Justice Without Mercy
He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.
Micah 6:8 NIV
It’s no secret that justice is an important value among millenials. We care about the humane treatment of all people, advocate for the marginalized, and aim to rectify unjust institutions and practices. We’re passionate and zealous. Even a bit idealistic, believing that we can be better than we have been. And wherever there is an injustice, we bring it into the light and call it out. We’re no longer satisfied with complacency and “good enough.” I am no exception to this phenomenon. I want justice, for myself and for others, and I want to be brave enough to challenge it when I see it. I want to play my part in holding people accountable. After all, the stakes are high and this deeply matters to Jesus. So I am completely justified in all of my efforts to call out perpetuators of injustice, right?
Eh. Maybe not.
The truth is a little more complicated and lately, I’ve had to do a little self-examination of my methods, but more importantly, my heart.
The Holy Spirit convicted me (as she does) during a recent Sunday sermon at my boyfriend’s church (Here’s the link to the sermon audio. It’s worth a listen). The preacher, in desperate need of a haircut, spoke out of Zechariah 3. He specifically addressed those who wonder if God is done with them. I often find myself questioning if God’s love is enough to endure my deconstructed faith in all its messy glory. Am I a disappointment to God? What does He think of my confusion and uncertainty? Quiet times feel futile, and prayer is dry. Am I still welcome here? Do I still have a place at the table and in the kingdom of God?
I need more than just a Sunday school answer. But anyway.
The preacher began discussing the Broadway classic Les Misérables, focusing specifically on the relationship between Jean Valjean and Javert (I’ll keep my snarky comments about Russell Crowe’s singing out of this). In the musical, Jean Valjean, a former prisoner unable to find employment, seeks sanctuary at a local church after being released from prison. Valjean steals silverware from his hosts and attempts to make an escape when he is caught by law enforcement. The police prepare to make their arrest when the bishop appears and gives Jean Valjean even more silver treasures, informing the thief that he forgot the rest of his “gift” from the bishop. Valjean escapes arrest and collides abruptly and serendipitously with prodigal grace.
It’s enough to transform him.
He repents of his former ways and becomes an honest citizen, making a name for himself and going on to become a father.
Years later, Javert continues to look for Valjean to make him answer for his past crimes, long after Valjean has left his life of wrongdoing, and becomes the villain of the tale.
This story is, of course, a poignant picture of what happens to the human soul when it is flooded by divine grace. But it can also serve as a cautionary tale, as the pastor pointed out, when we become consumed by the pursuit of justice at the expense of mercy.
I am guilty of fighting for justice while forgetting that it was mercy that brought me to the fight. I forget that I once was blind but now I see. I forget that I was numb, ignorant, self-absorbed, arrogant, shallow, and apathetic once. That my passivity and silence also perpetuated injustice. My hands were not clean. And truth be told, I am certain that it is only mercy that allows me to stay in the fight. If I have learned and grown in my knowledge of advocacy, it’s because someone was patient enough to bear with me and my mistakes, providing gracious correction. No one is born a perfect freedom-fighter. We all had to learn. And when I utterly fail and betray my own principles and ideals, I am so grateful I can fall again into the arms of mercy of the Perfect Advocate.
I recently finished Coretta Scott King’s autobiography, Coretta: My Life, My Love, My Legacy on audio, and I was profoundly moved by how intentional the disciples of nonviolence kept themselves from hatred and bitterness towards their white oppressors. The King family’s house was bombed, and still they remained committed to showing the unconditional love first shown by Jesus. By contrast, a coworker casually implies that I am too white to be Puerto Rican, and I rage.
While I cannot overstate how dehumanizing and exhausting micro-aggressions are, I also recognize that I lack a commitment to love my enemies and extend grace when I have been wronged. I am prone to bitterness. I know how to hold a grudge. I would rather write people off than offer a second chance.
Paul encourages us to live a life worthy of the calling we have received in Ephesians 4:1. I fear that my character is not worthy of my calling.
This is never meant to serve as permission for injustice to slide by and remain unaddressed. No, we should remain vigilant to engage every kind of evil. We should offer correction, oppose wrongdoing, and be bold in our stances against evil. It was holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel who said, “We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented,” reminding us that the defense of the marginalized requires strong, uncompromising positions. However, in being unapologetically for the marginalized and disenfranchised, I still have reason to apologize for when my heart and behaviors have been misaligned with the values I champion and the Savior I love and represent.
This is the question knocking on my heart: how do I pursue justice with mercy?
I move forward with cautious steps, rethinking my methods. Instead of a sarcastic, witty comeback, I can offer a sincere word of correction. I long for healing of deep wounds, so I can forgive those who have wronged me. I need perspective to see the sovereign hand of God continuing to work, so I can trust that what others have meant for harm, He will make for good (sometimes, being young makes it hard to see the big picture). I remember Joseph in Genesis 45, who responded to his brothers’ cries for mercy with compassion and forgiveness despite the deep betrayal they paid him. Only by trusting in the sovereign care of a God who did not abandon him in prison and made a way for his ascent to power was Joseph able to extend grace. That’s my theory anyway. And the rest, I’m still figuring out, with mercy buffering my feet and my way.
