The Way of Justice and Truth
V. Lord, keep this nation under thy care;
R. And guide us in the way of justice and truth.
This is the fourth suffrage; I wrote about “keep this nation” seven weeks ago; today I turn to the response: “guide us in the way of justice and truth.”
The first thing to notice: it is the way, singular, not the ways of justice and truth. We are talking about a single camino here, a path characterized by justice and truth. And in the end, that single way is going to be “the Way, the Truth, the Life,” which is to say Jesus himself. We are asking God to guide us in the path that just is Jesus.
Since we are talking about “this nation,” we have in mind both the people as a whole and also the state, the structure of government. In Christian political thinking, the job of government is to provide true judgment. For particular cases, this is done through the judiciary: a judgment is a court decision concerning what the matter in question really is. For instance, was it a murder that was committed? It is a judgment to say: “This was in truth a murder.” Yet it is not only the judiciary that is involved in judgment. Legislation is a matter of defining — specifying — what counts (for instance) as murder, and what (range of) punishments can follow from it. In addition, there are non-criminal judgments that belong first of all to the legislature, for instance, judging how best to spend governmental funds. All of this is part of “the way of justice and truth” as it applies to the state.
The main point for Christians is that provision of judgment is the central thing left to government to do. I say “left to government,” because earthly government is not the end of the story. There is also divine governance over the entire world, exercised by Jesus from his seat of authority. That governance includes not only judgment but also the provision of salvation and the bestowal of identity, matters which are not given over to earthly states and yet are also part of “the way of justice and truth.” As such, salvation, judgment, and community identity are gifts of divine governance. They are gifts from God’s throne of authority offered to every citizen of our earthly city.
To pray that God guide us “in the way of justice and truth” is to pray also for this more expansive understanding of political righteousness, to pray that this be held by all the citizens of “this nation.” For we are citizens not only of this nation but also of the City of God. We enjoy a dual identity. And it is at the intersection of our two citizenships that we, as particular people, seek “the way of justice and truth.” It is a unitary way and it leads ultimately to God, although there are many who walk with us on that way who do not (yet?) know where it is leading. This pluralism is a good thing. It opens the possibility of being a nation on the path — the one, true camino — whose goal is the kingdom above.
Politics today is deeply divisive. To pray for collective guidance into “the way of justice and truth” is to pray both for our nation and also for “thy kingdom” to come, a prayer that is increasingly important.
—
Out & About: On May 18, I will be preaching at St. Barnabas Church in Denton, Tex., at the Eucharist at 10 a.m. I am looking forward to this, my first visit to St. Barnabas, which was (in the last century) the church from which Dr. Thomas Talley, my liturgics professor at General Seminary, had a connection.
Later at 5 p.m. on May 18, I will be leading a seminar on a deceptively simple children’s book, The Dolls’ House by Rumer Godden. You have plenty of time to read it (order now!) because it is short. The dolls have their own life, but it hangs on the actions of the children who play with, or neglect, them. We meet from 5 to 6:30 p.m. at St. Matthew’s Cathedral, Dallas; anyone who reads the book is welcome to the discussion.
If you live in or happen to be visiting New York, I recommend seeing “Maybe Happy Ending,” a smart one-act musical currently on Broadway. It’s about two young (looking) but obsolescent robots who learn how to help each other: a situation that, I’m tempted to say, is coming to a neighborhood near you. (You can find a review in the February New Criterion, and earlier in the New York Times.)