Some weeks back, I heard a sermon on one of the most dangerous passages in the Bible for anyone living in Karamoja. Obviously I refer to the parable of the unjust judge (Luke 18). On its face, it seems to be a parable about prayer, or more specifically praying over and over again until you get what you want. What makes this particularly a dangerous parable in Karamoja is that there is already a well-entrenched culture of begging coupled with the fact that the words for “beg” and “pray” in Ngakarimojong are the same word; the parable and its message can easily be understood to mean that one should just keep on begging until their demands are met.
But the sermon I heard recently drew a different conclusion. The preacher wanted to persuade his hearers against drawing a line from God to the unjust judge of the story, a common interpretation that carries its own theological problems. Rather, he wanted to remind us that our reliance should be on praying for the power of God to intervene in our lives. Absent that focus, we are thrown, like the widow, onto the world’s rather imperfect justice. Our appeal ought be always be first to our heavenly father, trusting that he cares for us and will give us justice in his own perfect time (the parable even says “swiftly”). The justice of men is but a second-rate substitute.
In other words, it was an Advent sermon, albeit delivered in October, entreating us to cry out “How long, O Lord?” I was reminded of it in recent days because Lokiru Timothy, the chaplain at Akisyon a Yesu Presbyterian Clinc became entangled in a conflict with one of his neighbours where he was unjustly accused and arrested. The details of the story are too complicated to explain in any brief way. Suffice it to say that the contours of the case are such that could only be dreamed up in the strange land of Karamoja. What matters rather in this story is the resolution. In the end, the case came before our district magistrate, and the plaintiff’s appeal was in the end not that Timothy had done anything wrong, but that having pursued his fraudulent claim, the plaintiff had become an object of ridicule in the neighbourhood. The magistrate, having heard the case, issued this ruling—if you want to bring a suit against the community, then bring a suit against the community, but as far as Timothy is concerned, you have no claim against him.
This outcome was interesting and for several reasons. First, it was a pleasant if unexpected reminder that once in a while, justice is truly served. Especially in Uganda where outright corruption in the judicial system is rampant, we should take pleasure in the rare instance where righteousness prevails. Second, can one be forgiven at least a tiny smirk at the fact that the plaintiff has had a chance to get a life lesson in actions having consequences? Too often in Karamoja—as in the Bible and perhaps the world over—the rich, the well-connected, and the outright determinedly corrupt are able to pervert justice to their own ends. Not only has the plaintiff in this case been denied whatever it was he was seeking, as a bonus he gets to suffer revilement among his neighbours. We can pray that this would be instructive not only in his own life, but also to other would-be troublemakers in his orbit. Internalisation of this example would be a boon to peace in Nakaale.
Lastly, the outcome of the case was interesting because Timothy was clearly vindicated. Too often when we talk about the coming judgment when Christ returns, we think of it in a primarily negative light—the wicked will be held accountable and we sure don’t want to be among them, so better amend our ways now. This is a true and good understanding of what we should take away from reflection on the final judgment. But there is also an obverse side that is only infrequently considered. Judgment is not synonymous with condemnation. It is a process of dividing—right from wrong, good from evil, truth from falsity (again, Ngakarimojong is helpful here: to judge is the same word for to cut in half or to divide). In the final judgment, there will be division, separation. Some will be condemned, but others will be vindicated. For all those who have been oppressed, who have failed to get justice from the unjust judges of this world, who have been persecuted for the sake of righteousness, the final judgment represents relief, liberation, and most importantly vindication. For those people, the promise of Christ’s declaring them to be in the right is a message of hope.
Indeed, this is the heart of the frankly astonishing song Mary sings after finding out that she will be the vessel for the Messiah’s incarnation:
[God] has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
remembering to be merciful
to Abraham and his descendants forever,
just as he promised our ancestors.
What is staggering about Mary’s words is not that God will judge the world through the Messiah. That had been the clear hope of Israel since at least the days of the prophets. What is new is the idea that the incarnation somehow inaugurates that event—that the still-forming baby in Mary’s womb is proleptically the instrument of God’s divine justice. It is out of the very depths of his humiliation that Christ renders his verdict (later, from his own mouth, no less: “Now is the time for judgment on this world; now the prince of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” Jesus links his own death—the absolute nadir of his abasement—with the world’s judgment).
Because our judge has known lowliness, he is able to give grace to the humble; he knows and feels the justice of their cause. As we who belong to Jesus look forward to the day when he will return in his glory as a judge, we do well to echo Mary’s words, and to see like her with eyes of faith that however much we are surrounded with or oppressed by the injustice of a fallen an unbelieving world, the baby in the manger is the promise that our God has already judged for us.