Imagine Justice That Restores

I called the police this week. 

One of my buyers found someone squatting in the shed behind the abandoned property we purchased together.  He discovered a mattress, dresser, soiled clothing and cosmetics…everything. A small living quarters had been set up in the tiny structure.  My attempt at mercy was to leave a note, explaining that we’d return in 48 hours to board up the shed. I included contact information for the community kitchen and shelter. 

We pulled up again early on a Saturday morning. For safety, I phoned the police upon arriving, and was surprised when five cops sped up within minutes. “Where is he?” they demanded. 

“Hold on” I said, after giving the description. “Where will he go if this is where he lives?”

“That’s not your problem“ they huffed passed me onto the property to search the shed.

No one was home.  In fact, we never saw the man. He never came for his things. I assume he has moved on—or sadly, has even passed away.

My wife and I are having an ongoing conversation about spiritual imagination—the creative ability to dream about and act upon the world in new, unbelievable ways through God’s power.  This incident may seem forgettable in the grand scheme, but it got my imagination going: what should the practice of mercy and justice look like in such a situation?  Since police integrity has risen to the surface of our national conversation, I started thinking about the justice system we’ve created, too. 

My grandfather was a state trooper in New York for many years, so I’ve heard the stories of sacrifice and service firsthand. When you consider the average pay for the job, too, the work of police officers is even more commendable.  I’m so grateful for trained law enforcement who will show up to help me in a matter of minutes.  As for the inequities in the US justice system, these reflect an everyday reality for most of the world’s marginalized. Like the work of International Justice Mission (IJM) reveals, many global citizens move about in fear of police who extort and abuse them, bought out by corrupted systems. Imagine when the people who are supposed to protect you actually harm you.

However you believe the US compares to this global reality probably depends on your experience with police. Although I live in a low-income neighborhood, I’ve had nothing but good experiences with our officers. But, I’ve always been the landowner. In this brief encounter, I couldn’t help but imagine what I’d want if I were the man squatting in our shed. I wonder: instead of five officers, what if four officers and one social worker rushed to the site? What if our tax dollars also paid for someone to arrive at crime scenes with a voice saying: do you want another chance? Is this the moment you’ll make a change? What barriers are you facing?  In sum, what if we insisted our justice system was bent toward restoration—toward mispat, setting the world right again?

I am disturbed that the police dismissed this man’s well being, telling me it wasn’t my problem. But it makes sense. In the retributive economies of Nebuchadnezzar and Pharaoh, it’s absolutely true. Might is right, and you get what you earn. My property rights are my first and only priority in the situation. I bought the property with my hard earned money, and this homeless man was trespassing. He deserves what happens to him next—and it’s not my concern. Period. 

But what about the ethic of the kingdom of God that governs me, His child?  If love of God and neighbor truly are the greatest commandments, there are questions I must face. Questions like: What responsibility do I have when I find someone who is poor and vulnerable squatting on my land?  A look at the ancient gleaning laws of Leviticus gives a glimpse into God’s vision for situations like these. It’s true that we no longer live in an agricultural society—and thus we must let our spiritual imaginations run wild. 

To do so is unsettling. If you struggle to ask questions about your own responsibility in such a situation, you’re not alone. You are like me—one of so many whose spiritual imagination has been stolen and whose priorities have been deformed by power systems that protect our greed and fear. The glories of Babylon work wonders on us, dampening our imaginations with perverted stories of justice and truth.  When Nebuchadnezzar colonizes our minds with Babylon’s tales, we become obtuse in our love of God and neighbor. We can’t dream about a third way. 

For those of us that the justice system protects well, this blindness comes easy. We can’t see that justice is not restorative for those at the bottom of it. We have built a system in the image of our gods—autonomy,  individual rights, and safety—and it seems to work for us.  Here’s the insidious thing that I’ve discovered. The more bricks that I own in Pharaoh’s economy, the more his talking points become my talking points, and his gods my gods. The affirming voice of my idols rings louder with each property attained, promotion earned, successful investment made. Before I know it, the haze is thick. My ears and eyes are so dull that I can’t see or hear God’s dream for the world. All I can imagine are Pharaoh’s bricks and Babylon’s charms. My mind is captive.

When will we take back our stolen spiritual imagination and envision justice that restores?

P. S. To imagine restorative housing that tips the neighborhood toward justice, check out my video toolkit:  Homegrow a Housing Business for the Greater Good. In it, I share detailed steps and resources on how you can build a thriving side hustle that creates cash flow and pushes toward setting the world right.