When Injustice Reigns

What is a pastor to say amid the unending stream of bad news for Americans of color, immigrants, and people experiencing poverty? As we approach the 4th of July, what can we possibly do with our grief, rage, and feelings of helplessness as we watch our government defraud its most vulnerable citizens and lavish vast sums on ICE, even as it maintains full support for Israel in the midst of genocide in Gaza? How are we supposed to respond as we see decades worth of humanitarian work, healthcare research, and gains toward equity arrogantly trashed without a second thought?  

Over the past few weeks, as Trump’s power brokers and sycophants have frantically pressed for the passage of his abomination of a bill, their virulent racism, hatred for immigrants, and scorn toward the poor have been on full display. Tommy Tuberville, US Senator from Alabama, said last Wednesday regarding New Yorkers, “These inner-city rats, they live off the federal government…”  Laura Loomer (a fringe figure, yes, but one who does indeed have the president’s ear) tweeted, in reference to the new ICE detention center in Florida’s Everglades: “Feeding illegals to the alligators. We need more of this energy.” She later “joked” on X that “alligator lives matter” and thus they would soon be receiving “65 million meals.” About 65 million Latinos - the vast majority of whom are here legally and/or have been part of the US for many generations - are woven into the fabric of US society. None of that seems to matter to these folks. Black or Brown bodies or people experiencing poverty are as highly valued as “rats” and alligator food. 

Persistant inflammatory lies about immigrant criminality, a constant barrage of dehumanizing language, and relentless disregard for the rule of law and the norms of civil society can have a powerful numbing effect. Half the American population (and a great many church goers) seems to more or less buy MAGA’s narrative and turn a blind eye to the cruelty of this administration (or, through the most gracious possible lens, have been so duped by curated news sources that they truly believe all reports of abuse and cruelty are lies). The other half of us largely feel powerless and dismayed - we hate what’s happening, but what can we possibly do? And in particular, what should Christians do? Some of us even find ourselves asking, does the gospel truly stand up to the challenge of times such as these? 

I am in Ecuador as I write (typing on my phone during a bus ride through the Andes), enjoying a week of adventure travel with my husband and daughter. I haven’t done much international travel, and I find travel in general to be somewhat disorienting. Add to that the persistent disorientation of watching my country head with all possible speed in a disastrous direction, and I find myself grasping for the constants in my life - the unshakeable foundations upon which I can plant my feet and still my trembling knees. As has been the case throughout my life, Scripture and prayer are those constants for me.

Yesterday morning, sipping fresh-made mango and melon juice in our hotel’s sitting area, I read the lectionary Psalm for the day: the final 20-or-so verses of Psalm 119. As is so often the case, it is the heart’s cry of one in distress:

In your steadfast love hear my voice;

O Lord, in your justice preserve my life.

Those who persecute me with evil purpose draw near;

they are far from your law.

I find immense encouragement  in being drawn into a prayer that seems written to be proclaimed from the lips of an immigrant, refugee, or a person crushed under the weight of poverty and oppression. The words wash over me as an invitation into prayer for and solidarity with those for whom this is true. And then, an infusion of comfort:

Yet you are near, O Lord,

and all your commandments are true.

Long ago I learned from your decrees

that you have established them forever.

The Psalmist boldly reminds us here that, even as she is persecuted and terrorized by people with evil purposes, she trusts in the nearness of God and the unshakable way of God’s commands (what I would call “the logic of the universe”). 

What is this “way of God’s commands (or decrees)”? 

First, it is indeed a way in which she can plead for God’s help and expect to be heard. The voice of Scripture is clear on this: God is close to the brokenhearted (Ps 34), God hears the cries of the oppressed, and nothing is hidden from God’s eyes.

When Abraham and Sarah cast Hagar into the desert with her young son, God pursued her there in lovingkindness. Hagar is honored as the first person in scripture to give a name to Creator God. She declared, “You are El Roi,” the “God who Sees Me.” Hagar correctly named God in God’s stance toward the outcast, the abused, the vilified and lied-about and dehumanized and persecuted: God is the God who sees. And God’s seeing, like God’s speaking, is never without powerful effect. 

Two other women in Scripture rejoiced in the knowledge that God was near to them, heard them, and saw them. Hannah the mother of Samuel and Mary the mother of Jesus both understood that the unending and unshakeable way of God’s decrees made an actual difference for them and for those like them. Hannah - a woman in ancient Israel who suffered the heartache of infertility - broke out in prophetic song when her prayer for a child was answered and her mockers and detractors were silenced:

“…let not arrogance come from your mouth,

for the Lord is a God of knowledge,

and by him actions are weighed.

The bows of the mighty are broken,

but the feeble gird on strength.

Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread,

but those who were hungry are fat with spoil.”

 (1 Samuel 2:3–5, NRSVue)

Hannah had suffered. God had not spared her that. But when she receives mercy she knows the logic of God’s design for all creation is at work: the humble are exalted, and the arrogant are laid low. 

Echoes of Hannah’s song are picked up by Mary, the mother of Jesus, after the angelic visitation announcing her pregnancy. The echos of Hannah’s prayer are remarkable here because Mary’s suffering would be the opposite of Hannah’s: unmarried, a baby was the last thing she needed. And as Simeon prophesied to her at Jesus’ temple dedication, the obedience of his life would result in “a sword in [her] heart, also.” In the face of the news that her part in God’s great drama would be very costly to her, Mary sang: 

“…for the Mighty One has done great things for me, 

and holy is his name;

Indeed his mercy is for those who fear him 

from generation to generation.

He has shown strength with his arm;

he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.

He has brought down the powerful from their thrones

and lifted up the lowly;

he has filled the hungry with good things

and sent the rich away empty.”

(Luke 1:50–53, NRSVue)

These themes - the downfall of the rich and arrogant and the exaltation and vindication of the humble - are woven throughout all of Scripture. Hannah’s song and psalms like the ones I’ve referenced here were prayed consistently and affirmed confidently through many centuries of Israel’s suffering and exile. They knew that, even when their circumstances seemed to indicate otherwise, God was indeed their deliverer and their champion. And Mary’s song, with all its triumph and exaltation, would be sung and celebrated and claimed by countless members of the early church, even as they experienced brutal persecution and, at times, an unimaginable likelihood of martyrdom. 

We Christians of the West have so frequently misunderstood what the “way of God’s commands” and decrees were all about. We read these pleas for God’s help, these professions of adherence to God’s decrees or commands, and we think our spiritual predecessors were seeking to find their way into God’s good favor by admirable adherence to a list of rules. And then we read the songs of ill-portent for the strong and a coming exaltation of the poor, and we think: yes, in the sweet bye-and-bye. When the martyrs and the faithful poor die and go to heaven, then they will get to live like the rich. 

But the truth of the Gospel is incomparably richer than these anemic distortions, and its warning for those who align themselves with the arrogant are far more grave. We are each invited - and perhaps it has never been so critical for us to boldly embrace and enter - into the mystery and beauty of God’s decrees that Hagar, Hannah, Mary, and the Psalmists all knew: the schemes of the oppressors will always fail, the false worship of the arrogant will never be acknowledged by the Almighty. Instead, the scorned of the earth are the very ones who are most highly honored in the courts of the Most High. If you stand against the weak, you stand against Almighty God. If you find yourself among the vilified, cast-out, and dehumanized, then you can be certain that God has drawn near to you, sees you, values you, and will not remove the Divine hand of loving care from you.

Does this mean that God miraculously rescues the downtrodden from all their troubles? No - and our faithful forbears never assumed that to be the case. We live in a fallen world where terrible things happen, to the just and the unjust alike. However, God does indeed draw near and show mercy and bring comfort to the victims of evil. God also directs those who love God’s ways to do all we can to alleviate the suffering of our neighbors (and Jesus made it pretty clear that we don’t get to exclude anyone from that category). 

The true comfort of the gospel lies not in any assurance that we won’t suffer (Jesus assured us we would), or in any tit-for-tat moralism that assures us that if we’re good and follow God’s rules then these bad things won’t happen to us. Nor does the glory of Christ’s good news lie solely in an assurance of eternal salvation, although we certainly do find tremendous comfort in the knowledge that a day is coming when God will establish the New Heavens and New Earth, where evil will be banished once and for all and the wholeness, healing, and peace of Christ will reign in every heart and shine from every face.

  The truth and comfort of the gospel in the midst of evil times lies in the fact that, in Christ, God, Godself has thrown in the Divine lot with the victimized. When we are disoriented and destabilized and dismayed and full of rage and grief we can be sure of this: God is not absent. God is not impotent. God is not aloof. God is God-Who-Sees, God-Who-Hears. We follow the decrees of the Crucified God - the God who at the cross put to shame the logic of the world and demonstrated the Divine logic of love. That logic works itself out among us like this: those who weep now will know deepest comfort; those who are meek now will soon inherit the earth; the very Kingdom of Heaven belongs to those who are poor and persecuted now (Matt. 5). In the logic of God’s royal decrees, it is the arrogant who will be shamed, the powerful who will be humbled, and the oppressors whose names will be forever forgotten (though in God’s unfathomable mercy, even their opportunities to turn and receive forgiveness and restoration will be far more than we can imagine).

Yes, the ultimate fulfillment of this great reversal is a future hope. But we live into it now. We ask God to open our eyes to the upside-down idolatry of the world that magnifies the proud and tramples the poor. We ask God to open our ears to the cries of the forgotten and to exalt their worth in Christ’s own name. We may not see the fruit of our engagement with God’s logic here and now, but the reality of the Divine decree stands behind the visible: every immigrant, each inner-city New Yorker, the Venezuelan unjustly swept up in ICE raids, the Sudanese teenager who is no longer welcome in her new country, the starving Gazan child, the trans youth now denied gender-affirming care - every one of them is God’s treasured exalted one, their names engraved on God’s hand, their suffering held close to God’s heart, never to be forgotten and most certainly to one day be fully healed. 

For those of us who feel powerless amd stuck in a disconcerting location somewhere between the powerful of the land and the vilified outcast, we can find our purpose, our equilibrium, and our own healing and joy in an ever more robust alignment with those at the bottom of the heap. That is, in our alignment with Christ himself. 

This alignment is a matter of both action and spirit. 

We act as God’s partners in answering the Psalmist’s cry: 

“Look on my misery and rescue me,

for I do not forget your law.

Plead my cause and redeem me;

give me life according to your promise.”

(Psalm 119:153-54)

The imperative verbs in these verses carry a sense of robust action. Joining God in seeing and hearing will require tenacity, courage, creativity, energy, and resources. Our call is to stay in the thick of it, to look for ways to show up for our neighbors, to be sure we’re proactively making ourselves neighbors to those many choose to ignore, to those who are targeted by the powerful. 

We see and hear, we act, we persist, we resist. And at the same time, we rest and trust. The work is not all ours to do. God will show us our part if we faithfully seek it. Knowing that God sees, hears, and is at work, we can simply do our small part, even as we trust our neighbor to do their part. And then we trust God Most High to do God’s part (many thanks to author Brit Barron for this framing). 

And at the same time, we tend to our spirits.

Psalm 119 goes on:

Great is your mercy, O Lord;

be gracious to me according to your justice…

Consider how I love your precepts;

be gracious to me according to your steadfast love.

The sum of your word is truth,

and every one of your righteous ordinances endures forever…

I rejoice at your word

like one who finds great spoil.

I hate and abhor falsehood,

but I love your law.

Seven times a day I praise you

for your righteous ordinances.

Great peace have those who love your law;

nothing can make them stumble.

I hope for your salvation, O Lord,

and I fulfill your commandments.

My soul keeps your decrees;

I love them exceedingly.

I keep your precepts and decrees,

for all my ways are before you.

Let my cry come before you, O Lord;

give me understanding according to your word.

Let my supplication come before you;

deliver me according to your promise.

My lips will pour forth praise,

because you teach me your statutes.

We allow God to refresh our whole selves. We receive God’s permission to rest, to find delight and joy and unshakable peace in the knowledge of God’s decrees. We continue to lift our voices in robust  praise to God. Even when the world is shaking, even when evil seems to prevail. This is also resistance - it is defiance in the way of Christ against those who would steal all that is most precious and assert that their own decrees carry highest authority. 

Our world is all upside down, and your invitation is to be part of the right-side-up reality - the marvelous mystery God revealed to us in Christ. All the headlines of the day represent the saber rattling of a dying, losing, ultimately impotent way. Christ’s alternative Way of Love invites you in and promises victory - a victory that cannot be thwarted by a government or a movement or an angry mob. You were created and called “for such a time as this,” and there will be glory and beauty even as we grieve the real harm of the works of wickedness. Take heart, get your firm foundation under your feet, and set your shoulders to the yoke of the One who assures you it will be a “light” and “easy” burden, even though it comes in the shape of a cross. 

To riff on the words of Psalm 119’s conclusion, 

[We] long for [amd participate in] your salvation, O Lord,

and your law [ - the logic of the universe in which the weak are exalted and love conquers death - ] is my delight.  (Psalm 119:174, NRSVue)

Tomorrow is the 4th of July. Today the US House gave Trump his big victory that will deepen the impoverishment of millions and will throw millions more into a state of legitimate fear as “the land of the free” becomes something nearly indistinguishable from a police state, with ICE agents empowered to kidnap people on the street based on the color of their skin or an unfounded suspicion. 

In this perilous and distressing moment, remember your true citizenship. You are called to represent a kingdom where the “foxes” and “vipers” (look up Jesus’ use of those epithets) are those who rule and defraud the people. You are called to represent a King who willingly died beside a criminal who was assured he would join Jesus in paradise that very day - the most vilified was, in the end, a beloved lamb.

You are Christ’s beloved lamb. So are your undocumented immigrant neighbors and your community members who depend on SNAP and Medicaid for their wellbeing. And so, from that place of belovedness, together we long for justice, and we work, we delight, we rest, we trust in God. As we do so, the glory of God will be revealed and the peace of Christ will reign in our hearts, come what may. The days may be dark, but the true Light  has come into the world, and the darkness cannot overcome it. Take heart, strengthen the trembling knees, and stand bravely in the Light of the One whose reign is eternally merciful, just, and triumphant, and whose decrees - decrees proclaimed by Hagar and Hannah and Mary and the Psalmists - are unshakeable and sure and true.

(Image: Hagar and Ishmael, Jean-Charles Cazin, 1880)