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Posted: July 6th, 2007 at 2:29am By: Kevin Considine
What disaster struck Cleveland, Ohio?
That's what The Cleveland Plain Dealer was wondering a few months ago. The paper released a report in March that Cuyahoga County, of which Cleveland is the anchor, hosted the sixth-largest decline in population nationwide. From July 2005 to July 2006, Cuyahoga County lost 16,000 people.
Of the five counties with steeper declines, one of them was Wayne County, Mich. — the home of Detroit. The other four were all counties that had been victims of Hurricane Katrina. Which is what led the Plain Dealer to ponder what disaster struck Cleveland. And that same question can be applied to the rest of Northeast Ohio, particularly along the old Erie Canal.
The answer to that question is simple: stunted economic opportunity. It's long been known that the Rust Belt is in decline and that its de-industrialization has been a byproduct of global economics. If it's cheaper and more efficient to manufacture steel and rubber abroad, why do it here? This change has gutted the economic base of once booming cities like Cleveland, Akron and Youngstown. That's not to mention the smaller factory towns across the region.
Already this has led to many Gen-Xers and Gen-Yers leaving Northeast Ohio. Some go to the growing cities of Columbus and Cincinnati, some to the booming South, others to the coasts. This is the migration that is responsible for my own relocation from Massillon to Seattle to Chicago.
None of this bodes well for the region's well-being. And as an aspiring theologian of the Roman Catholic variety, this makes me wonder where God is in all of this.
You see, Christianity is a religion of hope. After all, it was founded upon a historical person and an historical event: the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. After the tragedy of the crucifixion, God went above and beyond what anyone expected. He raised up the Messiah who had been slain. And God offers the same hope of resurrection to all of us. Along with living under God's reign here and now.
That's just a long way of saying that our God is a God of life. As revealed in the person of Jesus, God is the One who promises renewal, healing and justice for a broken world.
If we Rust Belt Christians really believe this, then we also can believe that it's possible for our old manufacturing cities to be renewed. This doesn't mean that they'll be put back the way they used to be. Rather, it means that with some divine assistance and some human ingenuity they can be re-created into something new, something that will give life in the future. For it would seem that God's offer of life isn't merely for individuals but also for social groups such as cities. At least that's my hope.
Reality, though, is known for gnawing away at such hope. So the reality here, as I see it, is this: Cleveland is hurting and very few people care. The hard truth is that to most of the country Cleveland has little value. It's not New York or Los Angeles. It's not Chicago, Phoenix, Houston or Philadelphia. Nor is it Atlanta, Boston, D.C., San Francisco, Miami, Denver, Seattle or Las Vegas.
Cleveland isn't sexy and it's not urban chic. But it did help keep the country running for many years. And that's the type of city it remains. It's a tough town with people who work hard and don't have time for complaining. It's a city that isn't glamorous and isn't fashionable. It's a city where sports dominate the local culture, where beer flows more freely than wine and where factories and an inland ocean dominate the landscape. Mostly, it's a city that the rest of the country is leaving behind. It's part of the collateral damage of the global economy.
That, I fear, is all that Cleveland is to many people around the country. But not to those who still call it home. And not to me, or others like me who have left. And, I hope, not to the God of Jesus Christ — the One who knows this region's great worth in the hearts of its daughters and sons.
I no longer live in the area. I've left it behind, like many in my generation. Yet, I still hope for its resurrection. Or at least its renewal.
This hope against hope comes from my faith. It borders on an irrational hope, but then again, much that passes for genuine hope seems irrational. That's because of the nature of hope. It's holding onto the belief that life, love and shalom will prevail over the darkness, even though all of your experience tells you otherwise. In this way, Christian hope is the hope of a child. It's the hope of an empty tomb.
And that's the hope that I have for Cleveland. Will the city and its region really be resurrected? Only God knows. But all of us can hope. And that can be the spark for new life to break in.
— — —
Kevin Considine is a graduate student at Catholic Theological Union in Chicago. Recently he was married to a most wonderful woman who keeps him in line and reads his columns to see if they make sense. He and his wife live on the South Side of Chicago. He welcomes comments, feedback or fits of anger and can be reached at {email considkp@yahoo.com}considkp@yahoo.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Kevin Considine.
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What disaster struck Cleveland, Ohio?
That's what The Cleveland Plain Dealer was wondering a few months ago. The paper released a report in March that Cuyahoga County, of which Cleveland is the anchor, hosted the sixth-largest decline in population nationwide. From July 2005 to July 2006, Cuyahoga County lost 16,000 people.
Of the five counties with steeper declines, one of them was Wayne County, Mich. — the home of Detroit. The other four were all counties that had been victims of Hurricane Katrina. Which is what led the Plain Dealer to ponder what disaster struck Cleveland. And that same question can be applied to the rest of Northeast Ohio, particularly along the old Erie Canal.
The answer to that question is simple: stunted economic opportunity. It's long been known that the Rust Belt is in decline and that its de-industrialization has been a byproduct of global economics. If it's cheaper and more efficient to manufacture steel and rubber abroad, why do it here? This change has gutted the economic base of once booming cities like Cleveland, Akron and Youngstown. That's not to mention the smaller factory towns across the region.
Already this has led to many Gen-Xers and Gen-Yers leaving Northeast Ohio. Some go to the growing cities of Columbus and Cincinnati, some to the booming South, others to the coasts. This is the migration that is responsible for my own relocation from Massillon to Seattle to Chicago.
None of this bodes well for the region's well-being. And as an aspiring theologian of the Roman Catholic variety, this makes me wonder where God is in all of this.
You see, Christianity is a religion of hope. After all, it was founded upon a historical person and an historical event: the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. After the tragedy of the crucifixion, God went above and beyond what anyone expected. He raised up the Messiah who had been slain. And God offers the same hope of resurrection to all of us. Along with living under God's reign here and now.
That's just a long way of saying that our God is a God of life. As revealed in the person of Jesus, God is the One who promises renewal, healing and justice for a broken world.
If we Rust Belt Christians really believe this, then we also can believe that it's possible for our old manufacturing cities to be renewed. This doesn't mean that they'll be put back the way they used to be. Rather, it means that with some divine assistance and some human ingenuity they can be re-created into something new, something that will give life in the future. For it would seem that God's offer of life isn't merely for individuals but also for social groups such as cities. At least that's my hope.
Reality, though, is known for gnawing away at such hope. So the reality here, as I see it, is this: Cleveland is hurting and very few people care. The hard truth is that to most of the country Cleveland has little value. It's not New York or Los Angeles. It's not Chicago, Phoenix, Houston or Philadelphia. Nor is it Atlanta, Boston, D.C., San Francisco, Miami, Denver, Seattle or Las Vegas.
Cleveland isn't sexy and it's not urban chic. But it did help keep the country running for many years. And that's the type of city it remains. It's a tough town with people who work hard and don't have time for complaining. It's a city that isn't glamorous and isn't fashionable. It's a city where sports dominate the local culture, where beer flows more freely than wine and where factories and an inland ocean dominate the landscape. Mostly, it's a city that the rest of the country is leaving behind. It's part of the collateral damage of the global economy.
That, I fear, is all that Cleveland is to many people around the country. But not to those who still call it home. And not to me, or others like me who have left. And, I hope, not to the God of Jesus Christ — the One who knows this region's great worth in the hearts of its daughters and sons.
I no longer live in the area. I've left it behind, like many in my generation. Yet, I still hope for its resurrection. Or at least its renewal.
This hope against hope comes from my faith. It borders on an irrational hope, but then again, much that passes for genuine hope seems irrational. That's because of the nature of hope. It's holding onto the belief that life, love and shalom will prevail over the darkness, even though all of your experience tells you otherwise. In this way, Christian hope is the hope of a child. It's the hope of an empty tomb.
And that's the hope that I have for Cleveland. Will the city and its region really be resurrected? Only God knows. But all of us can hope. And that can be the spark for new life to break in.
— — —
Kevin Considine is a graduate student at Catholic Theological Union in Chicago. Recently he was married to a most wonderful woman who keeps him in line and reads his columns to see if they make sense. He and his wife live on the South Side of Chicago. He welcomes comments, feedback or fits of anger and can be reached at {email considkp@yahoo.com}considkp@yahoo.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Kevin Considine.
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