I was told today to “give grace” to the perpetrator and I think that’s where we’ve gone wrong with our theology— to think a God whose grace is so big is a God who is not just.
If you have ever doubted yr character or spirituality or sanity for making a report for assault, bullying or harassment, please know that’s understandable. But bite the bullet and do what’s right.
Upholding justice for a better world does not mean you’ve lost grace. Pushing for reform and making things right does not mean you’ve unforgiveness.
It means you believe in “acting justly” in Micah 6:8. To love mercy and to walk humbly will then be the next steps to follow.
I think it was absolutely no coincidence that I’ve stopped walking around my neighborhood for some time now, only to slip out for fresh air yesterday for a few minutes and see him walking right by me.
So I spoke to a local friend about what to do and he suggested I visit the municipality office.
I braced myself for unsympathetic men sitting around scoffing at what they might perceptive to be an over entitled foreigner making false accusations.
But how gracious and good God was—
That the ward officer was a woman and immediately called in her police officer, an empathetic but firm man who took the report seriously.
Perhaps, to act justly means to use our faith and courage to do what’s right in the face of wrong.
Perhaps to love mercy means to loathe the sin but somehow find strength to pray for that man.
Perhaps to walk humbly means to submit to God’s fighting on my behalf, whatever the outcome. And to trust He will make things right on Judgement Day.
I know many people sigh at the broken systems and cultures of developing countries. They told me not to bother with reporting the man.
But today, I saw a glimpse of hope. God reminded me that He has sent many local people, friends and community to help and support us.
I remember the houseboy who had little but plucked papayas from his tree to thank us.
I remember the guard from the street who jumped into our car to give us directions and walked back by himself without asking for anything in return.
I remember a local friend who sponsored a precious gift to us when we first moved in, who shared my car ride to the village because he knew we were unsalaried.
I remember our landlord who always responds promptly to us and offers advice whenever we need it.
I remember our Swahili teacher who often accompanies us for errands we feel inept to do because we still aren’t fluent in Swahili.
They all honored us and helped us. I will continue to have hope.
I remember the words of one of you here- who said the best way to thrive in a new land is to speak honorably of the people.
This can be harder than we think, yet simpler than we dared imagine.