semantics (work + justice + change)

There is nothing predictable about the job that I do. Every single day, a new story is graciously revealed to me so that I can begin the slow work of piecing together all that encompasses the body before me. It is an honor because I love these kids, so stinkin' much. Every day, I see the scars left by a tragic childhood and I see, in some, resilience and hope rising. I see moments of success, effort and struggle, and for some, defeat. Some days are more difficult than others--some stories follow me home. There are lessons in them, teachable moments, every experience a metaphor or an arrow to some greater reality. In everything, joy and sorrow stand in opposition.

Some weeks are more unpredictable than others. On a very unique (and hopefully rare) Monday, the news waiting in my inbox was this: a potentially gang-related homicide in the neighborhood, the very same block, that my students live. They heard the gun shots and saw the blood on the pavement. He, the 17 year old victim, was their friend--their homie. Whatever they discover about the potential gang ties in this case, he was the kid that sold ice cream on the block, a valuable member of their community, a friend and brother to many. My students came to school with burdened hearts, the weight more than they were ever meant to carry. There are not enough words to do the devastation justice and, not ironically, justice is what is needed.

It is not the first time we've broached the topic of justice. It always comes up when we talk about truth in some capacity--true strength, true peace, right responses to suffering felt. Justice, mercy, retaliation, revenge, remorse, forgiveness, anger. The words are all wrapped up together. Justice is what we want, even when our experiences have warped its meaning. I know it as well as anybody. Our human nature says "grace for me, justice for them" and we respond accordingly. We are blind to our own errors, our own hatred, the hardness in our own hearts, but we see the faults of others with crystal-like clarity. Unforgiveness builds itself a home in our hearts, devastating what is left of our common humanity. Unforgiveness--anti-grace and its fruits (acts of violence, relational aggression, resentment, angry hearts)--is risky for all of us, but the material risk is elevated and the pull much greater in low-income, gang neighborhoods where the rules of the street trump all and where retaliation is to be expected.

These are the days that I bring home with me. These are the days that leave me frustrated, heartbroken, sometimes hopeless. It's a battle that cannot be fought with words (reason rarely works) and should not be fought with violence (violence begets violence). How do we change? How do we come to know what justice is, how grace works, and the power of forgiveness? How does a heart soften enough to be transformed? How do gang neighborhoods become places of peace? What of my own heart--can it be a place of peace?

If only we'd all been taught grace from the beginning and each of us was fueled by humility and reconciliation. If only we had the eyes to see cycles of violence for the messengers of suffering and devastation that they are. If only we'd all been taught that cycles don't end unless you have the strength and integrity to step outside of it and write your own story. If only we'd learned that justice does not mean one-for-one and strength is not equivalent to the hardness showing across your face, but in your capacity to understand, to grieve, to walk away and change.

I think about this concept often: the difficulty of "change"--it tempts us and draws us in, offering us hope of a life or a character or a story that we don't have. But it can be so illusive. A favorite voice of mine, Father Greg Boyle, lends comfort in this slow work:

"There is nothing 'once and for all' in any decision to change. Each day brings a new embarking. It's always a recalibration and a reassessing of attitude and the old, tired ways of proceeding, which are hard to shake for any of us." 

Every opportunity to move in the direction of change (and there are infinitely many, especially in my classroom, especially with Jesus) is countered by a pull back into our old selves--our previous failures, our destructive habits. Into the families we were born into and the ways of thinking that have guided us this far. Not just gang kids. All of us. For some, an innate distrust of the people around us. For others, the allure of following a few hardened men into retaliation. Instead of grace, a skewed version of justice, meted out inconsistently and, ironically, unjustly.

It's all just semantics until you decide for yourself. Justice. Grace. Truth. Forgiveness. Resilience. Reconciliation. Just words until you decide that you want them defined and active in your own life, part of your own story. The decision brings with it hard work--we are promised that. Forgiveness is always harder than hardening your heart or painting hardness across your face. Grace is always harder than anger. Humility is always harder than pride. But it's the way to stop cycles of violence and undo the work of tragic childhoods. It's the way of justice and peace, and it's what we need for our hearts to survive.