaches us that theology becomes transformative when marginalised people speak, dominant certainties are questioned, and all participants become open to the liberating movement of God’s Spirit.

Jesus responds:

“The hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem… God is spirit, and those who worship must worship in spirit and truth.”John 4:21, 24

This response should not be read in a supersessionist way, as though Jesus dismisses Samaritan worship and declares Christianity superior to both Samaritans and Jews. Rather, Jesus disrupts every attempt to imprison God within one geography, institution, ethnicity or religious centre. Neither Mount Gerizim nor Jerusalem can claim exclusive possession of God. “God is Spirit” means that God cannot be controlled by temples, borders, dominant communities or authorised religious elites. The Spirit moves freely, crossing the boundaries human beings construct. True worship is not secured by belonging to the “right” ethnic group or occupying the “correct” sacred land. It is grounded in Spirit and truth—in relationships characterised by honesty, justice, dignity and life.

The Margins as Sites of Theological Truth

Photini’s question opens the way for this profound teaching about worship. The truth emerges through conversation with a woman from a marginalised community. This reminds us that people at the margins are not empty vessels waiting to receive the truth from missionaries. They are truth-seekers, truth-bearers and theological conversation partners.

Mission as intercultural conversation therefore requires:

• Listening before speaking;

• Receiving as well as giving;

• Recognising the theological wisdom of other communities;

• Addressing contested histories rather than concealing them;

• Relinquishing claims to possess God exclusively;

• Allowing encounters across difference to transform everyone involved.

Mission does not mean carrying a God whom we own into another person’s culture. It means discerning the God who is already present and active there. Intercultural mission begins with humility—the recognition that no culture, church or religious tradition can contain the fullness of God.

 

A Jubilee of Worship

Jesus and Photini move beyond the rivalry between two sacred centres towards a new vision of worship. Jubilee mission releases worship from captivity to geography, ethnicity, patriarchy and institutional power. It does not erase cultural identities or sacred histories; rather, it resists their use as instruments of domination and exclusion. At Jacob’s well, Jesus and Photini demonstrate that conversation across difference can become sacred space. The well becomes a sanctuary without walls, their dialogue becomes an act of theology, and their encounter becomes worship in Spirit and truth.

Mission as intercultural conversation asks the Church today: Are we willing only to speak about God to people at the margins, or are we also willing to hear God speaking to us through them?

5. Decolonial Mission: Mission to Samaria by a Samaritan

Colonial mission often treats the “other” as a mission field, an object to be converted, civilised or rescued. Mission flows from a supposedly knowledgeable and powerful centre towards people portrayed as spiritually empty. Such an approach denies the agency, wisdom and existing spiritual life of local communities. John 4 offers a radically different model. Mission to Samaria is initiated and led by a Samaritan, Photini herself.

The Missionary the Disciples Did Not Expect

While Jesus is conversing with Photini, the disciples go into the city to buy food. When they return, they are astonished that Jesus is speaking with a woman, yet none of them asks her who she is or what Jesus is discussing with her. They return from the city carrying food, but they do not bring anyone to meet Jesus.

Photini, however, returns to that same city carrying a testimony:

“Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” John 4:29

The disciples bring food out of Samaria; Photini brings the people of Samaria to Jesus. Those regarded as trained disciples misunderstand the moment, while the marginalised woman recognises its missional possibility.

From Mission Field to Mission Agency

Photini does not approach her community as a religious conqueror. She speaks as one of them, from within their history, culture and struggles. She does not impose a finished doctrine or demand unquestioning acceptance. She shares her experience and offers an open invitation: “Come and see.”

Her question, “He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” creates space for discernment. She does not compel her community to accept her conclusion; she invites them to encounter Jesus and decide for themselves. This is solidarity mission: testimony offered with humility, trust and respect for the agency of the community.

John records:

“Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony.” John 4:39

The text does not say that the disciples evangelised the Samaritans. Photini’s testimony opens the way. Mission to Samaria becomes a Samaritan-led mission.

Mission Rooted in Local Agency

The people respond to Photini’s invitation by leaving the city and coming to Jesus. They then invite Jesus to remain with them, and he stays for two days. The Samaritans are not passive recipients: they come, listen, discern, welcome and offer hospitality. Their encounter with Jesus takes place because Photini has prepared the way.

Later they say to her: “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves.” John 4:42

This need not diminish Photini’s witness. Rather, it demonstrates the fruitfulness of her mission. Decolonial mission does not create permanent dependency upon the missionary. It enables people to hear, interpret and own faith for themselves. Photini’s witness does not make her community dependent upon her; it opens a path towards their direct encounter with Christ.

Recognising the Labour of the Margins

Jesus tells his disciples: “I sent you to reap that for which you did not labour. Others have laboured, and you have entered into their labour.” John 4:38. The disciples are called to recognise that mission did not begin with them. They enter a field in which others, including Photini, have already laboured. This challenges churches and mission agencies that arrive in communities and behave as though God was absent until they appeared.

Decolonial mission asks:

• Who has already been labouring in this community?

• Whose testimony has prepared the way?

• Whose knowledge and leadership have been overlooked?

• Are outsiders controlling the mission, or supporting locally led witness?

• Are women and marginalised people treated as mission objects or recognised as missional agents?

Jubilee Mission from the Margins

Photini embodies Jubilee mission because she moves from being objectified as an outsider to becoming a subject and leader of mission. She is not rescued from Samaria and taken into the religious centre. Instead, she returns to her people, and mission grows through her relationships, credibility and testimony.

Decolonial mission therefore means:

• Mission with people, rather than mission to them;

• Mission led by communities rather than imposed by outsiders;

• Solidarity rather than superiority;

• Testimony rather than coercion;

• Invitation rather than conquest;

• Local agency rather than colonial dependency.

Photini teaches us that the margins are not simply waiting to receive missionaries. The margins are already raising theologians, witnesses and apostles. Mission to Samaria is led by a Samaritan and the Church must learn to recognise, honour and follow such leadership today.

6. Photini’s Water Jar at the Well

Photini comes from the city of Sychar in Samaria to draw water from Jacob’s well. After meeting Jesus, she returns to her city but leaves her water jar behind:

“Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city.” John 4:28

John does not explain why she leaves it. The abandoned jar is therefore an open and evocative symbol, inviting readers to discern its theological and missional significance.

A Sign of Thirst Quenched

Photini arrives seeking ordinary water but encounters Jesus, who offers her “living water.” Leaving the jar may signify that her deepest thirst for life, dignity, truth and recognition has been quenched.

The jar remains at the well as a silent testimony to the disciples: this woman has received more than the water she came to collect. She has encountered the source of living water and has discovered a new purpose.

A Sign That Barriers Have Been Broken

The jar also testifies that Jesus, the Saviour of the world, has crossed barriers constructed through gender, ethnicity, religion and inherited tradition. Beside the well, Jesus builds an inclusive communion that disrupts exclusion and discrimination.

The well was a place of contested ancestry, but it becomes a meeting place. The jar was associated with domestic labour, but it becomes a symbol of liberation and mission. Photini was treated as an outsider, but she becomes the person through whom her city encounters Jesus.

A Promise to Return

Leaving her jar may also indicate the urgency of Photini’s mission. She does not abandon the well forever; she leaves the jar as though to say, “I shall return.” She soon returns, not alone, but accompanied by people from her city whom she has inspired to come, meet and listen to Jesus.

She arrives at the well carrying a jar but returns carrying a community. The instrument used to collect water remains behind while Photini becomes a vessel carrying the news of living water.

From Domestic Labour to Public Vocation

The water jar can represent the gendered labour imposed upon women. In many communities today, women and girls still walk long distances carrying heavy vessels of water for their households. Photini’s jar therefore connects her story with women whose bodies continue to bear the burden of water insecurity.

When Photini leaves the jar, her public vocation takes priority over the role society has assigned to her. She moves from the private labour of fetching water to the public ministry of proclamation. Her new calling is to address the thirst of her city by inviting its people to encounter Jesus.

Photini is among the earliest and most significant witnesses to Jesus in John’s Gospel. She is the first person in the Gospel to whom Jesus explicitly discloses himself as the Messiah, and her testimony brings an entire Samaritan community towards him. Anyone who denies women’s equality, gifts or leadership in Church and society must reckon with Photini’s theological agency and public proclamation.

Her witness calls us:

• To celebrate the ministry and ordination of women;

• To recognise and nurture women’s gifts and leadership;

• To listen to women’s interpretations of faith and Scripture;

• To resist patriarchy, misogyny and gender-based violence;

• To remove the burdens that prevent women and girls from flourishing.

A Jar Shared in Solidarity

Might we also imagine that Photini leaves the water jar as a gift? Jesus has asked her for a drink, but he has no vessel with which to draw water. Having received the promise of living water, perhaps she leaves her own resource so that Jesus and his disciples may quench their physical thirst.

Read in this way, the jar becomes a sign of mutuality. Photini is not merely a recipient of Jesus’ gift; she also has something to offer. Mission is not a one-way act of giving from the powerful to the powerless. It is a relationship in which gifts, resources and life are shared.

A Jar That Remembers the Thirsty

The jar left with Jesus can also serve as a reminder that countless people remain thirsty. It represents communities without safe drinking water, Dalits denied access to common water sources, women and girls walking kilometres to collect water, and the whole creation groaning under climate breakdown.

The jar calls Jesus’ followers to join his life-giving work by:

• Protecting rivers, wells and ecosystems;

• Defending access to safe water as a human right;

• Resisting caste-based and gender-based exclusion;

• Sharing resources with communities experiencing water poverty;

• Challenging systems that commodify and exploit water.

A Symbol of Liberation

The water jar may have confined Photini within a prescribed gendered role. Leaving it behind can therefore symbolise liberation from the forces that sought to domesticate, silence and control her. Yet this does not devalue the essential work of fetching water or those who perform it. Rather, it challenges the unequal social arrangements that place this burden primarily upon women and girls.

Photini does not leave her responsibilities to become an individual detached from her community. She returns to liberate, enlighten and invite the whole city. Her freedom becomes communal; her encounter becomes testimony; and her living water begins to overflow towards others.

A Jubilee Jar

Photini’s water jar is therefore a Jubilee symbol:

• An empty jar testifying to a thirst that has been quenched;

• An abandoned burden witnessing to liberation;

• A shared resource expressing solidarity;

• A vessel reminding us of those who remain thirsty;

• A sign that women are theologians, missionaries and leaders;

• An invitation for living water to flow as peace, dignity and justice.

Photini invites us to come to Jesus, receive the living water, and then become vessels through whom that water reaches a thirsty world:

“We have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.” 2 Corinthians 4:7

The jar is left at the well, but Photini becomes a living vessel. She came carrying water for her household; she returns carrying good news for her city. Jubilee mission begins when the burdens of the margins are transformed into signs of liberation and when living water flows towards all creation.

Conclusion: Mission from the Margins—Celebrating Photini and Her Waters of Life

Celebrating Photini’s waters of life invites us to reimagine mission as Jubilee mission from the margins. Jubilee is God’s movement of release, restoration and redistribution: burdens are lifted, captives are liberated, excluded people recover their dignity, the land is allowed to heal, and the gifts of creation are shared so that everyone may flourish. In John 4, this Jubilee does not begin in Jerusalem, a temple or another centre of religious authority. It begins beside a well in contested Samaria, through a life-giving conversation between Jesus and Photini.

1. Redeeming the nameless with a name

Jubilee mission restores identities erased by dominant histories. The woman whom the text leaves unnamed and interpreters have reduced to her gender, ethnicity or presumed morality is remembered as Photini the luminous and enlightened one. Naming her resists erasure and celebrates her dignity, theological agency and witness. Mission from the margins asks whose names, stories and gifts have been forgotten. It works to restore the identities of women, Dalits, Indigenous peoples, migrants and other marginalised communities who have too often been treated as objects of mission rather than subjects of God’s mission.

2. Rediscovering the “I Am” in Jesus

The first significant egō eimi disclosure by Jesus occurs not before the powerful but in conversation with Photini. At the margins, Jesus declares, “I am the one speaking with you.” His identity is disclosed through a boundary-crossing relationship with a woman from outside his religious community.

Jubilee mission therefore encounters Christ anew among people pushed to the edges. We do not carry a Christ whom we possess to supposedly godless margins. Christ is already there, waiting to be revealed through conversation, vulnerability and mutual transformation.

3. Reaffirming God as Spirit

Photini’s question about worship challenges religious communities that seek to contain God within their own sacred places, traditions and institutions. Jesus responds, “God is Spirit.” God cannot be possessed by Jerusalem, Mount Gerizim, a denomination, a nation, a caste, a race or an empire. Jubilee mission releases faith from captivity to colonial power and religious superiority. Worship in Spirit and truth is expressed wherever barriers are dismantled, dignity is restored, creation is protected and communities are reconciled through justice.

 

4. Reversing mission through solidarity

John 4 reverses the direction of conventional mission. Mission to Samaria is not led by the disciples or imposed by religious outsiders. It is initiated by Photini, a Samaritan who speaks from within her community and invites her people: “Come and see.” This is not mission from the powerful to the powerless but mission arising from below. It replaces conquest with conversation, superiority with solidarity, coercion with invitation, and dependency with local agency. The people regarded as the mission field become missionaries, theologians and leaders of God’s transforming work.

5. Recovering a new vocation

Photini arrives carrying a water jar but leaves it beside the well. She came to collect water for her household but returns carrying good news for her city. Her abandoned jar signifies a burden interrupted, a thirst quenched and a vocation recovered. Jubilee mission enables people to move beyond the identities and burdens imposed upon them and discover their God-given callings. It celebrates women’s leadership, resists patriarchy and creates space for marginalised people to proclaim, organise and lead. Photini’s living water does not remain a private spiritual possession; it flows into the public life of her community.

Jubilee Mission in a Thirsty World

Photini’s story also calls us back to the material reality of water. Living water cannot be reduced to a spiritual metaphor while millions remain without safe drinking water, women and girls walk kilometres carrying water, Dalits are denied access to common wells, rivers are polluted, and creation groans under climate breakdown.

Jubilee mission must therefore:

• Defend water as God’s gift and a right shared by all;

• Resist the privatisation, pollution and exploitation of water;

• Challenge caste, gender and economic inequalities in access to water;

• Liberate women and girls from the unequal burden of water collection;

• Restore rivers, wells, land and damaged ecosystems;

• Recognise people at the margins as leaders of ecological and social transformation.

Celebrating Photini’s waters of life renews our mission as an overflowing movement of dignity, justice and liberation. It calls the Church to leave behind its own jars of colonialism, patriarchy, casteism, racism, religious superiority and ecological exploitation. It invites us to receive the living water offered by Christ and to allow it to become a river of Jubilee flowing from the margins. Photini came to the well unnamed, but she returned with a voice. She came carrying a burden, but she returned carrying a vocation. She came alone, but she returned with her community. She came searching for water, but she became a witness to the living water.

May we celebrate Photini, the luminous one. May we listen to the wisdom flowing from the margins. And may we join her in allowing God’s living waters to flow through our thirsty world, bringing liberation to the oppressed, dignity to the excluded, healing to creation and fullness of life for all. Allow me to conclude with a poem on water from my pen:

Who knows the pains of deep blue waters,

For her tears wept and kept within

What’s for a man but domination that matters

For his power swept and crept herein

 

When she tries to quench the thirst of the poor,

He grabs it from their mouths for sure

For he dictates that water is for money and not for any

And pours her in the rich houses for waste

 

Arise O waters, Arise O people,

Water for life and water for all

Injustice to water and injustice to people

Speak out and speak aloud

For man’s injustice to be watered away

And justice to be for waters again

Let Waters roll down in justice and

And let the streams be ever flowing to all in righteousness.

 

May God bless our initiatives for water justice and let justice roll down like waters, let righteousness flow like a never-ending stream!

 

Rev. Dr. Raj Bharat Patta,

rajpatta@gmail.com

04.08.2026

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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[1] Bible Study presented by Raj Bharat Patta at CWM South Asia Assembly held at Bangkok 4-7 August, 2026.

[2] https://www.unicef.org/asia-pacific/stories/safe-water-bright-future

[3] https://www.unicef.org/asia-pacific/stories/access-clean-water-gives-girls-freedom-learn

[4] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ordhsDeAt60