My generation has seen this all before. The protests, the marches, the rioting, the
violence, the police and National Guard standing in a line behind their shields
and moving forward towards rock-throwing crowds of people. I cringe when I see these familiar images in
the news. Back in the turbulence of the 1960s, people took notice. Heads were
turned, legislation established, and then, pretty much back to normal.
What has changed in these past fifty-plus years? What will be different now?
The headlines will move on as quickly as they shifted from
the pandemic to the protests – and already, it seems, back to the pandemic again. Crowds will disperse, a few laws will be passed to protect and reform. But the crucial issue on the table is not a
legislative one. Will people’s
hearts change?
Lament is a sorrow which does not just recognize the mess
we’re in –that injustice and oppression and corruption are wrong --but what can
be made right. Lament does not leave us
in despair, but points us to hope, that which should be, that which God
intended all along.
This world is not the way it is supposed to be. God created each person in His image, the
mark of sacredness on every life. Every
life. The dignity of every person
comes from God, not from social status, nationality, education, job, accent,
abilities, achievements, family history, or ethnicity. Dignity and identity are far deeper than that. Life itself is rooted on holy ground. That is why death so shocks us.
Somehow, we still don’t get it. And injustice has dwelt among us for far too
long.
People are angry, and rightly so, for what has happened and for
what should be.
This is exactly why, way back in the garden of Eden, God
said, “Don’t touch that tree. Don’t go
there. Don’t stand in its shade. Don’t even look at its fruit.” Because God knew what would happen. God knew the vast destruction of what sin
would do. Sin is an old-fashioned word that basically means the massive
outcropping of selfishness in all its ugliness.
The domination of self over the welfare of others resounds
in the deep darkness of Eve’s chorus, “I want to be God!” In some way, every one of us has succumbed to
the terrible deceit of selfishness or suffered because of it.
And when selfishness takes God’s rightful place, injustice
prevails. Every time.
I grieve for the utter atrocity of George Floyd’s
death. I am appalled. But I also grieve for all the other George
Floyd’s through the centuries who have suffered injustice without an 8.46
minute video, without headlines, body-cams, without anyone knowing the truth about
it, silent killings, human trafficking, coverups, defamation of character,
slammed doors, demeaning murderous words on the playground, the classroom, on
the street, and at work.
What’s wrong with the world?
That is a question that every worldview must answer. And the response so often invokes
finger-pointing, casting stones, and blaming everyone else, except ourselves.
These songs of lament are not just about our culture, a call
for political reform or overthrow, police reform, but a call for personal
repentance. What is in my
heart?
This is nothing new.
If you want to know about justice and injustice, slavery and corruption,
oppression and restoration, wrong paths and right choices, suffering, this
broken world and its restoration, that is what the Bible is all about, cover
to cover.
We lament, we cry out, we are dismayed at unrighteousness,
we grieve. And that is good. Because lament is finally feeling the tears
of God. By lamenting, we recognize that
something is terribly wrong. And if we
recognize that something is wrong, there must be something enormously right
that compels us, not just to hope, but to do something about it.
Deep down inside, we all know that something is not right. We know that God is just and right and good. And because of God, there is hope and
rightness. God never intended for us to
live in a broken down, falling apart world.
And we yearn for what should be.
O God, do something about it! And He replies, “That is why I put you there.”
Cease to do evil, learn to do good, seek justice, correct
oppression, bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow’s cause. Isaiah 1. 16-17
What can we do in response?
As author Steven Garber says, “I can’t do everything, but I
can do something.” Right where I
am.
In the midst of oppression and injustice and suffering, the
prophet Jeremiah wrote the book of Lamentations from a place of hardship and
persecution in 550 B.C., where he was beaten and jailed and thrown into the
nasty muddy bottom of a cistern, and yet said:
But seek the welfare of the city
where I have sent you into exile,
and pray to the LORD on its behalf,
for in its welfare, you will find your welfare.
Jeremiah 29. 7
The word “welfare” in ancient Hebrew is shalom –
completeness, soundness, peace, prosperity, contentment, friendship, human relationships,
and flourishing. Seeking my own
flourishing only makes me arrogant and insatiably selfish. Seeking the flourishing of others changes
the world.
Redeeming, restoration and relationship are the most
profound forms of protest. If things are
going to be different, something has to change.
That means each one of us, not just in our own little way, but in His
profound purposes.
When it comes down to it, it is not about laws, political issues,
and the biggest protest marches, not about new and improved programs, organizations
and the loudest noise in the room, not about vast social projects, but about
loving people.
God always works through relationships – walking with Him
and interacting with others. He always
has. Love God. Love each other, neighbors, strangers, sojourners, and even those
who don’t like us, agree with us, or look like us.
Our songs of lament are not about despair, but all about
hope, and making things right.
He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the LORD require of you
but to do justice,
and to love
kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God.
Micah 6. 8
