Parables of Justice: Humility over Hubris

In her article in the Covenant Quarterly (February 2007) Just Churches in an Unjust World: A Pastor's Reflection, M. Karen Lichlyter-Klein acknowledges that a well-found fear for the Christian working for justice is the

danger of thinking that somehow I have figured out what God's
justice is all about, and that I have somehow magically arrived
at a conclusion of my faith . . . And if for a moment, I come to
believe that I have finally unlocked the mysteries of God's
identity, I fear the sin of hubris might be my legacy" (25).

As I seek to be a faithful pastor helping the church enact God's justice - grounded in the revelation and activity of Jesus Christ, I am cognizant of the fact that I am often woefully inadequate to the task. Justice is just so, well - messy, intricate, and complex. Not only must I confront the inadequate definitions offered by secular political theories, whether liberal or conservative, but also my own brokenness reflected in my failure to see the ways in which I participate in injustice and in my failure to change when I do see it. None of this is meant to absolve myself from heeding Jesus' invitation to enact His kingdom but it does re-frame the project of justice as a whole to include my continued need for repentance and perpetual need to be reminded that this is not my kingdom, my cause, my project or my issue but His. Both needs, in other words, require that I return to the Scriptures and prayer as I seek to divest myself of the self-righteousness that Pastor Lichlyter-Klein so rightfully fears. And when I return their - looking, listening, pondering, I am reminded that Jesus's own teachings acknowledge my surprise, wonderment, even bafflement at what such kingdom justice looks like. In one parable, Jesus tells of a landowner who goes out into the marketplace three times rounding up workers to labor in his vineyard at 9 am, noon, and 5 pm (Matt. 20:1-16). When night falls, he asks the manager to call the workers in, beginning with the last group hired, and instructs him to pay them all the same wage. Needless to say, and I would agree with them, the earlier workers feel slighted stating, "These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat." They are incensed to put it mildly and I can't blame them. But as the narrative continues the landowner responds, "Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?" This isn't a place for a sermon, despite my willingness to give it. But as I reflect upon this text I am struck by the deep grumbling in myself that agrees with the 9 am workers. Their complaint makes good sense and hardly reflects wickedness or selfishness. What it does reflect, however, is that they don't understand what true justice looks like - justice that is grounded not in equality, or rights but in God's deep generosity. And however we might wish to think about the implications of such a text in a civil society which defines justice precisely as equality, a significant meaning of this text is that it forcefully points out the inadequacies of our understandings, definitions, paradigms, and programs for justice. I believe that as we acknowledge this lack, we once again become followers of Jesus - followers of the one who came to teach us who God is and who redeems us from ourselves. Being a follower means that to understand truly what justice is - we must begin by listening and watching the One who knows - the One who confronts our grumbling and says that justice is being generous.