We Make Assumptions
The trouble with justice and fairness, is that, if it were truly just and truly fair and as prompt as we demand, we would soon be begging for mercy, for love, for forgiveness—for anything but justice. For very often what I really mean when I ask for justice is implicitly circumscribed by three assumptions, assumptions not always recognized:
1. I want this justice to be dispensed immediately.
2. I want justice in this instance, but not necessarily in every instance.
3. I presuppose that in this instance I have grasped the situation correctly.
We need to examine these three assumptions. First, the Bible assures us that God is a just God, and that justice will be done in the end, and will be seen to be done. But when we urgently plead for justice, we usually mean something more than that. We mean we want vindication now! Second, to ask for such instantaneous justice in every instance is inconceivable: it would too often find me on the wrong side, too often find me implicitly inviting my own condemnation. But justice instantaneously applied only when it favors me is not justice at all. Selective justice that favors one individual above another is simply another name for corruption. And no one wants a corrupt God. And third, when I plead so passionately for justice, it’s usually because I think I understand the situation pretty well. I wouldn’t be quite so crass as actually to say I need to explain it to God, but that is pretty close to the way I act.
If the psalmist—or any believer for that matter—appeals to God for justice, because God is a just God, the appeal is somewhat transformed. If such a believer also recognizes that the Lord’s timing is perfect, that unless the Lord extends his mercy we will all be consumed (after all, the psalmist asks for mercy more often than he asks for vindication), and that sometimes our cries for justice cannot be more than vague but intense appeals for help, precisely because we don’t understand what’s going on very well, then the nasty, hidden assumptions that frequently mar our cries for justice have largely been done away with.
We Demand Instant Gratification
Suppose God gave instant gratification for every good deed, every kind thought, every true word; and an instant jolt of pain for every malicious deed, every dirty thought, every false word. Suppose the pleasure and pain were in strict proportion to the measure of goodness or badness God saw in us. What kind of world would result?
I think if God were to institute such a world order, things would be far worse yet. God doesn’t look only on our external acts. He looks on our heart. Such a system of enforced and ruthlessly “just” discipline wouldn’t change our hearts. We’d be smoldering with resentment. Our obedience would be external and apathetic; our hearts and devotion would not be won over. The jolts might initially gain protestations of repentance, but they wouldn’t command our allegiance. And since God examines the heart, he’d be constantly administering the jolts. The world would become a searing pain; the world would become hell.
We Assume a Standard
When we ask for justice, we presuppose some standard of justice. If the standards are God’s, he has made them clear enough: the wages of sin is death (Rom. 6:23). We have returned to hell by another route.
We must be grateful God is a God of justice. If he weren’t just, if there were no assurance justice would be served in the end. we must be equally grateful that God is also a God of love, of mercy, of compassion, of forgiveness.
We Receive Vindication
Nowhere is this character more effectively demonstrated than at the cross. At one level, this was the most unjust act—the least fair act—in all of history. He who was sinless became our sin offering; he who had never rebelled against his heavenly Father was brutally executed by rebels; he who had never known what it was not to love God with heart and soul and mind and strength was abandoned by God.
It was this act, this most “unfair” act, that satisfied divine justice, and brought sinful rebels like me to experience God’s forgiveness, to taste the promise of an eternity of undeserved bliss.
Editors’ note: This is an adapted except from Don Carson’s book How Long, O Lord? Reflections on Suffering and Evil (Baker Academic, 2006). Baker Academic is a division of Baker Publishing Group. Used by permission.
Article excerpt taken from The Gospel Coalition (U.S. Edition). Read the full resource here:
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