Why do we work for social justice?

            I have often said that social justice brought me to seminary. It was my gateway, the only way I felt comfortable walking back into a church. In many ways, it brought me into the Episcopal Church, which has taken bold stances on issues which are typically considered “justice” issues, at least by the left (gay marriage, ordination of women, immigration, etc).

            These stances, for the most part, reflect my beliefs about how people should be treated. They reflect my admittedly liberal social stances while still holding onto a deeply historical faith and tradition.

            But, the recent 50^th anniversary of the March on Washington and the accompanying discussions of civil rights in America have made me reflect more on the fight for social justice. What is it in us that causes some of us to fight for an issue some call social justice and others to fight against an issue they call heresy?

            Many of the commentators on the March seemed saddened when they saw all the old photos, heard all the old speeches and songs. They seemed sad because we as a nation realized that we hadn’t made very much progress in the areas of jobs and justice.

            In an op-ed in the Washington Post by Courtland Milloy (http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/50-years-later-black-leaders-words-lack-fire/2013/08/24/783e9de6-0cfb-11e3-b87c-476db8ac34cd_story.html), he wrote that “A march for justice organized by radicals a half-century ago was commemorated Saturday by a civil rights establishment now fully incorporated into the American mainstream. The result was a day filled with irony as speakers criticized a status quo that some black leaders have helped maintain.”

            A powerful admonishment, to be sure. I was unable to attend the March, and so I can’t comment on that particular aspect any further.

            But the comment spoke to something I have been struggling to acknowledge in myself lately—much of my social justice work stems from the sense that I am right, and you are wrong. I am right about gay rights, and you are not. “We” are right about issue X, and “you” are not. To reference Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., much of my social justice work has been a futile effort to build a new world with the tools of the old.

            In social justice work, I worry that we do not spend enough time talking about the role our own egos play in the actions we take. The peril of the left is that we promote the idea of equality for all, of justice for all, while not really meaning it for our conservative brothers and sisters. On the extreme ends of the left and right, the vitriolic words and close-minded stances look largely the same when you put the content on mute.

            But closer to the middle, where I try to land, the line between my own ego’s sense of right and my understanding of what God calls me to can become perilously blurred.

            Fr. Richard Rohr, a Franciscan and one of my favorite authors, wrote,

I think that the great disappointment with so much political activism, even many of the non-violent movements of the 60s and 70s, and why many people were not long-lasting in these movements, is because these movements did not proceed from transformed people. They were coming from righteous ideology of either Left or Right, from mere intellect and will, and not from people who had put head, heart, body, and soul together. We need to find inside ourselves the positive place of communion, of holiness, where there’s nothing to react against. Pure action is when you are acting from a place which is good, true, and beautiful. The energy at that point is entirely positive. Until you can find that, don’t act. I’m trying to keep you in there for the long haul. I’m trying to call forth an instrument that can really make a difference in the world. These people are the lightning rods of God’s energy into the world. They can be quite adamant, clear, and long-suffering. They can even allow themselves to suffer violence, like Jesus, instead of inflicting it on others.

When we act from our ego, we do not act from the place of God’s will in the world. In my experience, it is not very difficult to tell the difference. I find it to be most visible in myself when I react to another’s dissent with defensiveness and undeserved condescension. On the other hand, when I am working from the place of centeredness that is God’s domain, I find that it bothers me very little when others disagree with me because I am confidant in God to work something through even a disagreement.

In this place, my concern is less with being right or wrong, and more with being a vessel through which this person might encounter something of the Holy.

So, when I ask myself why I work for social justice, I must constantly check my motivations through prayer, meditation, and study of the Scripture. It is a centering post in my life, giving me the flexibility to hear others without fear and live alongside those who disagree with me. In this way, the liberal church has much to learn from our conservative brothers and sisters. We have been too apt to let our spiritual practices slide while thinking it creates time for more action, instead of realizing it renders our actions less than they could be, at best, or, at worst, a distortion of God’s hopes for the world.

Thus, when we review the progress we as a nation have made (or have failed to make), I wonder whether we should instead reflect on our own inner selves. Have we personally been transformed to live differently, or have we spent too much time trying to transform everyone else to think as we think?

The writings of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. seem to reflect this important distinction. He wrote, “Every man must decide whether he will walk in the light of creative altruism or in the darkness of destructive selfishness.”

The frightening part is that even actions which on the surface appear altruistic can too often actually stem from this “darkness of destructive selfishness.”

This does not mean that we should not say what we think or act on what seems right. It is about changing the root of our action by reorienting ourselves towards a God who has historically proven able to hold many different kinds of Christian expression.

It is refocusing on how we disagree, not only what we disagree on. For my church, the Episcopal Church, this is certainly a struggle. Dioceses and parishes are leaving over the issue of homosexuality, among other things. Such divisions are sad, and (I hope) not irreparable. But I sense that the question of reparability lies more in how we choose to disagree now than it does in whether we can convince the other of our opinion.

And trust me—I am writing this just as much for myself as I am for others. I am passionate and have strong opinions on many topics. I like to “win” an argument and feel superior.  I love being with others who agree with me and enforce my sense of rightness.

But I must repent, reorient myself, and place myself with all seekers, especially those with whom I disagree.

The poet Rumi wrote, “Let the beauty of what you love be what you do.” As we struggle to bring the kingdom of God into this world, to make space for God to “let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream,” I pray that we let the beauty we love rather than the ugliness we hate guide our thoughts and actions.