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.

Thirty-eight years ago, on a Sunday morning, I led a revolt.

My family and I were members of a small Hispanic Baptist mission in North Central Texas. Our mission church held the worship services in the chapel of the “mother church,” the Anglo church.

The Hispanic children of the mission had been instructed to play in the toddler play area only. There was a fence that divided the smaller play area from the big playground. On that Sunday morning, I decided to open the gate that divided the playgrounds and invited my friends to join me in the revolt.

My reasoning was simple. It was not fair that we should not be able to play on the big playground. Most of my friends said we should not go to the other side, and yet, I convinced them it would be fine.

Our time of fun on the playground ended abruptly when a church leader from the Anglo church noticed us and came outside to tell us to get off the playground.

I never forgot his words spoken with such anger: “Don’t you know you kids belong on the other side of the fence!”

Even as an 8-year-old, as my friends and I ashamedly got off the playground and walked back through the gate, I knew in my heart this was not the way God intended the church playground to be used.

What made us any different than the other kids? Why was it not equitable for the Hispanic children to play on the church’s playground like the other children?

The reason for inequity was based on our ethnicity and skin color alone. I knew our painful experience with systemic racism probably hurt God’s heart more than it did mine.

For me, justice looks like a church playground with children of all backgrounds and ethnicities playing together equitably, celebrating childhood. I know this probably is not how others would say justice looks, but for me, it does, because this image is very personal.

Justice is action

Justice is action, and many times, justice needs to be corrective action against systemic sin that has been ignored or simply just tolerated. Justice not only calls out for equality, but for equity as well. Equity is the action part of justice that pushes for fairness.

The prophet Micah calls believers to “do” this type of justice, which makes it more than just lip service. Christians no longer can ignore systemic racism. We must engage it and correctively eradicate it, especially when it is in the church.

Growing up, I never forgot that painful memory, and I knew it was wrong based on God’s word and his love for all the nations. This event should not have happened on a church playground, and I was set on actively correcting this experience. I needed to do justice.

God led me to pursue a Ph.D. in the School of Intercultural Studies at Biola University. I wanted to learn how to bring cultures and ethnicities together through the gospel and his church and, yes, even through a playground.

In my studies, I learned what I already knew in my heart: God despises systemic racism and all discriminatory actions. Xenophobia and nationalistic ideology are the prime sinful catalysts for racism and discrimination.

Racist discrimination should never be a part of those “called out” from the former way of thinking and acting to be the church. As the ekklesia, we are called out from our sinful patterns to experience a transforming power over our sin nature and to be a community that welcomes all ethnicities in Christ.

Seeing the results of action

Before finishing my doctorate, I was the pastor of a multiethnic church in Southern California. On one particular Sunday morning, as I rushed into the church, God turned my attention to the playground. It was then I saw children of all backgrounds and ethnicities playing together and having fun. It was a great site to see.

What I saw that morning was justice, and any hurt and pain I harbored, because of my previous painful experience on a church playground, melted away in such a powerful moment.

At Wayland Baptist University, I am the associate dean of the School of Christian Studies, and I teach ministry students biblical truths and methodologies to continue to bring cultures and ethnicities together.

I want my ministry students’ future churches and their playgrounds to be places of God’s welcoming acceptance. This continues to be my revolt for corrective equitable justice.

Dr. Joe Rangel is the associate dean of the School of Christian Studies and teaches Christian ministry at Wayland Baptist University. He most recently served as executive pastor at First Baptist Church in Weslaco. He is married to Sara, and they have one amazing son, David.

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.

As if dealing with COVID-19 hasn’t been stressful enough, the unfortunate and ill-advised actions of a few police officers once again have ripped the bandage off the ever-seeping wound of racial injustice.

The wound now is gaping open, with pain and blood spilling all over every news outlet and venue in the world. As a result, age-old questions about justice—what it is, what it is not and what it looks like—have resurfaced at the forefront.

My experience seeking justice

I have been a lawyer for 41 years, and more than half of that has been as a Texas prosecutor. During that period, I have worked for five different district or county attorneys, having been involved with cases ranging from traffic violations to capital murders.

I have appeared before innumerable judges, gone against innumerable defense attorneys—and was one for a short period—and have worked with a whole host of police officers, state troopers, deputy sheriffs and officers from a plethora of other agencies.

I even spent two years in Afghanistan mentoring and training judges and prosecutors.

I have been immersed in the sea of justice for more than half of my life. Yet, here we are, asking again, “What is justice?”

That is of no small importance to a prosecutor, as our “duty,” per the Texas Code of Criminal Procedure, is not to obtain convictions, but to see “justice is served.”

Defining justice

Black’s Law Dictionary defines justice as “the constant and perpetual disposition to render every man his due” and “the conformity of our actions and our will to the law.”

Clear as Texas crude, right?

Webster offers a clearer framework: “The quality of being just, impartial, or fair.”

But, that word “fair” also links us to a couple of concepts we, as Christ-followers, reflect from him—grace and mercy.

As a seminary student years ago, I learned a good rule of thumb for these two concepts. Grace is giving what is not deserved, and mercy is not giving what is deserved. This brings it home for me.

And speaking of justice and mercy in the same breath, isn’t there something in Micah 6 about that?

Justice in the eyes of the law and Law

Where I work, justice means doing the right thing, the right way, the first time, and doing no harm—exonerating the not guilty, convicting the guilty with competent, credible evidence, and securing a sentence proportionate and appropriate to the crime, yet tempered with grace and mercy.

Justice is using the law to hold people accountable for hurting others and to restore victims to the position they enjoyed prior to the crime, all the while attempting to perform these duties fairly, consistently and with no regard whatsoever to the accused’s race, gender, age, sexual orientation, economic status, civic position, religion or profession.

Even police officers are not immune from prosecution for criminal behavior.

I believe the Author and Finisher of our faith expects no less of me.

Randy Dale is an assistant district attorney for McLennan County and an adjunct professor of business law, criminal law and criminal procedure at the University of Mary Hardin-Baylor. He also is a member of the First Baptist Church of Temple.

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.

Sadly, sometimes it is easier to contemplate what justice doesn’t look like versus what it does.

As director of an organization fighting to combat human trafficking, there unfortunately are many occasions when we fail to see justice prevail.

• When a young teenager takes her own life, because she no longer could bear to live with the atrocities she experienced.
• When we have difficulty getting into some schools or churches, because those in charge don’t want such a difficult topic discussed from their podiums.
• When a person takes advantage of another because of their lack of knowledge, education or perhaps impoverished situation.
• When an individual chooses the lifestyle of “selling” an individual multiple times a day for their own profit and greed and, more often than not, is never held accountable.
• When companies knowingly use force, fraud or coercion to traffic individuals for their labor needs.

Every individual at risk of being trafficked deserves the opportunity to have the knowledge, awareness and education to help prevent him or her from becoming victimized.

Pervasiveness of human trafficking

Our organization combats trafficking—both labor and sex—throughout the state of Texas, and sadly, all these are instances that occur throughout Texas, in multiple towns, cities and communities on a regular basis.

Regardless of where you live, human trafficking is present, and it’s real. Texas consistently ranks among the top states in the country for trafficking.

Recent studies show, in the state of Texas, there are an estimated 313,000 victims of human trafficking, 234,000 victims of labor trafficking, 79,000 of which are children and youth. From the smallest of cities to the largest of towns, no one is immune.

Maybe some are runaways. It shouldn’t matter.

Maybe some are members of the LGBTQ+ community. It shouldn’t matter.

Maybe some are white, Black, Hispanic or a member of another race. It shouldn’t matter.

Maybe some are impoverished. It shouldn’t matter.

When people are treated unfairly by others, we must join in a fight for justice on their behalf. If we do all we can to eradicate both sex and labor trafficking and stop the suffering of anyone enmeshed in this horrific industry, then we can say justice has occurred.

What justice means

Justice means we have to have stricter laws. Justice means we have people getting involved with legislation and helping change the laws to hold individuals accountable for their actions and treatment of others.

Justice means we go after those buying the sex and the companies using force, fraud or coercion to traffic individuals for labor, and hold them accountable with stringent penalties.

Justice means we care for all people, regardless of their income level, race, sexual preference, home situations or any other factors.

Justice means we put our heart and soul into fighting for the good of everyone. God hears the cry of the oppressed, and he certainly wants the wrongs made right. We, as Christians, must engage with one another and love and fight for all.

I had a wise pastor who once said the overriding principle of the Bible is “God is love; love one another.”

If we as Christians can live out this edict, justice will prevail for all.

Cynthia Aulds is the director of the Coalition to Combat Human Trafficking in Texas. Before that, she was missions minister at Sugar Land Baptist Church. 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.

In the days and weeks after a tumultuous transfer of U.S. presidential administrations, pastors and public servants around the country asked themselves, “How do we calm the ideological storm raging in America?”

What sermons can we preach or speeches can we give to heal a divided country, divided communities and divided congregations?

I even have heard commentators from conservative media outlets wonder, with a hopeful tone, “Can President Biden bring healing to this hurting nation?”

Admittedly, I also want peace. I want calm. I want healing. I want government and even church to be boring again. But peace, calm and healing cannot precede justice.

If we attempt to skip the Christ-inspired work of caring for the impoverished, providing food for the hungry, ensuring health care for the sick, and justice for our brothers and sisters of color, we are not simply divided; we are delusional. That is not how the equations of peace and justice work.

No justice, no peace.

Since the beginning of the pandemic, rates of food insecurity in the United States have doubled.

My colleague Elaine Waxman, senior fellow at the Urban Institute, found while the initial round of pandemic relief improved the situation somewhat for people who had lost their incomes, “by fall 2020, more than 1 in 5 adults were living in food insecure households, about the same proportion as in the early weeks of the pandemic.”

Sadly, but predictably, these hardships weren’t spread evenly among all Americans. Waxman and her team found food insecurity rates among Black and Hispanic/Latinx adults were roughly double that of white adults.

We also know from research those experiencing food insecurity are among the most at risk for COVID-19, job losses and underemployment. They are bearing the weight of our broken social systems in the United States.

The church’s part in justice

What role can congregations play when the challenge is so daunting?

One of the primary answers to this question is faith formation. Transforming any of the challenges amplified in recent months—from food insecurity, health inequities made increasingly visible during the pandemic, or structural racism—we need to make straight theologically crooked paths that allow our congregations to remain silent or indifferent to injustice.

We need to come to terms with the uncomfortable truth: Many of our congregations and denominations provide a theological framework that allows these injustices to occur. This will require us courageously to set aside worries about how our message of repentance will be received, and simply preach it.

The biblical witness is clear: Injustice is sin. If people do not have enough food in a world that produces more than enough food for everyone, an injustice is present.

Structural injustice is structural sin. If particular populations bear the weight of poverty and hunger more than others, then that is a structural injustice. Any of us who have spent more than a few minutes in a Baptist Sunday school class know the answer to sin is repentance.

Walk with those who suffer

This Sunday, when we pray, “Give us this day our daily bread,” we pray not only for ourselves and our families, but also for those who are hungry.

We commit ourselves to walk alongside those suffering from injustice as an act of solidarity. We commit to walking alongside them in and through their suffering, and to work with them to make the crooked paths of injustice straight to end their suffering. This is faith formation informing societal transformation.

Churches do not have to walk this path alone. Organizations and individuals in our communities have been dedicated to feeding the hungry and healing the sick for some time. They already have the tools to effect change. But they need our help and partnership.

Churches can provide volunteers and resources. They can grow fresh produce on their properties to assist these organizations in bending the world towards justice. In turn, the justice community can educate and inform congregations how to put their faith into action.

This is how we bring about justice and make room for peace and ultimately heal as a nation.

Jeremy K. Everett is the executive director of the Baylor University Collaborative on Hunger and Poverty and the author of I Was Hungry: Cultivating Common Ground to End an American Crisis.

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

A podcast interview with Jeremy can be heard here.

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.

A friend recently asked me, “How can we, as your white brothers and sisters, promote racial reconciliation in these hard times and beyond?” I appreciated the question.

I believe my answer, in short, is justice, diversity, equity and inclusion.

Justice, diversity, equity and inclusion look like arrows to me that point us to racial reconciliation. Racial reconciliation is a gift birthed from justice.

A benefactor to that would be a world with a greater commitment to rejecting racist cultures and the promotion of anti-racist cultures.

Right now, people are “punch drunk,” as they say in the boxing world, by the hard blows of the health, economic and racial pandemics.

Some are clueless or insensitive, because they have not been directly impacted by the loss of friends or family, loss of jobs, loss of safety, loss of life or loss of income. We are continuing to watch two Americas at war at the same time.

Time to face racism

The time has come to discuss racism and not to run from the necessary tension. It’s uncomfortable, messy work, but necessary work, Christ-inspired work, redemptive work.

A work that should require a lifetime commitment, and one that should force each of us to “die daily” (1 Corinthians 15:21).

We must take a look at racism—the original sin of America—and its consequences.

We must sit in grief with one another, hear one another and find solutions that don’t dilute the pain of the past, but encourage a culturally competent future.

We must look at who we hire and how many faces and backgrounds look the same and how many that look differently are welcomed. We must ask ourselves: “Are underrepresented people valued and welcomed, and do we see ‘the proof in the pudding’ on our rosters, websites, org charts, images we promote and on our payroll?”

We must hire all people and have processes and policies that ensure it.

We must be open to dialogue about what diversity, equality and inclusion means and what justice looks like to others.

We must also be careful not to skate around conversations on social justice in the gospel, in the church, in relationships, in the workplace and community.

A seat and a voice

Many want racial reconciliation divorced from social justice. It’s not possible and neither is it biblical.

“He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).

Justice must be wrapped up in humility, repentance, lamentation, forgiveness, shared experiences, shared opportunities, equity and reconciliation.

Justice is not one-sided. It includes all people at the table with equal and distributed power.

One writer said, “Diversity is having a seat at the table; inclusion is having a voice at the table; and belonging is having that voice be heard.”

To me justice, diversity and inclusion provide a table, a seat, a voice and an opportunity that promotes reconciliation.

A question toward justice

What are practical ways we can impact change right now by being just?

By inviting minority leaders to the table. Are women at your table? Are Asian, African, Indian and Islander leaders at your table? Are leaders with disabilities at your table? Are African American and Latinx male and female leaders at your table on every level? Are people at your table that do not share your political, social or theological views?

When the answer is, “Yes,” that’s when justice is in view.

It is not a moment. It is a movement. It’s not a sprint. It’s a marathon.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, “We must forever continue our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline.”

Dignity and discipline—those are the keys to the future that open the doors of justice to me.

May we not be at the right place with the wrong key.

Rev. Cokiesha Bailey Robinson is the associate dean of student diversity and inclusion at Grace College and Seminary in Winona Lake, Ind. 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.

“The Lord works righteousness and justice for all the oppressed” (NIV, Psalm 103:6).

“God makes everything come out right; he puts victims back on their feet” (The Message, Psalm 103:6).

Christian Scriptures give great hope for the oppressed and victims of oppression. No matter which translation of the Bible we read, it is clear in Psalm 103:6 that God knows about the oppression and the resulting victimization.

The Bible is full of admonitions to followers of the way of Jesus about our actions toward the oppressed and victimized. We are to treat all people with love, dignity, honor and justice, because we all are made in the image of God.

Our actions should flow naturally from a heart filled with God’s love. Learning to see people as God would have us see them, with loving actions toward and on behalf of all people, comes with a commitment to do this hard work with the Lord. That commitment, I have discovered, is a life-long journey.

Learning about justice as a child

As a child, I never heard about justice. In church, we studied about social issues, but justice was not a concept ever taught to me then.

During my elementary school years, I grew up in Pittsburgh, Pa. Over the July 4 holiday week, my father’s company always would close, and we would drive to Patmos, Ark., to visit my father’s family, who were farmers in this rural area outside of Hope, Ark.

One summer, as we drove through Mississippi, we stopped to get gas and for my brother and me to run around the grassy area by the gas station. I was thirsty and went to the water fountain to get a drink of water. As I got to that public water fountain, a little boy who was Black came up to me and said I could not drink from this water fountain because it was only for people who were Black.

Thinking I had done something terribly wrong, my father told me he wanted me to understand it was not right, that the water was the same and that the little boy could drink from the water fountain designated for people who were white, and I could drink from the water fountain designated for people who were Black. There was absolutely no difference in the water, and it was for everyone.

I remember saying to my father it was not fair if the little boy or I got in trouble for drinking from those water fountains. That occasion was my first experience with justice and injustice.

Learning about justice as a teenager

Then in high school, two different events occurred. One of our church friends got pregnant and was not married. In church, we were taught not to have anything to do with people who had “sin” in their lives. If we did, their sin would rub off on us. So, sadly, instead of surrounding this teen friend with our support and love, we basically left her alone.

At the same time, we had a member of our girls’ basketball team have a crush on one of the other girls. No one knew she was gay and, again, we basically left her alone.

In these examples, we were acting in ways we understood Christians should act. We were so very wrong. We definitely were not treating both of these girls with honor and dignity, nor were we showing them any type of Christian love. These were experiences where justice should have been practiced. These were my first experiences with what I now sadly refer to as a gospel of exclusion.

Studying justice in all of life and the Bible

My high school and college years were spent in the turbulence of the 1960s, with racial unrest, assassinations of our leaders, free-flowing drugs, disrespect for authority and for the U.S. flag, and so much more.

Cities being burned and people protesting for just employment practices, better housing, better education and more opportunities were a part of daily life. It was during those days justice became something I began to study.

Our inhumanity toward each other was profound. As I studied and observed our human behaviors toward each other, I began to understand everything we read in the Bible is aimed at focusing on treating each other with the deep love God has for all of us as God’s children.

It was then I began to understand it is most important we learn how to walk alongside each other without labeling people, but being supportive, encouraging and loving in the ways God asks of us. I was starting to understand what justice meant in a relational way through the examples Jesus gave us.

Learning just what justice demands of me

Our actions show what is in our hearts. When I first went to Philadelphia as a career missionary, I had no idea what it was like to be as economically poor as this community was. I had no idea what it was like to be kicked out of the church because I was not married and had multiple children. I had no idea what it was like to be sexually exploited. I had no idea what it was like …

What I did understand was, all my life, I thought I was sharing with others about God’s love. What I came to understand was I was sharing God’s love with only those people who were just like me. Through the patience of those marginalized in multiple ways, I learned the gospel truly is about inclusion, not exclusion.

What God wanted me to do was to be working with all people, with no qualifiers. That was a major revelation in my life.

The Scriptures tell us the parable of putting new wine into old wineskins (Mark 2:22). God needed my heart to be emptied of the old stuff before he could fill my heart with the newness of God’s ways I now understood, and that I am continuing to understand.

Only through that lengthy experience was I ready to do what God called me to do in loving people and working for justice. Justice demands all of me.

Gaynor Yancey is a professor in Baylor University’s Diana R. Garland School of Social Work and Truett Seminary and director of the Center for Church and Community Impact. She is a member of First Woodway Baptist Church in Waco. 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 am tired, and I need you. Since COVID-19 has ravished life as we knew it, it seems as though the racial and socioeconomic plight of Black and brown communities has been placed front and center. Not because we’ve done it, but because COVID-19 has shown it does not care which box one checks on the 2020 census.

Sad to say, COVID-19 isn’t the first pandemic Black and brown communities have been fighting. Black and brown people have been fighting racism more than 400 years. For more than 400 years, Black and brown people have struggled to have their humanity seen. When it is seen, it is usually seen in a negative, twisted light.

For years, Blacks have fought for a piece of the “American Dream,” only to be told we will never obtain this alleged dream, because our hair is too coarse and our skin has been kissed by the sun.

From the day I could remember, my parents had to raise me to understand I am a Black child who will grow up to be a Black woman in a world that may or may not accept me. Can you imagine having to grow up with the weight of your people resting on your shoulders?

My parents would go on to say: “If you are accepted, make sure you open the door for others. And if you aren’t accepted, continue to lean into your faith, because it is in your faith you will learn how to cope with being Black in America.”

Did I mention, I am tired?

Why I am tired

I am tired of those who co-opt Black culture but refuse to speak up for #Blacklivesmatter, because the sanitized version is #Alllivesmatter.

I am tired of being seen, but not heard.

I am tired of having to fear for the life of my husband and daughter.

I am tired of fearing for the life of my father, my father-in-law, my brother-in-law, my uncles, cousins, nephews, neighbors and parishioners.

I am tired of seeing the hashtags and t-shirts of a life cut short at the hands of reckless law enforcement.

I am tired of being the token Black woman so a company can check off their list the box for diversity and inclusion.

I am tired of being followed in a store, because someone of ivory hue believes I am there to steal.

I am tired of my credentials scrutinized and the perception of my people and me dramatized.

I am tired of wondering, “Will I be next?”

Did I mention I am tired?

How I need you

I could go on and on about my racial fatigue, but I will refrain. Instead, I will tell you I need you.

I need you to facilitate race-related conversations with your circles of influence.

I need you to ask questions and expect answers.

I need you to ask your congregations, denominational leaders and others to pray and also to pair actions with their prayers.

I need you to ask why there aren’t any Black or brown bodies in the room.

I need you to ask yourself, “When was the last time I read or cited the work of a Black or Hispanic theologian or author?”

I need you to ask yourself, “When was the last time I celebrated Black History Month or National Hispanic Heritage Month?”

I need you to address the racism within your circle and ask yourself: “Why do I feel this way? Where did these feelings of hatred come from? Why am I insensitive to the plight of others? Why do I have malice in my heart?”

And I need you to ask the ultimate question: “Why am I so afraid?”

I need you to have these conversations. After all, I and many others will never be afforded this conversation, because I am “too emotional.”

I need you more than ever. I need your voice. I need your persuasion. I need your influence. But most of all, I need you.

As you seek God in what you should do, I ask you to remember my eternal fatigue and your brothers and sisters of ebony hue.

Above all, I ask you to remember the humanity of all people, not just some.

Pastor Kan’Dace Brock is the lead pastor of The Message Church in San Antonio. 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.

Seemingly competing demands to defund the police and to promote law and order agree on the same goal—to have justice.

Justice can be in the form of strict enforcement of rules, adjusting policy relating to demographic outcomes, providing equal distribution of resources, or mitigating harm done to a person. Perhaps viewing justice like a healthy relationship can lead to accomplishing each of these forms.

Justice requires discerning intent

There are times when an on-duty and uniformed police officer goes to the register to pay for a meal at a restaurant, only to be told the person ahead of the officer already paid for the meal.

There are times when a person lowers his or her window at the stoplight to get the attention of an officer in his patrol car, just to express gratitude and appreciation for the service he provides to the community.

There are teachers who deliver notes from students communicating admiration and praise for police service.

Police officers are trained to reject anything of value or benefit, because those things may be attempts at bribery. In fact, police are trained to look for criminal intent and to protect themselves from the bad acts of bad actors.

The normal case study involves something bad that happened to a police officer leading officers after that event to protect themselves by preparing and positioning themselves to avoid the possibility of that bad thing happening to them. Police officers even watch videos of these events.

Just as often, experienced officers coach new officers that not everyone is out to get them.

Types of officers

David Wood, who spent time in prison, explains why some people hate cops in a video posted to YouTube in connection with his ministry Acts 17 Apologetics.

Speaking about prison guards, Wood describes five types of officers:

• one who shows up to merely to collect a paycheck;
• one who is relaxed on enforcement in order to be popular;
• one who genuinely believes the offender made a mistake and works to solve problems and extends grace;
• one who wants to modify others behavior through swift, certain consequences; and
• one who genuinely is corrupt.

Wood says the corrupt officer is the only one remembered among all other encounters with police. He also says trying to resolve problems with a corrupt officer’s conduct can be frustrated by systems that appear to protect the corrupt officer.

Good and bad cops

The officers Wood describes are people who can be found in any occupation. One truth to be noted is good cops hate bad cops, and the good want to get rid of the bad as quickly as possible, and often do.

The action to get rid of bad conduct is more aggressive in law enforcement than any other place of employment of which I am aware. Police officers commonly are more worried about what actions administrators take against them than what someone in the public might do to them during a service call.

Seeking justice in law enforcement

The effort to seek justice requires dialogue and action. To resolve conflicts, we often must give up something to build a bridge of compromise.

To manage people we love, we often have to forgive and extend grace. Like the father in the parable of the prodigal son in Luke 15:11-32, we should value the people, even when they have wronged us.

Let’s stop focusing on how we have been wronged, and focus on the good we do to each other. It’s a natural trait to be angry and dwell on the bad, but it is godly and more constructive to extend grace within meaningful boundaries. When we do that, justice will look like a healthy relationship.

Kirk Stowers holds a Master of Arts in Ministry degree from Stark College and Seminary, is a member of Travis Baptist Church in Corpus Christi and serves as board president of the Council on Alcohol and Drug Abuse of the Coastal Bend. Stowers has been employed full time in law enforcement since 2002 and presently serves on patrol with a municipal police department serving a population over 350,000. 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.

The white church in America is learning racism is not merely about our individual actions and decisions.

As a civil human being—more so as a child of God—we know better than to be racist, than to do racist things. In fact, in our effort not to be racists, we work hard to talk as though race doesn’t exist. Being colorblind was the way to be nonracist, we were taught. I suppose it meant if we didn’t see race, we couldn’t perpetuate it or contribute to racism.

Beverly Daniel Tatum introduced us to the idea that being nonracist is not the end goal for racial justice. Even if my actions and decisions are wholesome, faithful and just, I am part of a world in which racism affects the Black people in my life. Racism is in our schools, our nonprofits and our churches—even the best ones, even the ones seeking racial justice.

Racism is about systems

Racism, therefore, is not simply about my actions; it is about systems that are predominantly white, that have not embraced Blackness, and as a result, remain oppressive, exploitative and marginalizing.

Nice white people are still complicit in racist structures. And, the nice white places we love still hurt Black people. Here, Black voices are on the margins, Black leaders are asked to do more than their fair share to help white people manage race relations, and Black brothers and sisters never experience our ideal when white family members make the decisions and call the shots.

Antiracism is required

As a result, antiracism is what is required of us, and it requires more from us than being nonracist. Antiracism requires working actively against the racism of our structures in a society where the white way is the right way, even when unintentional.

Antiracism requires a cultural humility to listen to and learn from the Black community. Doing so will elicit feelings that must move from white guilt to godly grief, as Jemar Tisby teaches. From that grief, we are able to join in lament.

Then, we are able to move to the love of neighbor God asks of us and join in the work of liberation. This liberation is a genuine freedom for Black people from white systems and toward the possibility of mutual, meaningful relationships.

Justice, not reconciliation

These efforts are not about racial reconciliation—which is a myth, since Black and white Americans never have had a relationship that can be reconciled—but about racial justice.

Racial justice is work for fair treatment and equal outcomes for Black people and people of all races. Racial justice is a reflection of God’s desire that all people be treated with dignity and respect. Racial justice is the recognition we all bear God’s image and likeness with equal status.

The essence of God is within each Black child of God, and we therefore must highlight how Black lives not only matter, but are essential to life together in Christ. It is easy to say, but it requires work.

The good news of the gospel of Christ for all people requires nothing less of us than this work of antiracism for racial justice. The work of God within us calls us to see God in others. Through cultural humility, we can see other people as the expert of their experiences.

The work of God within us calls us to see the racism still present all around us. Ignoring this keeps us culpable in perpetuating racism; our silence is violence.

And, the work of God within us calls us to see antiracism is the journey toward the kingdom goal of racial justice.

Jon Singletary is dean of Baylor University’s Diana R. Garland School of Social Work. 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 is a child looking towards a horizon of open opportunities and various paths to reach his or her God-given purpose. Justice is a child who knows they are growing in an environment where his or her best interest is essential to caregivers. Justice is a child who can be accepted and loved for who he or she is. Justice is a child who can love himself or herself just as he or she was made in the image of God.

Looking at justice as a child

When I hear “justice” as a first-generation Hispanic who has lived in the United States since age 13, my thinking is shaped by growing up in a border town.

These impoverished border communities know of justice as something only wealthy people can obtain. Justice is a commodity with a price. Corruption and justice are tied together for the benefit of those in a position of power and authority.

In this environment of injustice, you soon learn to survive and navigate through these systems. These systems are set to ensure as you grow, you know your place; you know your limitations and what is meant to be for you.

For example, there are sectors, or colonias, of housing where you are marginalized. Schools and people will ask, “Where do you live?” Your home address will tell a story of your socioeconomic status and ethnic origin.

Growing up in a border town, you knew the solution to reach justice was to walk and cross the Rio Grande just two miles north to the land where you can begin the pursuit of happiness. Growing up on the border, you knew the country you were born in would be an essential piece of your life to find purpose, justice and hope.

Seeking justice as a youth

In my experience coming to the United States in my teen years, I felt, finally, justice was attainable, regardless of my socioeconomic status and ethnic origin.

It is imperative to understand when you come from poverty, any opportunity is a steppingstone to achieve purpose, justice and hope. To understand this last sentence, you must see it from the perspective of living where there is no hope and no justice; from there, any hope and opportunity is better than no hope and no justice.

I soon realized while there was more justice, hope and opportunity, there is a past in this country of injustice against African Americans and immigrant minorities. As an immigrant, you soon realize there is a limited expectation of who and what an immigrant represents.

While many can reach legal immigrant status, the profiling of your ethnic origin will be with you as a shadow.

Important questions

How do we find justice, and how do we create an environment of justice?

Justice, according to the Scriptures and in its Hebrew context, has three main roots: (1) to punish what is not just, (2) to make straight anything that is not according to standard, and (3) to act according to the moral standard by which God measures human conduct.

According to Romans 2:13, it is not the hearers of the law who are just in God’s sight, but the doers of the law.

There is justice that comes from our Lord and King, and there is a justice expected from our Lord and King.

If a person finds justice, such a person has found purpose and meaning to his or her life. Justice is what took Jesus to the cross, and justice is what was given to each person who believes. He made straight what was twisted. He redeemed the believer with justice.

I believe creating an environment of justice begins with each person considering one’s ways in light of the moral standard of the word of God.

Some important questions are: How can we claim justice if we are in spiritual bankruptcy? How can we claim justice if we keep rejecting the biblical standard?

To make anything right, there must be a standard base. If we reject any biblical moral standard, then what is the standard?

Without a biblical foundation, the standard becomes like that in the time of the judges: “In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Judges 17:6, 21:25, NKJV).

Ricardo Brambila is pastor of Primera Iglesia Bautista Dallas and director for Buckner Family Hope Center in Bachman Lake. He grew up in the Rio Grande Valley and now resides in Dallas. He has been married for 17 years to Janeth Brambila, and they have three children: Laura, Eli and Caleb. 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 does justice look like? The first step of justice is sharpening our ability to see.

Jesus’ own miracles so often involved healing the blind. In these acts, Jesus repeatedly reminds all of us we have a blind spot, and God’s justice requires two kinds of seeing—eyes of conviction and eyes of compassion.

God gave me eyes of conviction when I heard the plaintive cry of a 6-year-old Black child, screaming over and over: “Nothing’s wrong! Nothing’s wrong!”

He saw an X on a paper, and in total frustration, he looked up at the teacher and screamed, “Nothing’s wrong!”

He was right. The X was the letter in the word “fox,” but he thought the X on his paper meant his work was all wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he screamed with tears about to fall.

He woke me up to the experience of children who have been told they are wrong so often by age 6 that they know the letter X means, “You are bad,” even if they don’t know it is a benign letter in the word “fox.”

Seeing in a moment

Eyes of conviction turn inward at a moment of insight, that moment when you realize something was there all along, but you didn’t see it. Your expectations, your assumptions, your privilege, your need, your sin—it all kept you from seeing … until one moment of revelation.

Some people say, “Now, I’m woke.” Others say: “I never knew that before. So, that is what it feels like to be told you are bad over and over. That’s what it feels like to be on the receiving end of prejudice.”

Justice is a place where understanding meets action. Justice looks like waking up. Justice looks like seeing. Justice looks like admitting you were behind the curve and need to catch up. Justice means marshaling my personal power—whatever that is—and putting that power shoulder-to-the-wheel for the sake of a common and bigger good.

Seeing with compassionate wholeness

Justice looks like compassion, not the greeting card version, but the place where I will relinquish the passionate concern I carry around for myself and my self-preservation and trade it in for sheer joy in someone else’s delight.

I think of Jesus stopping mid-step in a bustling crowd and saying, “Someone touched me,” and then turning amid the business of the day to the outstretched hand of a bleeding woman, crawling along in shame.

“You are healed,” he said.

“You are healed” was his compassion. It was her delight, and it was an example of God’s justice.

Jesus restored God-given health, putting her body in order. Justice is making people whole, making lives whole, restoring human qualities of dignity, opportunity, flourishing, joy.

Seeing the many forms of justice

Justice is the keys to a Habitat house in a strong hand. Justice is decent legal representation or a competent court appointed special advocate.

Justice is a second chance. Justice is time spent with someone else’s problems and someone else’s pain. Justice is sometimes eked out over a thorny path of details.

One hot night, I felt justice after 18 hours of wrangling with the payday lender to free a night nurse of predatory debt. Her words were, “Thank you.” Her experience and mine were rescuing justice from the jaws of a predator.

Justice and righteousness, conviction, compassion—justice looks like something from God, because when you are done, you are depleted, and you also are restored.

Suzii Paynter March is CEO of Prosper Waco, a nonprofit addressing education, health and financial security from a perspective of addressing equity issues. March is a former director of the Texas Baptist Christian Life Commission and executive coordinator of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship.

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