Wrestling with the Ruler Passionate for Justice

Guys, I'm wrestling.

Every time I see/type/say that phrase I hear it in the voice of my pastors from St. Louis, "I'm wrastling! Are you wrastling this mornin'?"

Well yes, Pastor Tony, this evening, I am.

This afternoon I received word that there will not be justice from Denver's "Justice Department" for my friend Michael Lee Marshall, who was killed while in the Denver Sheriff's custody in November.

I mourned the loss of this friend, who I and other dear friends knew from Network Coffee House. You can actually see Michael featured as the first photo on Network's website.

I mourned yet again a few weeks ago when the Michael's autopsy was finally released, bringing fresh grief and a deep sense of horror at the brutality of his killing. His death was ruled a homicide, which essentially just means he did not commit suicide. Even death by lethal injection as a result of the death penalty is considered a homicide on the autopsy report...which says something very significant about the death penalty, but that's another topic for another time.

So as I mourned again today, it was not fresh grief, but something slowly built and deepened like the deep cracks embedded in the hands and feet of my homeless friends - cuts never allowed to heal continually broken over until they will likely never fully repair.

The Bible states with abundant clarity God's hatred of injustice and His deep care for the poor. Proverbs, the book of wisdom, declares, "Whoever oppresses the poor shows contempt for their Maker." Those who spend themselves on behalf of the poor will have lives that light up the darkness and cast away the night. 

As I read through the prophet Isaiah's words tonight, I was struck by the promise of a ruler who was passionate for justice, one who would set things right. 

"'When this is all over,' Judah answers,

'the tyrant toppled

the killing at an end,

all signs of these cruelties long gone, 

a new government of love will be established

in the venerable David tradition. 

A Ruler you can depend upon

will head this government, 

a Ruler passionate for justice, 

a Ruler quick to set things right.'"

-Isaiah 16:4-5 The Message 

Oh! My first emotion was joy. A Ruler who is passionate for justice? One quick to set things right? This is a promise that brings hope, it means these injustices and these power-hungry people taking advantage of the weak, poor, and powerless will not rule forever.

But then I think more and find to places of wrestling...

Why, if true religion is to care for the widow and orphan in their distress (read: care for the poor,  marginalized, and oppressed), are so many people who call themselves Christians failing to follow Christ's religion? 

And why, if God is one quick to bring righteousness and bring justice, does our world look so very wrong? Why is there still such great injustice? Why was Michael Lee killed? Why did he have to live in a world where being black, homeless, and mentally ill was a death sentence? 

These are not popular questions, there is no answer. I'll be the Christian that admits, I do not know.

And I can tell you also that no other Christian actually knows the answer to "why is God good but the world full of evil?" Everyone has an answer, but no one actually knows. If we did, we'd understand God, and I just don't think it's up to me to understand and answer for God.

So here's what I'm wrestling over. 

Perhaps (some of) the answer to my second question is found in the first. I believe in God's sovereign love, He grants us free will. And as we all learned from Batman, "with great power comes great responsibility. And perhaps we have misplaced, misused, and greatly abused this powerful gift of freedom. With it, we have not chosen the right path of generous love, selves spent on the poor and oppressed, and the choice to see first with compassion and last with judgment (as a side note: I believe if we were to truly lead with compassion, we would never get to judgment). 

Perhaps we can never know the answer to why God does not stop all bad things from happening. I could theorize and have ideas of why I think this is, but this isn't the time or space for such thoughts. Rather, I will share my choices when faced with these thoughts I wrestle through. 

First is that I will choose to believe that God is loving and that His very being is good. I will choose to believe that God is passionate for justice, that He is in the process of righting all wrongs, wiping away all tears, and setting every captive free (another blog post will be about who exactly is the captive, and I think it's a broader term than we'd like to admit). 

Second is that I will choose to live the life called for in Isaiah 58. I will not fall by the wayside, so entrenched in my internal debates and wrestlings that I am paralyzed from action. I will choose to spend myself on behalf of the poor. I will choose to fight for the rights and lives of those marginalized, whether they are oppressed because of their poverty, sexuality, skin color, religion, gender, or more. I will choose to share my food with the hungry, invite the homeless poor into my home, put clothes on the shivering ill-clad, and be available to my own family (Isaiah 58, paraphrased from The Message).

So at the end of all this wrestling, this thinking, these prayers, is a choice.

What will you believe, and how will you choose to live? 

I implore you, do not be among those who pretend to do what is right, who say the right things and go through the right religious steps all the while failing to see the poor human being on the street corner, holding a cardboard sign and asking for a little help. 

"Cardboard Sign"

by Katy Owens

Cardboard doubles

as shredded sheets

"Spare a little change,

trying to make ends meet

Just seeking refuge

from the cold and sleet"

Well, the Savior didn't have a place

to lay His head

So maybe they're closer to Him

than I am

But people see the signs

All they do is stare

Wonder, what's he done

and where's she been? 

I couldn't cast the stone

cuz my record ain't clean

No one gave me

the judgement rod

And you, sir, don't look like God

Driving by

rolling up your windows and

down your nose

"Probably for drugs,"

your judgments say

"Lazy bum will

squander it away"

As if you and I

never fail, please don't forget

we've just been given

a better circumstance,

missed some unfortunate

happenstance

Do you squander love?

Waste your privilege? 

We're all the same

Skin bones and blood

And I know I'm

begging for change

on the streets of human love

Forgetting I've been given grace

from the Divine

Covered by love that looks like

water blood and wine

Maybe my friend

the "homeless bum"

is really a bit closer

to the One

Tamir Rice

I wasn't going to say anything, because it has all been said. Because my news feed is bombarded with tragedy already and I sometime just feel too overwhelmed by the brokenness and sadness to engage. 

But then I realized, some of you might not know. 

You might not have heard that just over a year ago a 12 year old boy was killed in a park and that now his family has had two Christmases without their son. You might not know that he was just twelve years old, and that's just the same age as my baby brother, my little best friend. You might now know that he was playing with a toy gun, and that the officer who shot him took not even a second to evaluate that it was a child in the park, that the gun was not real, or to even tell the person he thought was an adult to drop the weapon. Window halfway down, less than two seconds, the 12 year old boy with a toy in a park is gone. 

You might not have heard that the state of Ohio is an open carry state, and since the officer claims to have perceived Tamir Rice to be an adult, it would have thus followed for it to be legal for him to have a gun. And you might not have heard that the police officer who shot the 12 year old boy had been deemed unfit for duty in the last police department he had worked at. 

And then two days ago, maybe you didn't hear, it was ruled that the police officer will not face charges for the killing of Tamir Rice. Not the killing, the murder.

He was 12 years old, playing in a park with a toy gun in an open carry state and killed by a police officer who was "recommended to be released" because he could not control himself or follow orders.

My brother is 12 years old. He's white. Tamir Rice was black. So my brother can play in a park with a toy gun and the officer won't shoot him on the spot. He'll probably ask him to drop the weapon and treat him like the human child he is. Because he's white, my brother would live.

Tell me again racism doesn't exist. Tell me again that our system isn't broken, systematically oppressive and racist and unjust. Tell me again, and I will keep telling you the stories.

From Martin Luther King Jr:

“There comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must take it because conscience tells him it is right.”

“Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.”

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”

"The time is always right to do what is right."

Reality and Restoration and Stuff on the Streets

He usually wears a smile and he has a different earring every time I see him. Every finger wears a ring, contrasting the dirt under his nails and worn hands. I don't think we've ever had a conversation, he's usually muttering to himself as he pours a cup of coffee, stirs in creamer, and dumps way too much sugar into the cup.

Michael Marshall.

Just another homeless guy. Likely judged by most who see him on the streets and assume he's a drug addicted alcoholic who shouldn't be helped or humanized because he deserves what he gets.

Michael Marshall.

A friend. A regular. A favorite. Known by those at Network, staff and clients. In fact, when you go to the Network website, his smiling face, filled with laughter, is first to greet you. You'll see him in the Network video, sunglasses on, earbuds in, head shaking to the music we can't hear.

Michael Marshall.

A brother. Someone with family who cares.

Michael Marshall.

Not a nameless face with a cardboard sign on the street corner. He has a name, he has family, he has friends.

Tonight I received this text,

"Hey friends, sorry to interuupt your Friday evening... Something ugly has happened to one of our regulars and favorites..."

From one of the directors over at Network, linking us to a news story telling us of Mike's arrest and violent encounter with Denver police, resulting in him having a "massive heart attack." He is now on life support in intensive care at Denver Health.

I could say so many things. I could talk about how horrible it is that our system is not set up to care for the mentally ill. "According to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, 20 to 25% of the homelesspopulation in the United States suffers from some form of severe mental illness. In comparison, only 6% of Americans are severely mentally ill."

We could talk about police brutality. Folks whose job is to protect and serve, and yet often are the broken people in this deeply broken system acting out the violence rather than protecting from it. And I could go on because this incident ties all my worlds together, with this police violence against a black man being exactly what the Black Lives Matter movement is talking about, and the lack of care for the poor and marginalized.

Oh I could talk about these issues, these deep injustices and violences against humanity (against all of humanity, the oppressor and the oppressed are both suffering violence). My heart is so broken and so longing for the healing of this world.

But tonight, I'm just overwhelmed by sadness.

We often live in multiple worlds, say our work world from 8am to 5pm and then our "lives" with family, friends, hobbies, and such. We can bounce back and forth, leaving work at work and not letting it affect our lives.

But relationships don't work that way. You can't turn them off and stop caring, because there's something so deep in your soul connected with the people you care about, you can't compartmentalize them, separate the worlds.

And I'm tired of being expected to turn it off. To turn off the sorrow at injustice, the worry for my homeless friends, the heartbreak at the racism plaguing our world.

I cannot compartmentalize the tragedies.

I know it's hard to understand, because for me, my time spent with the homeless isn't just volunteering. It's not me doing a good thing so I can feel good about myself because I helped someone. It's time spent with friends, it's the place I want to be.

When I get to see Alan or Jerry at church on Sunday, I'm overjoyed. When I see a friend pitching their tent outside or flying a sign on the street corner, I struggle to hide the tears welling in my eyes.

Sometimes, I don't know how to just go on living, to not be constantly affected by the tragedies. There are weeks where I'm filled with hope, there are weeks where the heaviness of the stories I hear weigh me down.

And it's like I'm expected sometimes to just turn it off. As if I don't know the things I know, haven't seen the things I've seen, don't care in the ways I care. Like I can choose moments to exist in a world that isn't deeply affected by the brokenness all around, the brokeness that so many do choose to simply never see.

Like it's so hard for me to go downtown at night to just hangout or have fun. I see folks on the streets, in the cold, trying to find a place to sleep. And I'm out to drink a little and laugh a lot with friends and go back to my warm bed and privileged home. And often people don't even see them, and they're all I can see.


Seared in my mind, people and their things strewn across the sidewalk outside Samaritan House.

How do I just go on with my life when my heart is breaking and I can't just turn off all the tragedies?

I remember going downtown once with a friend. We were wandering around and found a bar to check out. There was a man with a cardboard sign sitting on the sidewalk outside the place. We got to the bouncer, pull out our IDs. All I could think about was how I was going to spend $5-7 on a drink, when this guy is hungry and in need. So I walked away from the bouncer and gave the guy the cash I had, then went back to get my ID checked. I think the young guy's name was Roger, he's all I could think about.

And so tonight, when I get that text. When I learn a friend is on life support. That his mental illness, not understood or cared about, likely affected the cops interactions with him, ending in the police enacting violence and Mike having a heart attack. When I learn this, how do I just go on with my Friday evening plans like nothing has happened? There's nothing I can do, except sit beside Jesus and give Him my burdens. But the heartbreak is still so real.

Some days, the world just feels so heavy.

That doesn't mean I cry myself to sleep every night and fight back tears every moment of the day. There is hope for this broken, wounded world.

But the world still feels heavy, and the work is finding the balance between reality and restoration.

- - - - -

"[Network] is the living room of Christ. It is a place where we communicate dignity to those who don't experience much dignity in the city."