A few disjointed thoughts about justice and our fruitless, futile, frustrating search for it.
Today I thought of Andy more than usual. For one thing, it's mowing weather, weird though that is. For another, the change of season always brings him to my mind. And then today I was taking off covers from things that get covered during the winter--patio furniture, hose, glider--and cleaning the tarps before storing them up over the garage. Up over the garage--where the first thing that greets you is a pair of size 14 shoes, the last pair Andy wore. These were fairly new in 2002, B.U.M., something one doesn't see anymore. Dirt still clings to the tread on the soles, not mowing dirt but living dirt. The last dirt he left anywhere, this time in his own apartment rather than at our back door. Whenever some of his friends stop by to visit, even now, they habitually take off their shoes, because that was always the rule. I'm not such a stickler these days, but the kids--men and women now, often with kids of their own--continue the ritual. Out of respect? Out of remembrance? Out of habit? In the box under the shoes are the socks, dozens of pairs. Andy loved socks! I'd buy him a pair or two sometimes as a just-because treat, the way my mother used to sometimes bring me M&Ms. I was always on the lookout for the King-Sized socks he preferred, one size bigger than was readily available. He loved Tom Petty in high school, and the first time I brought back a pair of those sasquatch socks, with the foot twice as long as the rest of it, Andy burst into song: "It's good to be king! Whatever it pays."
The litany of memories helps to keep him from disappearing completely, and I do find comfort there.
And yet.
I heard the other day on the news that Virginia Tech might be appealing a verdict in which a jury awarded money to victims of the campus killer of a few years back. The award amount, $4 million, infuriated me. My brain simply checked out for a minute and my heart took over. Now logically I know that if the state caps a wrongful death award at $100,000, that is the limit--jury notwithstanding. And I also know that the parents bringing the suit are not greedily trying to suck the university dry; they believe they have a legitimate case. And I do understand, better than most, just how little clout bereaved parents wield. Still, I'm not entirely convinced the university is responsible for a lone, crazed gunman. Andy's death, though, was incontrovertibly due to negligence, a fact never questioned nor disputed in the 28 months of litigation following. Need I say that the amount awarded was significantly less than $4 million. Need I say the amount was irrelevant to us and it is irrelevant to the Va. Tech parents.
Justice is an elusive, gray goal. Parents pursuing wrongful death claims, like those whose kids died of overdose, car accidents, suicide, whatever--all act out of love for their children and outrage at the injustice of a world where kids sometimes die before their parents.
More important, if I look to Jesus for guidance, I have to wonder if justice is even the right goal. Maybe it's mercy and grace we need to seek.
How? What do mercy and grace look like in the face of unspeakable horror?
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"Justice is an elusive, gray goal. [...] More important, if I look to Jesus for guidance, I have to wonder if justice is even the right goal. Maybe it's mercy and grace we need to seek. [...] What do mercy and grace look like in the face of unspeakable horror?"
It was good to read this and to think about justice form a different angle. I spend so much time thinking about gaining justice for groups who are oppressed or discriminated against, what I might call gaining justice, that I often forget there is this other side, retributive justice. And they are sort of one and the same, because in reality they are both retribution for a wrong, for a trespass, for something that cannot be re-done. And, of course, I always like to think about grace and mercy, and I wonder if sometimes giving grace isn't just a different form of retribution, like heaping coals on someone's head. I don't know. Is it all different, as you say, "in the face of unspeakable horror"?
I truly benefited from reading your words, Lauren. I think about the things in life that I deem unfair and wrong, and I read your words and became humbled by them. You are so right in wondering "if justice is even the right goal." I also wonder "what do mercy and grace look like in the face of unspeakable horror." I remember being told as a child by my dad that we don't necessarily forgive for the person who committed the wrong, but we forgive so our souls can be set free. Maybe the mercy and grace is as much if not more for us than for anyone else. I don't know. In the times that we live in, we need to try something besides expecting "justice to be served." We have to figure out how to go on when it isn't. I wish that I could have known your son, but through the stories you have shared with me about him, I sort of feel like I do know Andy, just a little bit, and I can't help but think he would have a warm smile on his face when it comes to his mom and her ability to write about his life and keep him close to those who knew him and close to those who know of him.
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