The Ultimate Injustice

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I would describe the season I’m in right now as one where I am learning to embrace vulnerability and weakness. And it’s been a while since I have shared openly and honestly here. Part of that is because life is a whirlwind that never seems to slow. Part is because I haven’t known how to articulate what I have been learning and how I have been growing. This post won’t remedy that. Yet this is me opening my heart to you. I find that God meets us most beautifully in the rawness…

Death is so unfair.

Life is so unforgiving.

As I lie here on the floor, my makeup smeared and my face crusted in dried tears, I feel raw and human. I feel alive. And yet I feel incredibly small and aware of my own insignificance.

I am overcome by the realization that this life is just a passing wind, and I am swept up in it and gone in an instant. Eyes burning and body shaking, I am strangely aware of the realm of evil and the presence of God and my humble yet tenuously balanced place in between.

Jesus wept.

I weep.

Because death is not right. Something is fundamentally wrong with the idea of an end. Jesus came to give life. He weeps because He must go through death and His beloved must suffer through it as well. My comfort in moments like this is that Jesus was completely human and yet completely God. He knew the hope that His death would eventually bring and yet His heart still broke. I find comfort in caring so deeply because Jesus’s heart broke over and over at the injustice in this world.

And death is the ultimate injustice.

My roommate and I have both been faced with the reality of death in the past twenty-four hours. The reality stops everything. For her, a young man and friend she looked up to had his life taken away suddenly. For me, I watch a young boy, who is like a brother, slowly end his fight with cancer. We both weep.

Why does it seem like the young, loving, caring, generous people are taken so soon when they have so much to offer? I want to scream out in anger and shake my fist at a God who would allow this. Where is my faith now?

And then I remember that the whole Earth shook at the death of Jesus. The whole Earth responded physically to death. Because something is not right when life is stripped away. The whole Earth cried out in anger. The sky turned black. The curtain in the temple split in half.

There are no answers. There is only peace and reassurance and hope. I can go directly to God and cry out “why?” For He is not some higher being who is separate from my pain. He has felt the pain, dwelt in the suffering, and carried the injustice.

As I watch this young friend end his fight with cancer, and I cannot be there and am rendered helpless, the only thing I cling to is the fact that I can walk up to the throne of mercy and grace because my God understands. I cling to the fact that justice is coming and right will win. I do not cling to Him because I have faith. I cling to Him because I have nothing else.

And instead I shake my fist at death and declare, “Oh death, where is your sting? Oh hell, where is your victory?”