Writing in the series, “Disruptive Cartographers: Doing Theology Latinamente,” Jean-Pierre Ruiz explores “divine self-disclosure” throughout centuries of theological reflection. Ruiz, a biblical scholar, clarifies that this study is not about the Book of Revelation, one of his areas of expertise, but about how believers have come to experience God over the centuries (xvii-xviii). Ruiz carefully analyzes Roman Catholic theologies of divine revelation, describing colonial encounters (1550s), debates in Spain (16th century and beyond), Conciliar meetings and formal statements, including Papal pronouncements (namely in the 20th and 21st centuries), as well as extensive scholarly production on the theme of divine revelation and teachings about “the seeds of the Word.” All of this and more unfolds with the careful and thorough analysis, which readers of Ruiz’s previous work have come to appreciate (xxx-xxxvii).
The opening chapters set the tone for these centuries-wide explorations, with detailed descriptions of some astounding 16th century encounters between Indigenous inhabitants – Tainos – and Spanish colonizers on the Caribbean Island of Amona (Mona Island), located halfway between Puerto Rico and Hispaniola. In particular, Ruiz describes three inscriptions left behind by Spanish visitors to Mona Island, found in Cave 18, one of the many caves explored recently by archeologists. He describes images of Indigenous art, including “pictographs” of divine beings. The three inscriptions and some 17 crosses marked the Spanish presence (8-13).
Two of the inscriptions, Ruiz deftly argues, written in Latin, reflect a positive attitude to what the visitors saw: “God made the many” and “The Word was made flesh” (John 1:14). Ruiz posits that given the range of possibilities of how the Indigenous pictographs could have been interpreted, these two inscriptions indicate belief in a “pre-Christian” divine presence. For these Spanish visitors, the carvings reflected evidence that God was in the midst of the people that produced them. Further, other Spanish visitors apparently believed that when God was revealed in the flesh through Christ, as John’s Gospel taught, it became evident in multiple ways in human history, including among Tainos on Amona.
Ruiz tells us about a third type of reaction, also from Cave 18. Another inscription in response to the Taino religious art, this one in Spanish, reads “Dios te perdone” – “God forgive you.” He cites this as a more negative critique, i.e., “May God forgive those idolaters” that produced these carvings. This reaction probably reflects the dominant 16th and 17th century motifs of Spanish colonization—the evangelization of the Indigenous peoples of these Caribbean islands, even if with violence (59-61). Yet, Ruiz also points out that it is remarkable that none of the visitors from Spain to Cave 18 on Amona, whether the more positive interpreters of Taino “rock art” (a term Ruiz describes in illuminating ways) or those that see the artwork as “sacrilegious,” defaced any of the carvings of local divine figures. Rather, their inscriptions were added near or in otherwise conspicuous spaces, but not destructively.
Ruiz does a remarkable job of capturing many debates over the centuries with regard to “seeds of the Word” among non-Christian peoples. He begins with the more recent Amazonian Synod in Rome (2019), and its concluding pronouncements by Pope Francis, who called for respecting all ancient traditions and the divinity inherent in them. Indeed, Pope Francis, Ruiz cogently indicates, asked for forgiveness for past violent actions against “querida Amazonia” by those that failed to understand the divine in all. Ruiz points out other significant glimpses of such openness to divine revelation among the non-Christian, working his way back to church pronouncements after meetings in Aparecida, Brazil under a more reticent Pope Benedict (2007), meetings of Latin American Bishops in Santo Domingo (1992) under Pope John Paul, Puebla in 1979 and from the famous 1968 Medellin meetings, which not only set forth the foundations for Latin American liberation theology in years that followed, but also offered the language of the “secret presence of God” in every human being (100-136). The latter affirmed more attention to interreligious dialogue, which had already been alluded to, Ruiz explains, if not firmly established, in Vatican II, just a few short years before.
This remarkable theological journey backwards on which Ruiz takes us does not end until he explores the work of Justin Martyr in Second Century C.E. (136-141), whose “seeds of the Word” language did not call for interreligious dialogue, Ruiz is quick to point out, but certainly set the stage for what would come later in Roman Catholic reflection on the “vernacular” revelation of God in human history. Revelation in the Vernacular is a wonderful read for anyone interested in religious and theological studies, especially those concerned with how we construct theological ideas over time, including in the history of Catholic and Latinx thought. Graduate students in theology and Bible and biblical scholars alike will benefit from Jean-Pierre Ruiz’s rich study and historical exploration.
In addition, for those of us newer to the important trajectories of Roman Catholic thought and practice in the area of “revelation” (e.g., Protestants like me!), this work is an accessible, erudite, and thorough introduction to the way and means of critical thought, official and unofficial, in the history of Catholic theological reflection, and theology more generally. For a Latino non-Catholic, like me, to have this historical overview – especially as it relates to Indigenous and Latin American faith and belief – is a gift that Jean-Pierre Ruiz has given us all in this important work.
Williams College