Injustice

Not too long ago my oldest granddaughter saw a book in my bookcase with the title The Paradox of Jesus in the Gospels. She turned to me and asked, “What’s paradox mean?” I had to stop and think for a minute, because though I know what one is, I couldn’t recall the actual definition. For those like me: a paradox is a word or phrase that contradicts itself. An example is Good Friday.

When I was much younger the name Good Friday always mystified me. What could be good about the day Jesus died? And the answer is, “Well, really nothing. Except if he hadn’t died, he wouldn’t have been resurrected, and that of course, is the big thing.” “Yes, but,” I always wanted to say, “nothing can be good about dying that way. The day’s not about resurrection, it’s about dying. It should be called Black Friday or something.” Nobody listened, of course.

The truth is I don’t like the fact that Jesus died and did so in a horrible way. I have learned, at least intellectually, in fine detail the effect of being beaten with lead tipped leather thongs and the terror and pain of death on a cross. I don’t like it. Not only does the horror of it offend and disgust me, but the injustice of it adds a patina that is just more than I can take some times when I reflect on it. Given who I am and how I’m wired together, injustice is a primo hot button for me. I react very negatively when I see it happen to others and especially negatively when it is visited on me.

The most frustrating thing about injustice is that it usually arrives in the context of powerlessness. Jesus, the man, was powerless against the religious establishment and against the political establishment. His apparently stoic responses to Pilate and the religious leaders, I think, were a result of his awareness that nothing he said or did would make any difference anyway. Don’t think he could have called down angels to whisk him away. He could not have, primarily because to do so, would have undone everything he’d done up to that point. He was really powerless. And what’s good about that?

I am reminded of an interaction between me and the first Roman Catholic bishop of West Tennessee, Carroll Dozier. By an odd circumstance, he and I became very close. Once when I was visiting his home and we were having an after dinner drink, he listened patiently while I complained about a perceived injustice being visited on me by my denomination. After I wound down, he took a sip of his Marker’s Mark and water and said, “You know, they crucified Jesus. Why do you think you deserve better treatment?” Good question. Maybe if I could internalize that, I wouldn’t get so bent out of shape when new injustices are inflicted on me.

Peace,

Jerry+