I remember pretty clearly the first time I recognized injustice. I was in elementary school and our substitute teacher was a lot like the evil step mother in fairy tales, except she was real. The student at the top of our class was a girl who dressed differently because of her religion. She was athletic, not letting her long dresses deter her from jumping two ropes at a time or throwing her legs up over the monkey bars, as though she were a trained gymnast. All the while she somehow preserved her modesty. I thought she was brilliant. I was probably right. She lived with her mother and sister—her dad abandoned the family long ago. The girl’s life was not easy, though she seemed to be happy. If I remember this day correctly, she had just returned from the funeral of her father. The substitute teacher had given some sort of wrong answer to a problem and the girl at the top of the class approached the teacher’s desk and suggested that perhaps there was another way to solve the problem. The evil step teacher, threatened in the face of real intelligence, snapped at her, “O you think you should always get your way!” Always get her way?! A false judgment on an innocent and grieving soul.
I remember pretty clearly the first time I heard of Yahweh’s justice. I was in class learning the rudimentary elements of the Hebrew language. Our teacher was a patient fellow, who, though a Christian pastor, reminded me of a Jewish rabbi. He said, “Yahweh’s justice is not like Canaanite justice. Canaanite justice is when people get what we deserve. Yahweh’s justice is when everyone has enough of what they need.”
The girl at the top of the class did not need the same help I needed with reading and spelling. She did not need assistance with math or science or history. She did not need food baskets because her family grew everything they needed. She did not need a new dress (most of us only had two in those days). What she did need was a safe space to speak; to be heard; to be at least considered a part of the solution. She needed a friend to stand with her; to speak up for her; to tell her she was right and the teacher was wrong. I am ashamed to say I did not give her what she needed. Recognizing injustice is the easy part. Being an agent for justice, well, I am still moving along a steep learning curve.
May God bring to you and your family enough of what you need.
