Chapter 10
“Do you reject the glamour of evil, and refuse to be mastered by sin?” At baptism, we are asked a question that sounds rather dramatic. Yet perhaps it is worth pausing over. Evil does not always look frightening. Sometimes it comes dressed as progress, promises security, or offers us the comfort of looking away. How do we learn to recognise what lies beneath the surface?
Evil does not always appear ugly. Sometimes it presents itself as beauty, progress, prosperity, security or victory. The central question is how human beings and communities come to embrace what destroys others and how Christian faith can help us recognise and resist this deception.
The planetary emergency is not merely a natural crisis. Climate change, biodiversity loss, forced migration, racism, misogyny and poverty are interconnected consequences of how humanity has organised the Earth as its common household. For centuries, colonialism and capitalism have legitimised exploitation in the name of progress, while distributing its costs disproportionately among the poor, racialised communities and the natural world.
The German political theologian Johann Baptist Metz offers a powerful critique of this dynamic. He argues that Christianity has often exchanged the demands of discipleship for comfortable bourgeois religiosity, accommodating itself to unjust structures rather than challenging them. His concise definition of religion is striking: “The shortest definition of religion: interruption.”
One way evil becomes glamorous is through a distorted vision of the whole. Like someone admiring a beautiful mosaic while ignoring its broken and bloodstained tiles, we can celebrate progress while overlooking the suffering on which it rests. Economic growth, technological achievement and market efficiency become unquestionable goods, while exploitation and ecological destruction are dismissed as unfortunate side effects. The language of lament and prophetic protest gives way to acceptance — or even celebration — of the status quo.
Metz proposes dangerous memories as a way to interrupt this enchantment. Remembering the suffering of history’s victims challenges the comforting narratives of the powerful. The suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus stand at the heart of this memory: the cross exposes the world’s violence, while God’s solidarity with its victims refuses to let their suffering be forgotten. Such remembrance can provoke metanoia — a radical change of heart and practice — and lead to concrete solidarity with the oppressed and the Earth.
Yet remembering suffering does not automatically produce compassion. People interpret what they see through their existing desires and convictions. An image of a drowned migrant child may awaken empathy in one person but reinforce nationalist prejudice in another. Evil can even become entertainment when domination, cruelty and the humiliation of others are experienced as signs of one’s own power. The underlying temptation is to construct identity through conquest: I dominate, therefore I am.
Therefore, confronting injustice requires more than exposing individual atrocities. It demands the ongoing transformation of our collective imagination through stories that reveal the historical roots of oppression, challenge supposedly natural hierarchies and reshape our moral desires. Christian communities must critically examine their own complicity in colonialism, consumerism and the exploitation of creation, allowing the Gospel to challenge their identities, liturgies and everyday practices.
Finally, the struggle against evil carries the danger of despair. Once the depth of structural injustice becomes visible, we may surrender in apathy or turn towards vengeance. Here, the resurrection becomes indispensable. Christian hope does not erase suffering or promise easy victories; it declares that death and injustice do not have the final word. Grounded in God’s faithful love, hope sustains solidarity even when change seems impossible.
To reject the glamour of evil is therefore to learn to see truthfully, remember dangerously, live in solidarity and act hopefully. The beauty of Christian faith is not found in defending the world’s existing order, but in joining God’s work of healing and transforming it.
Wishing a good start to this week.
Philemon
Adapted from Daniel P. Castillo, “Interrupting the Glamour of Evil: Reading Metz Constructively in a Time of Politico–Ecological Emergency.”