EDITOR’S NOTE: “Justice looks like …” is a special series in the Voices column. Readers will have the opportunity to consider justice from numerous viewpoints. The series is based on each writer’s understanding of Scripture and relationship with Jesus Christ. Writers present their own views independent of any institution, unless otherwise noted in their bios.

You are encouraged to listen to each writer without prejudgment. Then, engage in conversation with others around you about what justice looks like to you.

Click here for more information about the series. Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

Micah 6:8 challenges us to do justice. What does that look like?

Justice looks like my dad explaining how I will have to endure the consequences of my actions. He spent several years in law enforcement and had a real knack for catching me at misbehavior. He worked hard to make my consequences “memorable.”

He also wanted me to know there would be different consequences when I broke different house rules. Not all rules were the same. He wanted me to know he would be fair with me and that I someday would have to help my own children understand there were consequences and/or rewards for actions and decisions made. This was my introduction to justice.

Rules for the household

Justice was a set of rules that applied to all in the household. Following the rules resulted in all kinds of fun and joyful experiences. Breaking the rules was entirely different and “memorable.”

After a short while, a little brother joined the family. The day came when I learned another facet of justice. I forgot to take care of my brother in the manner I was taught. I did not look after his safety needs or his welfare. He could not look after himself. He could not even feed himself. I got in trouble for not looking after him.

Through this experience with my brother, my parents taught me the importance of looking after those who literally were not able to look after themselves. In his case, he was just too young, but the point remains the same. There would be situations in life when it would be important for me to look after the needs and rights of others for the sake of justice and fairness.

Justice looks like caring for others. Justice involves me being aware when the needs of others are not being met and that I should do good by working to help others.

A lesson in fairness

One day, I was told how my dad would not get a promotion at work because of his ethnicity. This was the day I learned about fairness and just opportunities for all. He did not have fair opportunity to earn an income. He would train his future supervisor and was passed over for a promotion. The lack of justice and a fair opportunity impacted our entire family.

Dad received a call from California. Mr. Rocky Fuertez said his employer was interested in results and not the complexion of someone’s skin. So, off to California we went. We left all family, friends and church ties behind for dad’s opportunity to provide for his family.

I recognized this was not fair; it was not just. However, we learned to appreciate employers who would give all persons an opportunity for success dependent only upon results.

The family table-talk included the importance of respecting people who looked different than us and the importance of working to give everyone an opportunity to succeed.

Justice looks like Jesus

While going to an English-speaking Baptist church in Rialto, Calif., Pastor Leonard Roten taught us about a biblical perspective toward justice and how God did not give us what we deserve for our sins.

Pastor Roten, along with church leaders like Sam Edwards, Doug Mitchell and my parents, introduced me to God’s grace and mercy. They helped me understand Jesus paid the ultimate price for my sins, helping me when I could not help myself. I was moved by these biblical ideas and dedicated myself to learn more about God’s justice and salvation by faith in Jesus.

How thankful I am justice looks like Jesus paying for my sins and giving me salvation.

God’s justice looks like the Scripture stating, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” and that he reconciled me to himself through his Son Jesus. I am so thankful God stepped in and provided a solution for my sin.

This picture of justice calls me to step in and seek solutions for those experiencing injustice, so no one has to move across the country to find equal opportunity. It calls me to be on the lookout for gaps in fairness for those who need help and aren’t able to help themselves. It calls on me to act for the benefit of others. This is what justice looks like to me.

Dr. Gus Reyes serves as the director of the Texas Baptist Christian Life Commission and Center for Cultural Engagement. He works with both sides of the aisle to promote the Jesus Agenda. He has been married to Leticia Lozano Reyes more than 42 years, and they are blessed with grandchildren.

Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

EDITOR’S NOTE: “Justice looks like …” is a special series in the Voices column. Readers will have the opportunity to consider justice from numerous viewpoints. The series is based on each writer’s understanding of Scripture and relationship with Jesus Christ. Writers present their own views independent of any institution, unless otherwise noted in their bios.

You are encouraged to listen to each writer without prejudgment. Then, engage in conversation with others around you about what justice looks like to you.

Click here for more information about the series. Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

Robben Island is located in Table Bay, about four miles north of Cape Town, South Africa. Nestled between the Atlantic Ocean and Table Mountain, Cape Town is one of the most picturesque cities in the world.

If you take Highway 27 around to the north and look back toward Cape Town, the view is breathtaking, except for Robben Island, which stands between you and the city.

That is the view I took in more than 35 years ago as a young man. It is a vision etched in my memory because of the beauty of the setting. But also, because as I stood on the shore of the ocean and looked back at Cape Town, I was keenly aware I was looking at Nelson Mandela’s prison.

Imprisoned for 27 years—18 of them on Robben Island—because of his opposition to white-ruled South Africa’s legal system of apartheid, I’m sure Nelson Mandela’s view was starkly different from mine.

For two years, as a Southern Baptist Missionary Journeyman, I lived in South Africa’s neighbor to the north, Botswana. During that time, I traveled throughout South Africa. Now, years later, I struggle with the privilege I enjoyed as a white person.

Seeing justice through another’s eyes

Most white people in America and around the world have no idea what justice looks like through the eyes of people of color.

What does justice look like? It depends on your perspective. It’s like two people who witness a car accident and give different accounts because of where they were standing.

In White Fragility, Robin Diangelo writes, “For most whites, racism is like murder: the concept exists, but someone has to commit it in order for it to happen.”

In other words, if you’re white, you have no clue racism is happening right now. But for Black people, it’s always there. It’s all a matter of perspective and how you see the world—and how the world sees you.

One of the greatest sources of tension between Jesus and the religious leaders of his day grew out of their different perspectives. They didn’t understand Jesus and had no idea what to do with him, because their perspectives were so different.

Why would Jesus heal a woman on the Sabbath, they asked indignantly? From Jesus’s perspective, why wouldn’t you? He scolded them for treating their oxen and donkeys better than they treated the poor (Luke 13:10-17).

Jesus’s constant pattern was to affirm the value of the people he ministered to rather than the human laws he may have been violating.

Stand where another stands

We white people look indignantly at peaceful protests happening around the world and scold the protesters. It’s a convenient way to ignore the issue.

But look at it from the perspective of a Black person. Walk in the shoes of a Black man who drives his car in fear of being stopped for DWB—driving while Black.

A Black friend I work with at Buckner International opened my eyes recently to his view. Referring to Black Lives Matter, he said: “Of course all lives matter, just like all houses matter. But if it’s your house on fire, then only your house matters.”

From his perspective as a Black man, all lives matter, but because of racial injustice, we need to focus on Black lives until we put out the fire.

Years after being released from Robben Island and serving as president of South Africa, Mandela wrote in his autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom, about the time a white Methodist minister held Sunday services for prisoners on the island. The minister implied it was the Black Africans who needed to reconcile themselves with the whites who put them in prison for their dissent.

“I noticed that Eddie Daniels (another prisoner) could take it no longer,” Mandela wrote. “‘You’re preaching reconciliation to the wrong people,’ Daniels said. ‘We’ve been seeking reconciliation for the last 75 years.’”

What does justice look like? It depends on your perspective. Maybe it’s time we all saw it from Jesus’ perspective.

Scott Collins is vice president of communications for Buckner International.

Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

EDITOR’S NOTE: “Justice looks like …” is a special series in the Voices column. Readers will have the opportunity to consider justice from numerous viewpoints. The series is based on each writer’s understanding of Scripture and relationship with Jesus Christ. Writers present their own views independent of any institution, unless otherwise noted in their bios.

You are encouraged to listen to each writer without prejudgment. Then, engage in conversation with others around you about what justice looks like to you.

Click here for more information about the series. Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

The first time I truly began to understand what the word “justice” meant to me and my faith in Christ was under a pecan tree during my seminary days in Waco.

John Perkins, the civil rights activist, Christian leader and founder of the Christian Community Development Association, sat me down under that tree, and over a meal of cracked pecans, he told me what it was like to grow up as a Black man in our shared home state of Mississippi.

John was in Waco after the annual CCDA convention. He was coming to preach at Mission Waco’s Church Under the Bridge, and I was tasked with hosting him. This led to the opportunity to dialogue about the truth of justice that would change my life.

When I learned about justice

I am embarrassed to say this was the first time I made the effort to listen to a story like this. For me, growing up in the church in the Deep South did not offer me the opportunity to hear the heroic stories of men like John Perkins and the justice they sought. I never was taught that my faith should move me towards fighting for the rights of others and for justice-centered initiatives.

During my time in seminary, I started exploring Scripture passages and theology about race, justice, equality and mercy. I was astonished to see the Bible come alive as a repository of justice-centered stories and commandments.

Passages like the following convicted me and caused me to repent:

Learn to do right; seek justice.
Defend the oppressed.
Take up the cause of the fatherless;
plead the case of the widow (Isaiah 1:17).

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Luke 4:18-19).

“There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28).

It was because of these encounters that I set out on a career of seeking, teaching and doing justice in the church and now do so as a leader of a historic Dallas nonprofit.

Where I practice justice

At Brother Bill’s Helping Hand, we serve the men, women and children who are represented in these passages. Many are oppressed, fatherless, widowed, poor, formerly incarcerated or in poor health.

Because we believe all are created in God’s image, we are compelled to provide our neighbors with the essentials of life: food for the hungry; care for their mental and physical health; and job training, education and Christian discipleship.

We do this, not out of a secular humanism compulsion, but rather from a place of deep devotion to the God who has taught us that imago Dei exists in all humans, regardless of skin color, social status, wealth, health or past.

As believers, if we ignore this conviction, the Spirit of Christ is not in us.

The lingering effect of our words

As I prepared this article, I re-read several past articles and sermons from white pastors here in Dallas during the era of desegregation. It was an important but difficult exercise. To hear these men of God say hurtful and untrue words about their understanding of God and people of different races was excruciatingly painful.

Even today, it brings me great pain to read and hear articles, sermons and social media posts from Christians—more specifically, white Christians—who simply do not see these themes in the Bible, nor see these problems in our current climate.

Christians, and unfortunately many of my Baptist brothers and sisters, have been on the wrong side of God’s plan for humanity for many years.

This was not 150 or 200 years ago; this was 50 to 60 years ago. While some of these pastors repented, others let that legacy of bigotry live on within their churches and congregations. They let it fester and be fueled by new narratives of fear and hate, narratives I still hear echoes of today.

Embrace a redeemed narrative

We as Christians must embrace a redeemed narrative, one not sullied by secular thought, but rather supported by Scripture, influenced by the Holy Spirit and modeled by Jesus.

The neighbors, staff members and community we know and love are disproportionately vulnerable to the current injustice. This is an unavoidable truth. We have witnessed stories of hardship, abuse and suffering at the hands of those in power for far too long.

But we are not dismayed or deterred. At Brother Bill’s Helping Hand, we intend to continue to unify the body of Christ by loving our neighbors as ourselves.

Wes Keyes is the executive director of Brother Bill’s Helping Hand. He has worked in impoverished communities in Waco, Dallas, Rural Mississippi, Haiti, Turkey, Guatemala and elsewhere.

Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

Para mí, la justicia es como una invitación divina de parte de Dios a participar en la venida de su Reino aquí en la Tierra. En la introducción a esta serie, Eric Black nos invitó a ver a la justicia como “fundamental para el carácter de Dios y la interacción de Dios con el mundo”. Además, Black afirma: “Cuando la creación es injusta, el Creador se asegurará de que se cumpla la justicia”.

Como parte de los atributos de Dios, la justicia es uno de los estándares que Dios ha establecido ante nosotros como seres humanos. En su libro Introducing Christian Doctrine (Introducción a la Doctrina Cristiana), el teólogo Millard Erickson destaca: “Dios espera que sus seguidores emulen su rectitud y justicia. Debemos adoptar como norma su ley y preceptos. Debemos tratar a las demás personas de manera justa y equitativa porque eso mismo es lo que Dios hace”.

Si bien es cierto que la justicia es más que una invitación, pues es un requisito de Dios para nuestras vidas (Miqueas 6:8), a mí me gusta verla como una invitación. Dios no nos obliga a ser personas justas, sino que nos da la oportunidad de elegir hacer lo correcto.

Es una invitación a unirse a nuestro Creador, como mencionó Black, para asegurarnos de que se haga justicia. Si la aceptamos, esta invitación nos acercará más al cumplimiento de nuestro propósito de darle gloria a Dios.

Dotados para hacer justicia

Cuando recibimos la invitación a unirnos a Dios en este proyecto de construir su reino aquí en la tierra, no se nos invita con las manos vacías. El Espíritu Santo, basado en la voluntad de Dios y su propia elección, nos ha dotado con diferentes dones (1 Corintios 12:11, 18). A menudo, estos dones están relacionados con las áreas de pasión que Dios ha puesto en nuestros corazones.

Juntos, estos dones y áreas de pasión son parte de la invitación de Dios a unirnos en un área particular que le interesa a Dios, donde se debe de alcanzar justicia.

En mi caso particular, el Espíritu Santo me ha dado el don de enseñar a través de la palabra hablada y escrita. He pasado más de 25 años animando a estudiantes, especialmente a quienes pertenecen a grupos minoritarios, a abrir su imaginación a un futuro más vasto y rico a través del maravilloso mundo del conocimiento y la educación.

En la Baptist University of the Américas (Universidad Bautista de las Américas), los he animado a creer que pueden terminar la universidad y continuar con estudios de posgrado. He estado enseñando en BUA durante 20 años, tiempo suficiente para tener la bendición de presenciar el éxito de los ex-alumnos a medida que se gradúan de sus maestrías y doctorados.

Mi esperanza es que estos antiguos estudiantes, a su vez, continúen alentando a otros estudiantes de grupos minoritarios, de tal manera que la justicia de Dios se alcance en nuestras comunidades.

Latinas en liderazgo

Otra área en la que Dios me ha invitado a unirme a este proyecto de hacer justicia es la de las mujeres. El hecho de ser una mujer latina con un doctorado, abre la imaginación de las mujeres de grupos minoritarios, y las anima a estudiar y a obtener los más altos títulos académicos. Al verme, ellas pueden pensar: “Si ella como latina pudo hacerlo, yo también puedo”.

Además, Dios me ha invitado a unirme a esta tarea de alcanzar justicia a través del trabajo del Christian Latina Leadership Institute (Instituto Cristiano para Líderes Latinas), donde la meta es capacitar a las mujeres en asuntos de liderazgo personal, profesional y ministerial, para que se conviertan en agentes de transformación en sus familias, iglesias y comunidades. A medida que se convierten en agentes de transformación, ellas también se unen al proyecto de Dios de alcanzar justicia en sus comunidades.

Pensar que Dios me invita todos los días a unirme a este proyecto de alcanzar su justicia y extender su reino aquí en la tierra, es un privilegio, una responsabilidad y un gozo.

La invitación es para usted también

De la misma forma, Dios también le invita a usted a unirse a este proyecto de hacer justicia y desarrollar el Reino.

¿Cuáles son sus áreas de pasión? ¿Cuáles son sus dones? Cualesquiera que sean, Dios se los ha dado con el propósito de invitarle a unirse en un área en particular donde se debe alcanzar justicia.

Hoy en día hay muchas áreas donde se necesita justicia. Escuchemos la invitación de Dios. Encontremos nuestro lugar al servicio del reino de Dios. Démosle el honor y la gloria a Dios mediante acciones justas y rectas.

La Dra. Nora O. Lozano es profesora de estudios teológicos en la Baptist University of the Américas (Universidad Bautista de las Américas) y directora ejecutiva del Christian Latina Leadership Institute (Instituto Cristiano para Líderes Latinas) en San Antonio, Texas. Las opiniones expresadas aquí pertenecen únicamente a la autora.

Haga clic aquí para leer la serie completa “Así se ve la justicia”.

EDITOR’S NOTE: “Justice looks like …” is a special series in the Voices column. Readers will have the opportunity to consider justice from numerous viewpoints. The series is based on each writer’s understanding of Scripture and relationship with Jesus Christ. Writers present their own views independent of any institution, unless otherwise noted in their bios.

You are encouraged to listen to each writer without prejudgment. Then, engage in conversation with others around you about what justice looks like to you.

Click here for more information about the series. Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

Justice looks like the masterfully constructed, wonderfully fulfilling, yet strangely elusive plot of any novel from Toni Morrison’s rich and complex canon, which so deftly explores the depth and breadth of the African American experience.

During my junior year in high school, I was introduced to the riotous, revolutionary and redeeming literary imagination of one of our nation’s most gifted writers.

After 30 years of peering into the lives of her characters, traversing the grounds they walked, haunting the places they inhabited, and interpreting the meaning of their experiences—often fraught with tension caused by their individual and collective attempts to make a life in a violent, unfair and inhospitable society—a profoundly nuanced definition of justice has emerged. 

Painting justice in words

In the “quiet as it’s kept” world Morrison envisions in The Bluest Eye, justice sounds like the whispered intercessory prayer of one Black girl, countering the silent but destructive wish of another who believes possessing the bluest eye might garner her the love and affection she craves.

Justice reverberates through Baby Suggs’ sermon in Beloved, preached at the clearing to the recently freed—by virtue of legal writ or personal declaration—as she admonishes them to love, honor and value themselves, for to do so is the “prize.” In so doing, she empowers them to reclaim the lives stolen from them and to see themselves as beloved.

Justice dismantles the “house that race built,” the one constructed on the idea that our nation’s strength, power and longevity are contingent on its ability and willingness to either “wrest dominion” from those it deems unworthy of its promise, as Morrison writes in A Mercy, or to deny entry to those who seek refuge and the shelter of its bountiful dream.

In the America Morrison imagines—in novels such as Paradise and Home—justice bends the arc of our moral imagination toward paradise, where home is defined as a place in which all its inhabitants feel both “free and situated.”

As she is now a member of that great ancestral throng, justice looks like the legacy of my literary mother.

Seeing justice as faith in action

Justice looks like the most personal commitment one can make to the public good, righteously defending the vulnerable and rightfully pursuing the fulfillment of our highest moral and ethical principles.

As a person of faith, I always have been drawn, like a moth to a flame, to those great men and women who have committed themselves not only to being honest, fair and just, but to those who also have dedicated themselves to doing justice.

When we seek to do good, to be good and to make good, even if and especially when it requires great personal sacrifice, we create the change we desire to see.

In this instance, justice looks like the liberating gospel of Christ in motion. It is what we witness when we turn our revolutionary faith—our inward belief in that most sacred and salvific gospel—outward toward those who need it and speak truth to the powers that threaten human life and dignity.

In the plaintive cries and early quests for freedom so painstakingly captured in the narratives of Frederick Douglass, Harriet Jacobs and Solomon Northrup, I discovered what it means to have hope in the midst of despair.

From the historical and sociological perspectives of W.E.B. Du Bois and Alain Locke, I learned of the spiritual “strivings,” intellectual aims and artistic aspirations of a people wed, not only to the idea of equality, but also dedicated to its manifestation in every sphere of endeavor.

Through the essays and records of Ida B. Wells Barnett, I am reminded of some of the earliest protests against the extralegal, state-ignored and sometimes sanctioned lynchings of Black bodies that lend context and credibility to our current, righteous indignation concerning the police brutality so often visited upon African Americans.

Though Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. may be known most widely for his beautiful “dream,” for those of us who have not forgotten the totality of his message, he always will be remembered for the way he awakened us to the evils of racism, poverty and war.

In the wake of the passing of two heroes of the civil rights era—the Honorable Congressman John Robert Lewis and Rev. C.T. Vivian, an activist, organizer and author—who both carried the baton unwaveringly for human rights well into the 21st century, justice demands we vote, protest and march on as they did until all that remains imbalanced is made equitable.

Be firm in this resolve until justice looks like a new day dawning.

For further reading:

• By Toni Morrison: The Bluest Eye, Beloved, A Mercy, “Home” in The House That Race Built.
• By W.E.B. DuBoisThe Souls of Black Folk.
• By Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.: “I Have a Dream,” “America’s Chief Moral Dilemma.”

Dr. Michelle L. Henry is a professor of English who loves reading, paper-crafting and sharing life with her family and close friends. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

EDITOR’S NOTE: “Justice looks like …” is a special series in the Voices column. Readers will have the opportunity to consider justice from numerous viewpoints. The series is based on each writer’s understanding of Scripture and relationship with Jesus Christ. Writers present their own views independent of any institution, unless otherwise noted in their bios.

You are encouraged to listen to each writer without prejudgment. Then, engage in conversation with others around you about what justice looks like to you.

Click here for more information about the series. Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

I never knew I was Black until I came to America. Growing up in the streets of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, “Black” was how my grandfather likes his coffee. In a country where everyone looks like me, my skin tone never mattered.

My culture did not prepare me for what to expect once we touched down at DFW Airport.

I always will remember my confusion on that first day of school, watching my dad fill in the section marked “race.” Why was the color of my skin important? Why didn’t it ask where I was from?

My parents tried to warn me: “We are new here. Don’t be talkative. Listen, and don’t ask questions.”

So, I never asked; I never spoke. Instead, when asked every year at enrollment what my race was, I checked “other” as a form of silent protest.

Regardless of what I checked, America had no interest in my identity. I was Black.

Black in America is not a color

Black in America is not a color. It is a brand that defines where you fit in American culture. It defines what type of music you supposedly listen to or what kind of lifestyle you’re assumed to live.

Black is the neighborhood you didn’t want to live in, because it is deemed “unsafe.”

Black is not a color. Black is an expectation of mediocrity.

That lesson was taught in schools with more regularity than my math courses. Report card day always came with a bit of shock from administrators who began to see me as an exception to being Black.

To be Black implied aggression in everyday situations. I remember staring into the eyes of my principal after trying to convince her I wasn’t fighting with another student. She responded by saying she couldn’t contradict what a veteran teacher told her. She already had reached her decision.

Church history in America

If you study American history, slavery and racism didn’t just influence American culture, economics or politics. It defined this nation for generations.

History tells us the American church often found itself to be a silent bystander, or worse, an active participant in the atrocities.

The first slaves were beaten six days a week and told to worship the God of their masters on the seventh. Forced into Christianity, and on the receiving end of an evil racial divide, the Black church came into existence. Not by choice, but out of survival and faith in Christ.

The white American church was unable to recognize the imago Dei—the image of God in every living human, including in Black bodies—and therefore persecuted generations of Black Christians.

The political and racial segregation mirrored the spiritual segregation of America. Over hundreds of years, white and Black churches evolved to become completely separate bodies of believers.

Now, here I am, an Ethiopian-American living in the 21st century, expected to attend a Black church. This is what it means to be a Black believer in America.

Sadly, I don’t believe the American church looks any different today than it did in 1850. Every Sunday morning, you can expect Black to mean a multitude of things, but especially a description of where someone should gather with other Christians.

Hope for unity in the church

How can a country be won for Christ by a church that looks as divided as the society it lives in?

The biblical path to justice I see and pray for begins within the church. My hope is every pastor and elder of a predominately white church will look across their city and reconcile with the Black churches around them—gathering and praising Christ together, uplifting one another in perfect love.

My hope and prayer is they will recognize the imago Dei of every Black body and resist the negative adjectives and prejudicial definitions of Black ascribed by the history of America.

There is nothing under heaven that can’t be changed by a unified and transformed church.

Would you begin praying for that today? Would you ask the Lord to make a way for us to unite?

Then, if you are a member of a local church, may I ask you for one more thing? Ask your pastors, elders or other leaders to do the same.

Levi Bedilu is an experienced finance analyst who has worked with multiple Fortune 100 companies. Outside of working in corporate finance, he is driven to proclaim Christ with his wife wherever Christ takes them. They love to serve and speak in multi-ethnic churches and spaces. He is the son of Pastor Bedilu Yirga, senior pastor of Ethiopian Evangelical Baptist Church in Garland. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

EDITOR’S NOTE: “Justice looks like …” is a special series in the Voices column. Readers will have the opportunity to consider justice from numerous viewpoints. The series is based on each writer’s understanding of Scripture and relationship with Jesus Christ. Writers present their own views independent of any institution, unless otherwise noted in their bios.

You are encouraged to listen to each writer without prejudgment. Then, engage in conversation with others around you about what justice looks like to you.

Click here for more information about the series. Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

Justice looks like my bookshelves. My bookshelves at home are full of my favorite books, the ones you grab when you’re trying to remember something, or the ones you grab just for comfort.

My bookshelves also contain photographs of the women in my family who have taught me what justice looks like.

Justice in women’s lives

My mother appears in her wedding dress, looking forward to starting a family. She grew up the daughter of a single mother in Odessa and saw the New Deal bring her family out of poverty. Her mother worked for the Works Progress Administration as a seamstress. One brother worked for the Civilian Conservation Corps, and after World War II, the other went to Southern Methodist University on the GI bill.

She went to the College of Marshall and graduated from East Texas Baptist College on academic scholarships. While growing up, the public schools gave her an incredible education, and she was part of their annual honor tour for seniors, visiting Montreal. She saw the strength of both a government and a church that cared for her family.

My aunt appears in one of the photographs with her Cessna Piper Cub, which she flew with girlfriends beginning in the 1950s, scouring the Southwest in “Powder Puff Derbies.” She traveled and worked and helped to raise her nieces and nephew, marrying when she was 49. Her marriage modeled a partnership, as my Uncle George joined Auntie Laurie and her girlfriends on their trips.

As the head statistician at Blue Cross Blue Shield, my aunt’s sense of justice and fairness tolerated no slothfulness, but much grace.

My daughter is in two photographs on my bookshelves, one in her wedding dress and the other in a blue jean jacket from high school. She’s now a public school teacher, wife and mother of two amazing children.

Her generation has a different sense of justice. Her justice is not just for her children, but for all children. Her justice recognizes the privileges we’ve had as white women.

We all have stories of being hushed in church, of being told leadership is male and God is a man. But my daughter sees even more clearly, past the “benevolent patriarchy” of our church culture into what life is like for others.

“Weathering” of racial discrimination

She has two brothers, and when those brothers were teenagers, I did not have to worry about them being shot by the police if they got in trouble. I may have worried a few times about a call from the school or a police station, but I was not fearing for their lives.

What would it be like to have to worry about them constantly, that they might be pulled over for nothing or for a minor infraction and pay with their lives?

During this pandemic, we are worried and stressed, having to make constant decisions about what to do and what is safe. I’ve asked myself, “Is this some of what life may be like as a Black woman, who experiences years of stress?”

This cumulative stress is the “weathering” of racial discrimination throughout life, having to think, “Is this safe, and is my son safe?”

“Weathering”—a term coined by Arline Geronimus in 1992—explains why infants born to late-adolescent Black women were healthier than those of Black women in their 20s, while the opposite was and still is true in white women.

These disparities are not explained by income or education, yet still exist. Indeed, a middle-class, college-educated Black woman is more likely than a non-Hispanic white woman with a high school diploma to give birth prematurely.”

As Baptists, we often focus on individual sin and salvation, but we also are part of the larger world. Our actions reinforce the social policies that perpetuate the injustice of weathering.

We reinforce it when we want the best schools for our children and merely adequate schools for others. We reinforce it when our children have good health care, but others wait for days. We reinforce it when we ask friends to help our children find jobs, but others go without this social capital.

Galatians 3:28 calls for a more just world, where “there is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

My prayer is, as my mother taught me, that we do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with our God.

Jean Humphreys’ first experience in the Baptist world was going to Camp Paisano as a toddler. She resides in Arlington, Texas. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

EDITOR’S NOTE: “Justice looks like …” is a special series in the Voices column. Readers will have the opportunity to consider justice from numerous viewpoints. The series is based on each writer’s understanding of Scripture and relationship with Jesus Christ. Writers present their own views independent of any institution, unless otherwise noted in their bios.

You are encouraged to listen to each writer without prejudgment. Then, engage in conversation with others around you about what justice looks like to you.

Click here for more information about the series. Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

What if your neighbor’s house was on fire? After calling 911, hearing the sirens blaring louder, coming closer, suddenly to your horror, they stop at the beginning of your block and commence spraying every house instead of the house on fire.

How would you feel regarding such disregard? Disappointed? Marginalized? Horrified? These are putting it mildly. What if the fire department answered your urgent concern with the tepid response that they wanted to equalize resources with other houses?

This scenario is being played out across the country. Peaceful protesters are voicing deep frustration for the high number of Black lives that have been lost due to injustice. There have been too many indications of a system that has gone badly wrong.

A plethora of injustices against people of color dominate the news weekly. What will it take to awaken a sense of urgency to the evils of systemic racism?

“Black Lives Matter” reached accelerated crescendos of “fortissimo” decibels during last summer. People are urgently crying out for social justice now. They are marching with megaphones while speaking truth to power: “Enough is enough!” “We’re sick and tired of being sick and tired!”

The situation is desperate. It is an emergency. The house is on fire!

The Bible’s view of justice

What does justice look like? It looks like imago Dei—all people created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27).

Justice is an attribute of God. God is a God of justice. “Righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne”(Psalm 97:2).

The Bible is replete with references of how people of God must be just and fair in all our dealings with other people made in God’s image.

Notice: Justice calls for action according to a psalm of Asaph: “Provide justice for the needy and the fatherless;uphold the rights of the oppressed and the destitute. Rescue the poor and needy; save them from the power of the wicked” (Psalm 82:3-4).

Where is the church?

So, where is the church? The church cannot be silent while African Americans and other people of color are demanding justice in the face of systemic racism.

The church represents Jesus Christ in the world. Our mission is that of reconciling the world to Christ. We are Christ’s ambassadors (2 Corinthians 5:20).

It is very dismissive of the church to see injustices and respond with callous complacency that “all lives matter.” Yes, they do, but our house is on fire.

We are compassionate Christ-followers. The world is watching our reaction. Action is needed individually and collectively. “Who knows? Perhaps, you have come to your royal position for such a time as this” (Esther 4:14b).

The late 20th century theologian and martyr, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, stated: “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil. God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”

The prolific 20th century theologian, C.S. Lewis, stated, “One of the most cowardly things ordinary people do is to shut their eyes to the facts.”

Seeing value and worth in all people

Justice looks like people who see value and worth in all people. Justice does something about a system that victimizes innocent victims.

Social justice takes Christ’s words seriously in relieving the atrocities hurting “the least of these” (Matthew 25:40).

Mother Teresa was asked once how she served in such desperate conditions in Calcutta? Her answer: “I see the face of Jesus in every child.”

Friends, that is what justice looks like. We must see Jesus in every face. Eric Garner, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, George Floyd and too many others have been silenced unjustly. Their lives mattered.

Reform is demanded to fix a broken system. What about the sanctity of life?

Remember the late U.S. Rep. John Robert Lewis’ impassioned query that awakens our immediate action: “If not us, then who? If not now, then when?”

The Declaration of Independence proclaims, “We hold these truths to be self-evident that, all men are created equal.” The fact is, Black Lives Matter is not about special treatment, but equal justice.

Realize your potential in this urgent matter. The next house that’s on fire could be yours. What would you want others to do?

Jesus’ command—what we call the Golden Rule—is: “Therefore, whatever you want others to do for you, do also the same for them” (Matthew 7:12).

What does justice look like to you?

Dr. Roy J. Cotton retired after serving Texas Baptists for 21 years, first as a church starting consultant and then as director of African American Ministries. Cotton is serving as an independent contractor coordinating the Ambassador Program. He and his wife Inez are parents of two talented sons and proud grandparents of four. The views expressed do not necessarily represent any institution.

Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

EDITOR’S NOTE: “Justice looks like …” is a special series in the Voices column. Readers will have the opportunity to consider justice from numerous viewpoints. The series is based on each writer’s understanding of Scripture and relationship with Jesus Christ. Writers present their own views independent of any institution, unless otherwise noted in their bios.

You are encouraged to listen to each writer without prejudgment. Then, engage in conversation with others around you about what justice looks like to you.

Click here for more information about the series. Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

One of the most perplexing parables about the kingdom of God is found in Luke 18:1-8, where Jesus, teaching his disciples to pray, uses the example of a widow and a judge who can’t be bothered to wake up.

The widow, Jesus tells us, is up against an arbiter of justice who loved neither God nor others, a man asleep to both the origins of justice in the world and to humanity. Jesus tells his disciples to pray like this widow—repetitively, persistently, openly.

Eventually, the widow gets the justice she seeks, the justice she is owed. There is no indication in the parable that her complaint is unwarranted, only that the judge is slow to answer her and, even then, does so out of exasperation. But what is so unsettling about the parable is the judge here is an analogy for God.

Wondering if the judge is asleep

You don’t need to read very far into the Psalms to see this sentiment is close to Israel’s heart. There, God is the one who has promised deliverance and justice, but the question always lingers. Maybe God has forgotten them, put them off, or—worst of all—remains asleep to our claims entirely.

Perhaps exile will be forever, our enemies will swallow us like the grave, and even our memories will be papered over. The gods of security, safety and Mammon have set up shop all around us, and the powers of death and injustice win so frequently. The Psalms know this.

Our complaints for justice are very real complaints, and deserve to be taken seriously, but the arc of justice moves so slowly. We live in a world where bread is needed daily; so, we pray for it daily, but the wheat will not be hurried.

Trusting the judge is awake

I do not think it is the case that God forgets us or loses track of us, but that the nights are very, very long. And in this parable, Jesus makes no move to defend the judge or to apologize that justice is slow in coming to the widow who deserves it.

What is shocking to us is Jesus encourages his disciples to keep asking, and not to be silent: “And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?” (Luke 18:7-8).

The disciples are to be those who, in faith, continue to ask for God to be true to the promises of God, even when it seems as if the judge is asleep. The Psalms knew this well. The people of God keep asking, keep pushing, keep speaking the promises of God back to God.

For God is the only one who can give justice, and God is the one who Scripture tells us will continue to give justice, even when it seems all is lost. Being God’s people means we are the people encouraged to keep asking for it, long after the night has come and those around us would rather we be quiet and go to sleep, as well.

Myles Werntz is director of Baptist studies and associate professor of theology at Abilene Christian University, where he leads the Baptist Studies Center in the Graduate School of Theology. He is the author and editor of five books in theology and ethics, including Bodies of Peace: Nonviolence, Ecclesiology, and Witness (2014). He can be contacted by email at mpw20a@acu.edu. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

EDITOR’S NOTE: “Justice looks like …” is a special series in the Voices column. Readers will have the opportunity to consider justice from numerous viewpoints. The series is based on each writer’s understanding of Scripture and relationship with Jesus Christ. Writers present their own views independent of any institution, unless otherwise noted in their bios.

You are encouraged to listen to each writer without prejudgment. Then, engage in conversation with others around you about what justice looks like to you.

Click here for more information about the series. Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

When Barbara Jordan spoke to the U.S. House of Representatives in regard to the selection of a Supreme Court justice, she said when she read those famous words from the Declaration of Independence—“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among them are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”—she realized those words when written did not apply to her.

She did not qualify by sex, color or background.

Today, we are reminded justice is not available to all based on their race, color or origin.

All Christians should be asking why the Sermon on the Mount does not apply to all of our brothers and sisters.

What we profess vs. what we provide

Our society professes we believe in the rule of law. Due process is provided by law for all, yet we fail to deliver justice to the neediest in our communities. During summer 2020, we witnessed a young man murdered by vigilantes in the middle of the Bible belt and another choked to death at the knee of an officer, both without our beloved due process.

Justice looks far away for the families and loved ones of these victims.

Economic justice is very difficult for the homeless, the immigrant, the felon and anyone different from the majority.

As a judge, I have tried to give justice with a good dose of mercy. I have that responsibility to everyone who comes into the courtroom.

The oath taken by every judge is to be impartial. In each case, I pray for wisdom, search the law and the lawyers’ briefs and try to do justice.

It is my hope we as a Christian community can have a view of what justice looks like in every phase of our lives.

Os Chrisman was a judge in family, probate and district courts in Dallas County for 13 years and a practicing attorney in Dallas for 25 years.

Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

EDITOR’S NOTE: “Justice looks like …” is a special series in the Voices column. Readers will have the opportunity to consider justice from numerous viewpoints. The series is based on each writer’s understanding of Scripture and relationship with Jesus Christ. Writers present their own views independent of any institution, unless otherwise noted in their bios.

You are encouraged to listen to each writer without prejudgment. Then, engage in conversation with others around you about what justice looks like to you.

Click here for more information about the series. Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

The word and act of seeking justice are synonymous with issues surrounding racial inequity, police brutality, mass incarceration and protests plaguing society.

As a Black woman working in a predominately white Christian space during an era of racial unrest, it is an exhaustive effort to unpack the meaning of justice, what it is and what it should look like for my community.

When Bryan Stevenson, the founder of the Equal Justice Initiative, attempted to answer a question about what justice is, he responded, “A constant struggle.” In that response alone, the word justice sounds weighty, heavy with angst about what to do and how to do it.

Moreover, the utterance of the word “justice” illustrates a personal battle about what is right and wrong. To ease the weight the term justice emits, I propose simplifying the concept and its meaning to two words: Just us.

Sounding out the word

Before talking about where justice fits in the context of life, let us start by developing a basic understanding and familiarity with the word itself.

For a brief time as a child, I had a speech therapist assist me with learning to spell and read. I practiced pronouncing each word, then visualizing its context, before adopting the full nature of its meaning.

My teacher repeatedly would say, “Just sound it out.”

Initially, the thought of pronouncing a term I didn’t fully comprehend frightened me. But after hearing the word spoken aloud, silently mumbling the word, then breaking it up into two or three parts, I could visualize it better, becoming comfortable and confident in my ability to say and understand the word.

Following that childhood practice, when I sound out the word “justice,” then say it aloud a few times, I find myself morphing its syllables into a rhythmic chant: “Just us.”

Most recently, I attended my first rally for justice, with a beautiful sea of people from all walks of life melodiously chanting, “No justice, no peace.”

Again, at that moment, the words “just us” rang loud and clear. Justice is about us—“just us.” Admittedly, while the outcry felt empowering and freeing in this solemn climate, I was struck by the overt connotation of the word “justice.” The wordplay caught my attention.

Sounding out the heart

At the heart of justice is relationship—a mutual concern for others.

Justice is not just an act, an end or destination, but a deep feeling, a virtue, a visceral need to connect one to another in relationship, ensuring we all are safe and protected.

I grew up in a family of four siblings. We are so close in age that my mother and father did not permit us to attend events or frolic outside without each other nearby. My parents continuously would say, “It’s just us; you have to stick together.” That sentiment signaled the pressing need for us to take care of one another.

Underpinning the duties of justice is the collective effort by the people to unite behind the elemental meaning of the word—a genuine concern for others.

In the Bible, it is no coincidence that the house of Justus was a place where both the Jews and Gentiles could meet to hear Paul preach the word of Jesus Christ (Acts 18:7).

Sounding out the personal

Fundamentally for me, justice begins with assessing personal feelings about righting wrongs for those within our immediate and extended communities.

In the wake of the murders of Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd, there was an urgent call for justice during 60 days of protests. Simultaneously, there was a deafening silence on the part of justice, particularly from Christian communities who admittedly struggle to find ways to engage in conversation around the topic.

I would attribute the conflicting behaviors to a lack of understanding about the essence of the word “justice.” Notwithstanding the complexities and nuance rooted in our quest for justice, consider my chant, “just us,” as a way to see the humanity in the word.

Justice is purely about us—people standing in the gaps for one another. The late great legal scholar and activist, Derrick Bell, reminded us that, as Christians, our call is to embrace, not exclude.

“We exist only in relation to our friends, family, life partners, co-workers, neighbors, strangers, even in relation to forces we cannot fully conceive of, let alone define. We are our relationships,” Bell said.

Understanding the concept of justice through a much simpler lens of “just us” in relationships with one another is the first step to what the Lord requires of us in Micah 6:8, to act justly and to love mercy and walk humbly with God.

Sounding out the command

Justice is such a big word, often over-conceptualized by people who have benefited from imperfect systems struggling to uphold it. It is easier to enter into a dialogue about justice that results in action toward a more just community when we can simplify its meaning to the relational element of the word.

As we continue the conversation, let us start with a unified understanding that the meaning of justice lies within the word itself. It is just us working together on this arduous journey toward a fair and equitable society.

Be encouraged that justice is just about us here on earth fulfilling God’s greatest commandments: “To love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:37-39).

Latisha Waters Hearne is a doctoral candidate at Dallas Baptist University and an advocate for racial justice. She serves on the board of Project Still I Rise Inc., a community-based, grassroots nonprofit organization focused on academic achievement, mentoring and character development in underserved communities in Dallas. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

EDITOR’S NOTE: “Justice looks like …” is a special series in the Voices column. Readers will have the opportunity to consider justice from numerous viewpoints. The series is based on each writer’s understanding of Scripture and relationship with Jesus Christ. Writers present their own views independent of any institution, unless otherwise noted in their bios.

You are encouraged to listen to each writer without prejudgment. Then, engage in conversation with others around you about what justice looks like to you.

Click here for more information about the series. Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.

August 2017 was a month I experienced like no other before. I was standing in the Fort Worth City Council meeting, where hundreds of citizens came together to ask the city to join a lawsuit against SB4—a “show me your papers” law passed in Texas.

We did not win the votes necessary. Nonetheless, I saw lived out that day the arduous work of justice for our neighbors.

In that auditorium were people of diverse ethnicities, races, faiths and socioeconomic backgrounds. The majority were not immigrants, and many had no direct family members who were immigrants. You would think they had no personal motive to be there. The law did not affect them personally, since it did not infringe on any of their rights or privileges.

The room was filled with Latinos, African Americans, Jews, Muslims, white people, Catholics, Christians, affluent and vulnerable people, immigrants, students, professors, professionals and leaders of many fields. All of them were advocating together on behalf of our undocumented immigrant neighbors.

We did so, because we wanted our neighbors to be restored, made whole, reconciled, complete. In other words, we want them to experience the shalom of God.

I remember one Black neighbor that day who said he stood with the undocumented community, because they were his neighbors, and he hoped one day the immigrant community also would stand with and for him.

That day, I witnessed a glimpse of hope for our neighbors.

What shalom looks like

Lisa Sharon Harper says it so well in her book The Very Good Gospel: How Everything Wrong Can Be Made Right:

“Shalom is what God declared. Shalom is what the Kingdom of God looks like. Shalom is when all people have enough. It’s when families are healed. It’s when churches, schools, and public policies protect human dignity. Shalom is when the image of God is recognized in every single human. Shalom is our calling as followers of Jesus’ gospel. It is the vision God set forth in the Garden and the restoration God desires for every relationship.”

Shalom is to be made whole. When we see our neighbors are in need, suffering or facing injustices, we have compassion, and then we act on empathy by seeking the shalom they need to be made complete.

Shalom in Jesus’ ministry

As I look to Jesus’ ministry, I continually see his desire for shalom in the lives of those who have been oppressed and marginalized and who are vulnerable.

We have the story of the woman who hemorrhaged for 12 years. Jesus stops to heal her while on his way to heal the daughter of a powerful, influential and religious man. The daughter dies while Jesus stops to ask who touched him. He offers the woman shalom, restores her health and reconciles her to her community and himself.

In another story, Jesus goes out of his way to bring wholeness—shalom—to a Samaritan woman who feels abandoned, abused and insufficient. Jesus offers safety, permanence and restoration. Then she goes back to the same community that shunned and abused her and extends the good news of Jesus to them, sharing the shalom of Christ with them.

Jesus intercedes for the life of a woman who is about to be stoned to death, calling out the powerful oppressors in her life and their unjust religious interpretation of the law. He acts on justice and sets her free, extending shalom.

Jesus tells the Jewish leaders the story of a Samaritan man who he declares is a good neighbor, because he shared shalom with someone he did not know.

We can extend shalom

Justice looks like extending shalom to my neighbor. Followers of Christ are called to the ministry of reconciliation, the ministry of shalom or justice. Each of us is called to seek the wholeness, safety, permanency, completeness and restoration of our neighbors.

It’s the body of Christ recognizing our Black neighbors’ lives matter and calling on our communities and leaders to amend our laws and police practices that burden our neighbors.

Extending shalom is the church living by Mathew 25 and offering a place of safety and permanence to immigrants and refugees who seek a new home, because we believe in the sanctity of life for people, whether they are born in our country or in other countries.

Justice will require us to listen, empathize and sacrifice time, money, resources and comfort so others who do not profit from the same privileges as we do also can have access to privileges like equitable education and health.

Justice begins by lending the microphone and giving voice to the marginalized, poor and vulnerable to share their narratives and be empowered to lead in the restoration of justice in their communities.

Three years ago, justice was not served as I wanted it to be, but I saw a community—many of whom I had just met for the first time—advocating for the shalom of our immigrant community. It brought hope to my community that many who may not look like us or have similar stories are working to extend shalom actively to neighbors they do not know.

How are you extending shalom to your neighbors?

Anyra Cano is the coordinator for the Texas Baptist Women in Ministry, academic coordinator of the Christian Latina Leadership Institute, and youth minister at Iglesia Bautista Victoria en Cristo in Fort Worth.

Click here to read the full “Justice looks like…” series.