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.

Many of us have contemplated justice more in 2020 than we have perhaps in our entire lives. In these days of pandemic, striving for racial equality and economic ruination, we are asking ourselves questions about justice and what constitutes justice. These are questions we should have asked long before now.

What is fair? What is valid? What is peace? What is genuine respect for others? What is right? What is wholeness? What is hope? What is justice?

Bryan Stevenson, author of Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption, stated: “I think hopelessness is the enemy of justice. I think injustice prevails where hopelessness persists.”

What hopelessness looks like

Bombs fall each day, and the older sister wonders if her siblings will come home that day from school. One by one, they leave their country, not knowing where they will go. Hopelessness.

The oppressive government strangled individual rights; so, he spoke up. He was imprisoned. Hopelessness.

A gang showed up at her door and threatened to kill her entire family if they were not out of their house by the next day. They left. Hopelessness.

They live on about a dollar a day. When pandemic crippled the economy, the absence of resources was immediate. Whole communities unable to feed their families. Hopelessness.

She has a Ph.D. from an American university. Yet, she fears going to purchase a movie ticket from the ticket booth because of how she is treated when she speaks with an accent. Hopelessness.

She was sexually abused as a child. At age 15, she did not think she was worthy of anything other than selling herself. There were those who preyed on that vulnerability. Her loss was their gain. Hopelessness.

He is willing to work and work hard. He wants to feed his family. Others capitalize on his desperation by forcing him to labor in their restaurants. Hopelessness.

Hope involves us

In Mark 2, we read of the paralyzed man. He was brought to Jesus for healing. The friends in this account sought wholeness, hope, peace, fairness and more for their friend. We find here actions we can imitate so we, too, can be instruments of justice.

In verse 3 we read, “Some people arrived, and four of them were bringing to him a man who was paralyzed.”

“Some people.” Only four were carrying him, but there were more than these four who sought what was right and fair for the paralyzed man.

It will take our collective action and our collective commitment for justice to prevail. The paralyzed man could not seek wholeness for himself. It took not one, two, three or four, but some people.

A pastor friend of mine recently pointed out there are no gender designations here. People brought him to Jesus.

What compelled these people to bring this man to a crowded room? What was their planning? What were their hopes?

We are the hands, feet and mouths of justice for those who are “paralyzed.” Too many are not able to seek justice. We seek it for them.

This group worked together to help the paralyzed man have the opportunity for wholeness. We must do it together in harmony and unity. Hope, not hopelessness.

Hope involves access

In verse 4 we read, “They couldn’t carry him through the crowd, so they tore off part of the roof above where Jesus was.”

Access is life. Whether it is racial equality, economic stability, health care, gender or age vulnerability, education, safe drinking water, peaceful communities—without access, change cannot occur.

This is one of the most obvious disparities of the recent months—those who have access and those who do not.

Not everyone has had access to health, equality or protection from economic ruin. As each of us experience these turbulent times, we have been forced to realize fragility is no respecter of persons.

Stability, strength and healing come with access to systems of justice. These friends knew the paralyzed man needed to get to Jesus. They had to think creatively and make some very bold moves.

It was bold to think they could get the man there. It was bold to think they could get him up on the roof. It was extremely bold to cut a hole in the roof. It was bold to lower the man in front of Jesus, demanding Jesus give this man the attention they knew he deserved. Hope, not hopelessness.

Hope involves faith

Verse 5 says Jesus saw their faith. He saw the faith of the friends and said to the paralytic, “Your sins are forgiven.”

Grace and mercy were extended to the one paralyzed, because the friends had faith. Faith their friend would experience justice and wholeness. Faith Jesus would act. Faith that healing would occur.

They had the kind of faith that picks up the one unable and goes above and beyond to see access is gained. Hope, not hopelessness.

What does justice look like? It looks like hope.

How are we to counter the hopelessness that is the enemy of justice? By working together in harmony and unity, by acting creatively with boldness and with faith justice will occur.

Rev. Nell Green has served as a career missionary since 1986 in Dakar, Senegal; Miami; North and South Carolina; and Brussels, Belgium. Currently serving with the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship in Houston, Green ministers to the needs of refugees, helping them resettle and providing educational programs and social entrepreneurship. She partners with various agencies to raise awareness about and prevent human trafficking. 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 parents crying tears of joy because they no longer worry about daughters raped and sons conscripted into organized crime. It looks like the smile of a teacher realizing no one will kill her for helping someone learn to read.

Justice looks like the hands of a laborer who can provide for her family again. It looks like a head bowed in prayer, now free to follow the dictates of conscience.

Unfortunately, justice like this is difficult to glimpse—much less view in fullness—these days.

Justice looks like immigrants to the United States—allowed to seek asylum here because ours is a nation of immigrants. It looks like refugees who never intended to seek shelter within our borders, people who love their homelands. It looks like victims who fled extortion, rape and murder.

Justice looks like bodies descended from generations of farmers, whose livelihoods have been decimated by climate change. It looks like the worn knees of people who prayed long and hard before they fled to America. Justice looks like the happy faces of full-bellied children, safe beside their mamas and papas.

Looking harder for justice

You don’t see justice like this as often as you used to. U.S. government policy pushes it away. Once, people whose love for family compelled them to flee their homes could seek refuge in this country. They arrived legally, asking only to state their cases, receive fair hearings and be granted asylum—safety, opportunity, justice.

In January 2019, the U.S. Department of Homeland Security implemented the Migrant Protection Protocols—known as “Remain in Mexico.” The policy requires non-Mexican immigrants seeking asylum to wait out the process in Mexico, confined to some of the most dangerous cities in North America.

To make matters worse, U.S. immigration officers’ jobs changed. They switched from seeking to understand asylum seekers’ stories—often involving abuse, oppression and terror—to looking for the tiniest technical reason to thwart the asylum process. To slam shut the door of safety, opportunity, justice.

Injustice looks like mischaracterizing others

Asylum seekers have been maligned as rapists, thugs, gang members and opportunists—people who want to come to the United States illegally, freeload off our country and take Americans’ jobs. While the thousands of people who seek U.S. asylum may include a miniscule number of immigrants with malevolent intent, this is an outright lie about almost all the refugees seeking entrance into “the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

They already are brave, and they seek freedom. What but love and courage would compel parents to uproot young families and leave home for a shot at living in a strange land?

The organization I lead, Fellowship Southwest, works alongside pastors all along the U.S.-Mexico border to provide food and shelter to asylum seekers who remain in Mexico. We know them. We know their stories. All things being equal, they would not have left their homelands unless they felt it were absolutely necessary.

Reasons for seeking asylum

They seek U.S. asylum for various reasons, including:

• Gangs—organized criminals—rule their countries. Mothers bring their children, because daughters have been raped and sons killed for refusing to join the gangs. Fathers bring their families, because wonton violence has made providing for and protecting them impossible back home.

• Extreme poverty has made even mere subsistence impossible in their homelands. This isn’t about greed and wanting bigger and better. Thousands of refugees come from families who have lived on and worked the land for generations. Agricultural degradation caused by climate change has robbed them of that privilege. They left so they could work even menial jobs to raise their children.

• Persecution has pushed them out. Some refugees come here because their minority religious faith has made them targets of abuse. Some come because their love for democracy has caused them to be considered “enemies” of their own countries. Some have been industrious, and their success—financially minor by U.S. standards—made them victims of extortion.

These are decent, hard-working, kind people. Their industry and courage and belief in our country will translate not only into safety and security for themselves, but into a stronger, braver, more resilient America.

The prophets taught us to care for and protect the stranger. Jesus said we demonstrate our love for him by how we treat “the least of these.” If we do not seek immigration reform and a fair and open asylum process, we turn blind eyes toward justice.

Marv Knox is coordinator of Fellowship Southwest, a multicultural, ecumenical Cooperative Baptist Fellowship network across Arizona, New Mexico, northern Mexico, Oklahoma, Southern California and Texas. He was editor of the Baptist Standard from 1999 to 2017.

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 have been blessed to be the father of four wonderful children: three sons—all preachers: Johnny, Joseph and Jordan; and one daughter, Lambreni.

Joseph and Jordan, the two youngest are four years apart. During their upbringing, it was not uncommon for Joseph—who my wife described as an instigator—to take advantage of Jordan.

Jordan often came to me to intervene. What he sought without knowing it was justice. He needed me to “make it right,” not just to acknowledge the wrong, sympathize or pray. His entreaty was for me to use my authority and ability to “make it right.”

That is what justice looks like to me—make it right.

Justice in the Old Testament

The Hebrew word used in the Old Testament over 200 times for justice is “mishpat.” It is an attribute of God.

“Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne; mercy and truth go before your face” (Psalm 89:14).

Since justice is God’s nature, he requires it of his people. “He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).

Mishpat has several meanings in the Old Testament. Tim Keller, in Generous Justice says: “Its most basic meaning is to treat people equitably. It means acquitting or punishing every person on the merits of the case, regardless of race or social status. … It is punishing wrongdoing as well as giving people their rights, and it is giving people what they are due.”

Four-hundred-year absence of justice

Jordan’s youthful demand was symbolic of our times. In the aftermath of George Floyd’s murder in Minneapolis, the cry for justice came across our nation from Black people, white people, Latinx, Asians and Native Americans.

Demonstrations took place in over 30 cities, with signs that read: “Black Lives Matter,” “No Justice No Peace” and “Liberty and Justice for ALL,” demanding America to “make it right.”

The time has come for our nation to reckon with the denial of and lack of mishpat toward Black people, which commenced with the tenet of white supremacy that established a cruel, inhumane, yes, sinful enslavement of Blacks brought from Africa lasting 246 years.

When slavery ended, those freed were denied justice through a system of “neo-slavery” through the Black Codes, betrayal during Reconstruction, the KKK, lynching, Jim Crow, segregation and overt discrimination lasting another 89 years.

The next period witnessed the end of segregation and the monumental Civil Rights Movement with its Civil Rights Act and Voting Rights Act. This period of 68 years perpetuated injustice with increased poverty, failed public education, housing discrimination, redlining, racial profiling, police brutality, mass incarceration, an unjust criminal justice system, gerrymandering, pay day loan establishments, voter suppression, poor health care and the resurfacing of white supremacy. These periods total 403 years of justice denied.

What’s expected of the church

When my son came seeking justice, it would have been wrong for me to tell him, “Get over it,” or “I do not want to hear anything about this,” or “I have not done anything to you.” There can be no mishpat with indifference to suffering.

In Old Testament Israel, every city had a gate where decisions were made for the welfare of its inhabitants. These decisions were economic, relational and political. The overarching principal for all decisions was mishpat.

“Hate evil, and love good, and establish justice in the gate …” (Amos 5:15).

The church of Jesus Christ should be the primary advocate for justice in America. Justice was a biblical concept before it became a political one. During this season of reflection and evaluation, the church can and should distinguish itself as modern-day gatekeepers for what the last phrase in the Pledge of Allegiance promises:—“liberty and justice for all.”

A plan leading to justice

To be gatekeepers for mishpat, it is essential that the Baptist General Convention of Texas, along with its White pastors and churches prioritize “making it right.” Develop a plan that leads to justice:

1. Hold a summit on justice and racial equality.
2. Listen to, learn from and love victims of injustice.
3. Preach on justice consistently—biblically, not politically.
4. Speak out against injustice whenever it occurs.
5. Partner with a Black church whose resources are substantially less than yours for kingdom expansion.
6. Partner with a public school whose student population is laden with poverty.
7. Practice justice throughout all organizations, establishing inclusion, diversity, equality, and equity as policy.
8. Pray for change.

Dr. John D. Ogletree Jr., senior pastor of First Metropolitan Church of Houston, has held many leadership roles with the executive board of the Baptist General Convention of Texas, including president of the African American Fellowship of the BGCT and moderator of the Union Baptist Association. Dr. Ogletree serves as board president for Cypress-Fairbanks Independent School District and is in his fifth term as a board trustee. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

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

Correction: “Desegregation” in 13th paragraph corrected to “segregation.”

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 an Arab evangelical Christian. I also am an Israeli citizen by birth. I speak Arabic, Hebrew and English fluently and was raised in a dual traditional Catholic/Greek Orthodox household.

When I came to Christ in my early 20s, I chose to worship with an evangelical Christian church, further distorting my complicated identity. My passport says, “citizen of Israel”—by definition a Jewish state—but my ancestry is fully Palestinian.

My physical features are undoubtedly Arab. My beard and darker skin are hallmarks of my heritage. Intense airport screenings, public searches and hours-long questioning are the norm whenever I travel.

I grew up simultaneously accepted and rejected across multiple aspects—accepted as a citizen of Israel, but rejected as equal to a Jewish citizen; accepted as Arab, but rejected as a true Palestinian, because I am not Muslim; accepted as Christian by the tiny core of evangelical believers of the Holy Land, but rejected by the Catholic and Orthodox churches, because evangelicalism is considered a cult. The list goes on and on.

Justice in the Bible and Jesus

What exactly is justice? The word “justice” is ascribed to the idea of fairness and moral righteousness. It demands both equality and equity and often is associated with the biblical ordinance of an “eye for an eye.” In simple terms, it levels the playing field.

The Bible is abounding in instruction on the seeking and implementing of justice for all, with special emphasis on the marginalized and oppressed. We are told to “give justice to the weak and the fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute” (Psalm 82:3) and “learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression” (Isaiah 1:17), among others.

For believers, Jesus represents the ultimate expression of justice, with his sacrifice allowing all people access to God the Father.

Segregation in Israel and Palestine

Growing up in Israel and the Palestinian Territories, my earliest memories center around an unspoken understanding of segregation.

Arab children were not allowed to learn in the same school as Jewish children, but nevertheless were required by law to learn to speak Hebrew.

Outrage, frustration and hopelessness were common emotions as we learned of family members and friends who were forced from their ancestral homes, stripped of jobs, denied exit and entry rights from their own towns and indiscriminately terrorized and imprisoned.

We practiced “bomb drills” and experienced a war every several years.

Everything about our lives as Arabs was separate, but certainly not equal. We had our own hospitals, markets and civic organizations separate from our Jewish neighbors, but nevertheless overseen by them and completely at their mercy.

We existed as a sort of second-class citizen. On paper, we belonged; in reality, we were shunned at worst and uncomfortably tolerated at best. The divisions flowed down into our towns and villages, with Muslims and traditional Christians living in a tenuous relationship strengthened in its collaboration against Jewish persecution and weakened by internal mistrust and suspicion.

Growing up, I had limited interactions with non-Arab children and formed no real relationships with non-Arabs until I reached high school. An astounding feat when you consider how densely populated the nation of Israel is, with Arabs and Jews living practically shoulder to shoulder.

Western church blind to Arab Christians

When I became a follower of Christ, I joined a tiny group of believers representing less than 1 percent of the population of Israel. It was then that I began to experience an altogether unfamiliar and deeply unsettling type of injustice.

I could accept the fact Jews, Muslims and Orthodox Christians would not welcome me. What I was unprepared for was the rejection by a significant portion of the Western church and its alarming silence about the ongoing human crisis playing out daily in the decidedly un-Holy Land.

Many American evangelical Christians cheered and applauded as nonbelieving Jewish authorities razed the homes of Palestinians, some of whom were their spiritual brothers and sisters in Christ. Millions of dollars from evangelical churches have been raised and distributed to build settlements on Palestinian land and arm its Jewish residents against their Arab neighbors.

When asked to help support Christian Arab churches, an overwhelming majority chose instead to continue to pour support into the secular nation of Israel. Eschatological interpretations—such as end times theology—took precedence over every other biblical tenet, including the spread of the gospel.

Atrocity was constantly overlooked by many of my Western brothers and sisters in the pursuit of advancing the second coming of Christ. Arab believers largely were ignored and lumped in as “enemies of God’s chosen people” because of their race.

Churches that regularly supported missions to nations around the globe bizarrely abandoned their support of mission to the Holy Land and concentrated instead on funding the very entities actively seeking to destroy the Christian presence in the land. How did this represent biblical justice? Or any type of justice?

Justice and unity in Jesus

I am a walking representation of the absurdity of the Holy Land. I am both Israeli and Palestinian. As a resident of the Holy Land, I am a physical recipient of the extraordinary legacy of the life of Jesus. But even more, as a follower of Christ, I am a spiritual recipient of the justice for which Jesus died and rose again.

Ironically, the very name under which we are called to unify has been used to endorse the worst discord. The land Jesus walked is a boiling cauldron of strife and injustice.

How can I truly seek justice? How can I encourage other believers to seek justice on behalf of my fellow Arabs?

The world is poised to unravel, and as the old falls away, I pray the new with which we replace it will be a better, stronger reflection of the truth we are called to represent. Only in unity with one another will we be able truly to seek justice.

R.E. works with Baptists in Texas as a cross-cultural mobilizer to equip churches for effective cross-cultural ministry to people of Middle Eastern background and heritage. His full name is withheld due to security issues. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

R.E. was recently featured in our ‘On the Way’ podcast. Click here to listen to the episode featuring him.

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

EDITOR’S NOTE: The author’s bio was updated to clarify the scope of ministry.

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. 

Last summer, I taught the course Ministering in the Latino Context, which covers many aspects of Latino culture and its implications in ministry.

Among the class, there were four Black students. I learned from listening to their stories that many of the social and racial injustices Latinos suffer in this country have similar tenors with other minorities’ experiences, not only in the African American context, but also in all the subcultures of this nation.

Imperfect and perfect justice

Indeed, the drums of social and racial discrimination have been beating louder in the heart of American society in recent days. The truth is we always will be looking to improve our system of justice, and this will be an unending journey.

Recent events that have ignited the social and racial agendas are ample evidence that our concept of social justice is far from perfect. Clearly, it is an incomplete, adulterated and imperfect human system.

The different manifestations and expressions of unconformity about social racism reveal only the tip of the iceberg, the reality of which communicates a desperate need to get closer to racial reconciliation in different parts of the world.

At the same time, we must never forget all human systems of justice, at their best, still are far from the perfect justice imparted by God in his kingdom.

In the same way human laws are far from perfection, the system that administrates the application of those laws also is imperfect. Thankfully, this is not the case with divine justice, since God’s law is perfect, and he administers his kingdom in accordance with his justice. Both God’s law and justice are perfect.

The biblical call has not changed: “Hacer justicia y amar misericordia”—“Do justice, and love mercy” (Micah 6:8). As Christ’s followers, we know seeking first God’s kingdom and his justice comprise the foundation of this journey. It is our responsibility to search for his will to be done on earth as it is in heaven, since it is only in his will that justice finds its perfect fulfillment.

Three biblical terms for justice

In both the Hebrew and Greek Scriptures, justice is a virtue with particular prominence in the commandment of loving our neighbor (Leviticus 19:18).

Mishpat (מִשְׁפָט) is a Hebrew term that gives a restorative sense of justice from a legal viewpoint—as used in Micah 6:8 quoted above.

At the same time, tzedeq (צֶדֶק)—seen in Deuteronomy 16:20—is a concept of social justice and solidarity with the more vulnerable that gives value to their dignity.

In the New Testament, the Greek term dikaiosuné (δικαιοσύνη) is seen as a virtue that belongs to God, and citizens of his kingdom ought to seek it (Matthew 6:33).

These three terms for justice are spread throughout Scripture as essential in the fulfillment of God’s will.

Embodying kingdom justice

As Christ’s disciples, we need to listen to the words and follow the steps of our Master. Jesus did much to bring down the religious, cultural, economic, racial and political barriers within and outside his context.

In Kingdom Ethics, David Gushee and Glen Stassen rightly assert, “Kingdom is something we do, not just wait for.”

Kingdom praxis, such as justice, healing, racial reconciliation, community building, and deliverance, are part of this endeavor Christians need to present as the biblical response to the different forms of social injustice.

We are not to be conformed to worldly systems, but are to be transformed in our mind—and hearts, in the Hebrew context—to “act justly and to love mercy” toward our neighbor in its different biblical expressions—mishpat, tzedeq and dikaiosuné.

How many Vanessa Guillens and George Floyds still exist in our world? How many of us are willing to heal those wounds, to bring the presence of Christ among those people?

Living justice where you are

As a Latino, my call is not only addressed toward those discriminated against because of their skin tone or accent and the social injustice Hispanics commonly suffer as immigrants or marginalized people in the barrios—Spanish-speaking neighborhoods.

As a follower of Christ’s example, my call is to act opposite of every kind of injustice within and outside my context, starting with my own oikos—family or home. Similarly, what can you do in your oikos to minimize the social injustice around you?

For now, as we do our best to get closer to the ideal of divine justice, let’s claim together: “Que venga pronto tu Reino Señor”—“May your kingdom come soon, Lord” (Matthew 6:10).

Dr. Tony Miranda is the president of the Hispanic Baptist Convention of Texas, the campus pastor and director of graduate programs at Stark College and Seminary, and the pastor of Primera Iglesia Bautista Robstown. He is married to Daleth Miranda, and they are proud parents of three girls: Zoe, Noa and Maya.

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. 

“… let justice roll down like waters,
and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (Amos 5:24).

I was on a call recently with a group of women involved in ministry. Some are ministers. Others are teachers. Several are in leadership roles at their churches.

As we discussed our issues serving in the church, one of the ladies asked a question about the challenge of being perceived as angry and the stereotype that accompanies the perception of a woman who speaks up.

I have been wrestling with this idea of anger. As a society, we are more comfortable with rage and other manifestations of anger, like hate, than we are with displays of righteous anger, which Jesus demonstrated.

In the Gospel of Matthew, we see Jesus upset with something he witnessed. He saw the house of God being used for something other than it was intended.

“Jesus entered the temple courts and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves. ‘It is written,’ he said to them, ‘My house will be called a house of prayer, but you are making it a den of robbers’” (Matthew 21:12-13).

Jesus exhibited righteous anger. He did not stand back and watch injustice occur. In that moment, he did not just speak up; he did something.

Many would describe his anger as righteous anger. Righteous anger is a response to the mistreatment of others and to sin.

Righteous anger speaks out

In this season when righteous anger not only is needed but is critical, much of the church has remained quiet, refusing to speak out on behalf of those who are part of the body of Christ.

As we witness racial injustices against Black Americans, there has been a deafening silence from pulpits and congregations across our country.

I am reminded of a parable in Luke 15. “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent” (Luke 15:4-7).

Jesus is not saying the 99 sheep are not important, but when one is lost and needs to be reunited and returned to the flock, it is important that we find that sheep and bring it back into the fold.

Love at the core of God’s will

At the core of justice is God’s will and an understanding that without love, we are like clanging cymbals (1 Corinthians 13:1). We create noise that continues to divide and separate the church. Our lack of love could be the very thing driving away those to whom we are called to serve and minister.

1 John 4:20-21 says: “Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen. And he has given us this command: Anyone who loves God must also love their brother and sister.”

Right now, justice looks like the righteous anger of Jesus.

Right now, justice looks like reconciliation and repentance and restoration.

Right now, justice requires speaking up on behalf of those who have been separated from the body of Christ because of racism and discrimination.

Right now, justice is love for those who do not look like us or live the way we do.

I pray we begin to live and embody the Lord’s prayer: “Your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

Dr. Froswa’ Booker-Drew is a member of the board of directors of Buckner International; former national director of community engagement for World Vision, U.S. Programs; and is vice president of community affairs and strategic alliances for the State Fair of Texas. She is a member of Cornerstone Baptist Church in South Dallas under the leadership of Pastor Chris Simmons. 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 a public school teacher, an adoptive mom and a sister of a woman with Down syndrome. I am a Bible-believing woman with a desire to fight for every person to know Jesus’ love and to love him in return.

Special education

Growing up, I watched my parents advocate for my sister’s education. Quite literally, they fought for her right to be taught how to read.

The public school system thought Angela needed to be taught social skills, but they didn’t believe she could learn to read. My parents believed differently, and Mom would sit in ARD meeting after ARD meeting, advocating for her child’s right to be taught how to read. (ARD stands for Admission Review and Dismissal, which determines a child’s placement in or release from special education.)

As a public school teacher today, with a passion for enabling children to learn and grow in the least restrictive environment, this blows my mind. Did those teachers forget Angela needed to read a menu, a street sign as she walked home from the park, a label or price tag on a shirt?

I am not naïve. I know she’s not going to read Tolstoy. But reading is a part of living life. Justice for Angela included learning how to read. Angela needed an advocate to fight for her.

Adoption

In high school, I had my first personal look at adoption when my music minister’s sister adopted a little girl. I knew I would be a part of that world, someday. At age 32, someday arrived, and I became a licensed foster single parent.

After the privilege of fostering five little girls over seven years, I adopted 12-year-old Mia. She is now 13 and a joy of my heart. I would love for her to stay innocent, but I can’t allow her to stay innocent and still be prepared for this world.

When Mia first came into my home more than two years ago, people asked me if she “was an illegal,” because of her Hispanic heritage.

She has gorgeous, thick, dark brown hair that will do anything she wants. Her huge smile with white flashing teeth makes me smile, because it’s bubbling with joy. And, I’m not worried about her like I would be if she was Black. But, I do know she will encounter racism, and we talk about it regularly. Each time a Black man or woman has been killed, we talk about it again.

It is my job to educate her, to encourage her to stand up for others, to be prepared when someone acts in a threatening way toward her because of her gender or ethnicity or both. I said “when,” not “if.” But I don’t feel like it’s enough.

How do I, as a white woman with white privilege and wealth privilege—and that’s coming from a single mom who is a teacher—talk with my Hispanic daughter about racism, knowing she will experience it, but not as badly as a Black friend, and that she needs to be able to stand up for herself and others? I don’t have the answers. All I know is we have to have the conversations.

Justice for Mia includes a loving, safe home and a forever family. Justice for Mia, and all children of minority ethnicities, includes having hard conversations. Our children need an advocate willing to do difficult things.

Public education

I have taught in public schools for 18 years. There have been times when parents and I worked as a team, because they did not know what to do to help their children grasp a difficult academic concept or learn social skills or have strong character qualities.

There are times when I sat in ARDs and handed tissue to parents processing information they knew was coming but was still hard to hear. There are times a test doesn’t show what I know a child can do.

Justice for our children means someone is willing to fight for their best. Our children need an advocate to fight for them.

In Proverbs 31, King Lemuel’s mother taught him well: “Open your mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy.”

We cannot remain silent. We cannot stand by inactively. We must speak up, and we must stand up when someone—anyone—needs us to advocate for them. That is what justice looks like to me.

Alyssa Ross is a public school teacher and advocate for children from hard places. She has been a member of Citizens Church, previously The Village Church Plano campus, for almost eight years. 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. 

If Old Testament theologian Walter Brueggemann is correct in defining justice-making as figuring out what belongs to whom and giving it to them, then we must support universal education for all children.

Education provides the ability to name God’s world. As the first human did at the feet of God in the wonderful creation story recorded in Genesis 2, discovering and naming our world is the enterprise that makes us fully human. In order to “be fruitful, multiply, replenish the earth, and subdue it,” we must engage in this labeling and categorizing project.

As any learner and teacher knows, humans do not “have dominion” over any reality until and unless we understand it, label it and identify it. Such activity constitutes our humanness. It distinguishes us from the rest of the natural order.

Being human is in a name

In Genesis 2, this naming is listed with two other activities. First, the human is placed by God in a garden of provision with that marvelous command, “You may eat.”

Then, at the end of the chapter, the human is introduced to another human, at which magical moment he exclaims, “At last, bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh.” In an ingenious flourish, God commands the human to “cleave” to the other human, thus establishing the gift of relationship, marriage, family. The gift of love.

Long before Abraham Maslow theorized his famous hierarchy of needs, the word of God outlined a similar dynamic order in explaining human motivation and behavior. First, our physical needs are primal and primary. Second, language and learning—the naming impulse—is necessary for us to advance to a fruitful subduing of the earth. Third, love and the quest for self-awareness and self-identity is the highest, noblest impulse of humans.

Education is essential for both human sustainability and provision on one hand, and self-actualization and discovery on the other. This is why justice—what belongs to whom—looks like quality education for all children everywhere, a provision only secured if accepted as a universal human right and provided as a necessary public trust.

Public education and the social contract

There simply are not enough personal human resources, nor is there enough philanthropic human motivation, for education to be left to private enterprise. If education is to be extended equitably to all children regardless of class, race, gender and religion, it must be secured and provided by the public.

In our confused season, when the very word “public” suffers much suspicion, what this means is everyone in the community invests in the education of everyone in the community.

Public education is integral to the social contract we make with one another as citizens. If we “hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal and endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, among them life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” then we must—by logical extension of this conviction—provide equal education for all.

When our forebears launched the American experiment 244 years ago, they knew the only hope for sustaining their revolution in human affairs would be for all their fellow citizens to be as educated as they were. Thus, they began a conversation about education provided by public tax dollars.

Some decades later, in the 1840s, that conversation became implemented in policy, first in Massachusetts. By the latter part of the 19th century, every state constitution had a statute calling for mandatory education paid by the public.

Naming the gap

We have a long way to go in making this institution of American life truly just and equitable for all children. Because local tax dollars, chiefly through property taxes, underwrite the costs of public schools, all too often a child’s zip code determines the quality of that child’s education.

While state and federal law demands equity—namely, that publicly provided education must be uniformly executed regardless of the economic level of the community—we have fallen far short of realizing that lofty goal.

Furthermore, because public education serves the sector of the body politic least likely to advocate for their own interests—children—we have seen public school funding has not kept pace with our children’s educational needs.

Tragically, we now have powerful forces seeking to demonize public schools as “failed,” to divert their already depleted funding to underwrite private schools through school vouchers, and to privatize them for the financial gain of a few.

These unjust policies subvert the purpose of public education by making it a commodity for only those who can afford it, rather than a social good for all.

What does justice look like? Great public schools for all children, the crown jewels of our nation and neighborhood.

Charles Foster Johnson is founder and executive director of Pastors for Texas Children and co-pastor of Bread Fellowship in Fort Worth.

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 universal, personal and contextual all at the same time. By contextual here, I mean “Baptist.” For Baptists to ask what justice looks like requires “looking to Jesus the author and perfecter of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2).

Justice looks like treating every person as you would treat Jesus. It moves beyond cosmetic niceness and providing hospitality for the worthy poor. The King of kings takes the place of the poor and unwanted and frames Christian views of justice.

Jesus’ last teaching (Matthew 25:40-46) before the passion story (Matthew 26:1-27:66) defines justice as radical hospitality. It moves beyond a sense of hospitality for the worthy.

The most compelling metric for justice remains how we have treated the least of these (Matthew 25:45). Our position on mass incarceration looks different if we picture Jesus in prison. Our position on immigration looks different if we see Jesus as a migrant. Our position on women looks different if we see Jesus as a woman.

Jesus does not soften the blow for those who miss this metric (Matthew 25:46). Jesus makes clear the Christian community is moving into a time of reckoning (Matthew 25:31-39).

Justice looks like the good Samaritan

I often hear preached the story of the good Samaritan (Matthew 22:34-40; Mark 12:28-31; Luke 10:25-37). It is part of nice people’s gospel.

A young lawyer comes to test Jesus with a trick question, “What must I do?” In some ways, the lawyer asks, “What do justice and salvation look like?”

Jesus provides an orthodox response drawn from the Scriptures of the Jewish people: Love God (Deuteronomy 6:5) and neighbor (Leviticus 19:17-18).

The lawyer presses Jesus with the question, “Who is my neighbor?”—a question that challenges Christians still today.

Jesus responds with a story about a survivor of a violent crime. Three characters have the opportunity for justice and love. Only one responds correctly.

The preacher then segues into, “Go, and do likewise.” By that the preacher means, “Extend generous hospitality to the survivors of violence.” Such a sermon overlooks how Jesus transgresses social norms.

We like to think, “Do what the Samaritan did.” Jesus, rather, asks the believer to be a Samaritan.

When Jesus, through his work on the cross, becomes despised for our salvation, he defines justice. It is more than generosity; it is an act of relinquishing privilege.

Justice looks like Simon of Cyrene

Justice looks like a character we often ignore. Simon, who carried the cross of Christ, was from Cyrene in northern Africa in what today is eastern Libya. He was not a Samaritan, but he carried the cross of Christ (Matthew 27:32).

Simon of Cyrene was played by two well-regarded actors—Paul Robeson in the play Simon the Cyrenian (1920) and by Sidney Portier in the movie The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965). The playwright Ridgely Torrence and the filmmaker George Stevens wanted to invite viewers to imagine an African presence in early Christianity. Their selection of Robeson and Portier, respectively, indicates their attempt to make the acceptance of an African presence in early Christianity more acceptable.

The good Samaritan and Simon of Cyrene both gesture to a justice rooted in the cross of Christ. The theologian James Cone in his book the Cross and the Lynching Tree makes clear the connections between the spectacle of lynching in the United States and the crucifixion of Jesus. The cross was the lynching tree of Jesus.

Justice looks like choosing the lynching tree

The thousands of women, children and men lynched did not choose their fate. The purpose of the spectacle of lynching was to imprint into the imagination of the community the power of the empire in the time of Jesus and the power of white supremacy in the America of the 19th and 20th centuries.

But even in the festival of blood that constitutes a lynching, God can make a testimony of justice on the horizon. When Jesus says to his disciples, “Take up your cross and follow me, (Matthew 16:24) his invitation is to the lynching tree.

Justice looks like treating every person as if that person was Jesus. That kind of radical hospitality likely leads a Christian to a lynching tree. The world thinks justice leads to progress and niceness.

Instead of niceness and progress, Christians and Baptists hope for resurrection and God’s redemption of the universe.

Dr. Stephen Reid is professor of Christian Scriptures at Baylor University’s Truett Theological Seminary. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

NOTE: The paragraph about casting Simon of Cyrene in a play and movie was added after publication.

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 one talks about the language of justice in the Old Testament, there are terms directly translated as “justice” or associated concepts, and there are those that create a platform upon which the concepts of justice rest.

Where justice begins

All discussions of justice and how humanity treats humanity begin, continue and end with the central concept of humanity being created in the “image of God” (tselem elohim). The fact that everyone—male and female—is created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27) is the basis for ethics and morality throughout the entirety of Scripture.

Indeed, since this is the essence of how we are created, all standards of treatment are built around either maintaining this status in society or returning individuals back to this standing when it has been lost.

From this central premise, the Old Testament branches out in a variety of directions to express more precisely how one might maintain such a status.

Words in the Old Testament

Shaphat and mishpat

The first term for the word justice is found in the verb “to govern” or “judge” (shaphat) and its related noun “judgment” (mishpat). These terms have their basis in a legal setting.

The meaning, however, does not stop simply at rendering “judgment” as in a decision or act of applying legal or moral standards to a situation or relationship. It also expresses an attitude, right or desire for rectitude that belongs inherently to individuals because of their position in society or their identity as an image-bearer (Exodus 23:6; Micah 6:8).

Tsedeq

While one often thinks of the term “righteousness” (tsedeq) in terms of expressing a person’s standing before God, it also is used for how people treat other people. In fact, there are several places in Scripture where righteousness is put alongside justice almost as a synonym or explanation (Psalm 89:14; Proverbs 21:3).

Tsedeq can carry the idea of vindication or, more generally, the act of setting something right. Since this word plays such a central role in both salvific and social contexts, one can see how closely Scripture connects our relationship with God to our relationship with man.

Indeed, at the heart of the holiness code and covenant stipulations of Leviticus 19 and Deuteronomy 16 is the precept that our righteousness from God must result in justice for people. Prophets such as Amos and Micah make this connection explicit in a couple of places (Amos 5:6-7, 14-15, 24; Micah 6:8).

Din

An often overlooked term, din is almost a synonym of mishpat, but finds expression almost solely in poetic and worship texts, rather than in legal or narrative contexts. It often is communicated in relation to a plea and in most of its occurrences it refers to defending, protecting or restoring the oppressed or weak (Jeremiah 5:28, 22:16; Psalm 9:5, Psalm 140:13; Proverbs 31:5, 8; Job 35:14).

Meshar

“Equity” (meshar) literally means something is level or straight and is used figuratively in wisdom-centered texts to refer to the ethical value of seeking equity or justice (Proverbs 1:3, 2:9, 8:6; Psalm 9:9, 58:2, 75:3; Isaiah 33:15; Daniel 11:6).

Wise living values equity. Many scholars connect the basic Hebrew idea of wisdom (hokmah) with the Egyptian concept of harmony (ma’at). In Egyptian iconography, a person’s soul often was balanced or weighed by the feather, which represented ma’at. This connection shows the Hebrew concept of wisdom is yet another way in which we see the call for balance or justice as a fundamental path of life in Scripture.

Other views of justice in the Old Testament

There are many other places one could look to understand better the idea of justice in the Old Testament.

The whole concept of the year of jubilee, during which debts were forgiven and land was returned, was rooted at least in part in maintaining equality, overcoming injustice, communicating righteousness and emphasizing the link between salvation and justice (Leviticus 25; Isaiah 58:6-12).

Prophets, at times, used the language of sexual perversion to describe the social injustice that took place in Israel (Ezekiel 9:9; Hosea 1-3).

The central story of the entire Old Testament is the Exodus, which begins with four terms expressing God’s total identification with the oppressed (Exodus 2:23-25).

Wherever one turns in the Old Testament, it is impossible to separate the concepts of belonging to God and carrying out justice in the world in which we live. It is built into creation itself.

Timothy Pierce is an associate professor of Christian Studies at East Texas Baptist University. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

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

Justice is simultaneously universal and personal. Ask 100 people what justice looks like, and you will receive 100 unique yet overlapping answers.

“Justice looks like …”—a special series in the Voices column of the Baptist Standard—is an opportunity for followers of Jesus to examine the overlaps and the differences in our views of justice.

Justice is universal

Justice is central to God’s character and God’s interaction with creation. Being stitched into creation, justice will not be ignored or go unmet. Scripture makes that clear numerous times.

As one example, the messianic promise of Isaiah 42 reads: “[My chosen one] will bring justice to the nations. … In faithfulness he will bring forth justice; he will not falter or be discouraged till he establishes justice on earth” (Isaiah 42:1, 3-4). When creation is unjust, the Creator will make sure justice is accomplished.

As if to prove the point, justice seems to be on everyone’s mind and lips these days. Scroll through your social media feed or the headlines, and you will see appeals for justice everywhere.

Protests, economic concerns, health disparities, racial reconciliation, foreign relations, law enforcement, gender, politics, money, power, health care, education, voting—matters of justice are involved in all of these headline makers. Justice—matters of right and wrong and setting things right—is of concern to us all.

Justice is personal

Despite our common concern for justice, universal justice is so difficult for us to achieve, in part, because we each have a differing view of it. We come to blows over justice, because we aren’t sure what’s right for one won’t result in what’s wrong for us. Even that last sentence can start a fight.

If we are to work toward justice, we must find some common ground. A starting place might be simply to listen to one another—to hear each other out. In “Justice looks like … ” we will do just that. We will hear from people not like us. We will listen to people from numerous backgrounds and perspectives.

The only parameters given to writers for this series is that they provide their perspective on justice from their unique vantage point, understanding that the undergirding intent of the series is to give voice to numerous perspectives on justice, how justice is involved in many—if not all—areas of life, and how Christians can engage one another and our world in enacting God’s justice.

Though the Voices column to this point has featured writers from churches, institutions and organizations affiliated with the Baptist General Convention of Texas, “Justice looks like …” will include some who are not so directly connected to the BGCT.

One article in the series will be published each week to allow readers to give more focused attention to each perspective. In these perspectives, we will hear pain, anger, grief and hope. We need to listen to all of it.

Justice is rooted in God’s character and word

One thing writers for this series hold in common is Jesus Christ—who is the physical embodiment of God’s perfect justice and the fulfilment of God’s law. In seeking to be faithful followers of Jesus Christ, these writers ground their understanding of justice in God’s character and word.

Timothy Pierce, an associate professor of Christian studies at East Texas Baptist University, surveys the Old Testament conception of justice. He describes Hebrew words related to justice found throughout the Old Testament—from the books of the law, to the wisdom books, to the prophets.

“All discussions of justice and how humanity treats humanity begin, continue and end with the central concept of humanity being created in the ‘image of God,’” Pierce writes. “The fact that everyone—male and female—is created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27) is the basis for ethics and morality throughout the entirety of Scripture.”

Pierce’s full article will launch the series during the first week of August.

Stephen Reid, a professor of Christian Scriptures at Baylor University’s Truett Theological Seminary, examines justice in the New Testament, seeing in the parable of the sheep and goats (Matthew 25:31-46) a paradigmatic description of God’s justice.

“The most compelling metric for justice remains how we have treated the least of these,” Reid writes. Our position on a host of issues looks different if we picture Jesus as the one involved in and affected by those issues. “Jesus does not soften the blow for those who miss this metric,” he adds.

Reid’s full article will appear during the second week of August.

Our common task

We may get nervous about talk of justice. We may feel suspicious, guarded, defensive, overwhelmed.

Understanding that, “Justice looks like …” will challenge us at times and in ways we don’t want to be challenged.

We can hold that discomfort in common, too, because the more important tie that binds us is Jesus Christ.

And so, I leave you with Paul’s words about our common bond and what it means for us who follow Jesus:

^“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.

“So Christ himself gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ” (Ephesians 4:2-6, 11-13).

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP. The views expressed are those solely of the author.

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