Voices of Hope and Justice

March 7, 2021

Corinthians 1:18-25
John 2:13-22

Let me tell you the story about a man named Earnest Jackson. On August 31, 1999, Lance Perry was shot and killed in Omaha following an argument. Eyewitness testimony described Earnest as the man responsible. Though there were also others identified as being present, the only evidence against Earnest was this eyewitness.

Earnest, as well as the man murdered, were 17 years old.

Because of the way the laws are written, everyone present to a murder can be tried and convicted of murder. Earnest’s trial happened to be first. The thing is, Earnest wasn’t there. There are several people who testified that he was at home—a fact that came out in the trials of the other two people facing conviction.

Earnest’s friends, Shalamar Cooperrider and Dante Chillous had also been arrested and were facing trial. They could have testified that he wasn’t with them that night. But because Earnests’ trial came first, it wasn’t in the best interest of the others to testify because anything they said under oath would be used against them in their own trials later on. So, they remained quiet. And Earnest was convicted and sentenced to life in prison.

At Cooperrider’s trial, he testified that Earnest wasn’t there. He described the scene and the events of the night, and he was acquitted. He had killed Lance Perry—in self-defense. There was no murder, and he and Dante were both released. But Earnest remained convicted of a murder that didn’t happen—a death at which he wasn’t present. And because of the way the laws are written, the new evidence of Cooperrider’s testimony was inadmissible.

Later, the Supreme Court ruled that 17-year-olds could not be given a life sentence, so his case appeared, once again, in the courts. However, the court stated, “But we still have a person here who is dead, and your client, the defendant, was convicted of his murder, and so I think anything but a substantial period of incarceration would be inappropriate.” So, instead of life, he received 60-80 years.

Clearly, the system is broken. A system set up with hopeful intentions of bringing people to justice, of keeping the population safe, of even—on its very best days—of helping people start over; this system doesn’t work. There is rarely justice—true justice. The prison population is anything but safe, including the guards. And only very rarely is someone who is released actually given an opportunity at a new life—and only with a whole lot of help from people on the outside.

The system at the Temple had become broken, as well. In today’s text, it is Passover—the time of year in which the Jewish people celebrate that God spared them from the final plague in Egypt when they lived there as slaves. The angel of death passed over the Hebrews but killed every firstborn male in all of Egypt. Sadly, it took such an extreme act to convince the Pharaoh to let the Hebrew people leave Egypt under the leadership of Moses. Because Pharaoh had become accustomed to the economic advantage of having slaves to do the hard and dirty work of building his kingdom.

And God told the people to remember that event every year—a reminder to them of who their God is and the lengths God had gone to for them. And so, for hundreds of years, they celebrated the Passover. They remembered—even when they wandered the wilderness. They remembered—as they entered the Promised Land. They remembered—even in exile in Babylon. They remembered—though they lived under the occupation of Rome.

They remembered by making their own sacrifices to God. A cow, a sheep, a lamb, a dove. Whatever they could afford, they would bring to the temple for the priests to sacrifice on their behalf. Now, imagine trying to travel with an animal from places like Nazareth or even Turkey. Remember, the Jewish people had been scattered. Yet, some still came to the temple every year to make their sacrifices. But they couldn’t risk bringing an animal from home only for it to become blemished or harmed along the way. The only acceptable sacrifice was one of purity. No scratches, limps, or scars allowed.

So instead, those who travelled simply brought money. They brought the currency from wherever they lived. And when they got to the temple, they would exchange it for “temple currency.” Of course, the money changers would take a generous cut. And then, they would buy the animal they could afford. And the animal sellers would take their cut. And, unless you were wealthy or anticipated the unexpected price hikes that could be placed at any time, many people would be forced to return home without having made their sacrifice—without getting to honor God—because they couldn’t afford it. Some scholars even say that instead of killing the animals brought to them, some priests would steal them away and return them to the animal sellers to be resold to the next faithful dupe. And surely, those priests enjoyed a lucrative kick-back.

And everyone knew what was going on. It was no secret. But no one could do anything about it. If they wanted to honor God, they had to deal with the system. And the system that the people had set up had become corrupt and evil. And that is what finally sent Jesus over the edge. You can be sure he had come to the temple every year for several years to make the sacrifice on behalf of his family. I wonder what the final straw was for him. A widow who was a coin short to buy a measly dove? A traveler who had been robbed along the way with nothing to offer but a repentant heart?

Jesus, fed up with the system, made a scene. This is not the quiet Jesus, meek and mild, of our Christmas carols. This is angry Jesus. Justifiably so. Angry at a system that would take advantage of those who love God. One commentary likened his actions to someone who might overturn tables in a Vietnam War draft office. Though it wouldn’t stop the war, it would have been a symbolic negation of what the office stood for. Or, in this case, negation of what the system stood for—corruption, greed, and oppression.

I have people telling how much they want to hear a message of good news—of healing and hope. We want to hear of a god who is loving and merciful, not jealous and angry. We want the god who walks with us in the garden, not the god who turns over our tables of corruption. But that’s just it. There is no healing until the wound is cleaned. There is no peace until injustice is addressed. There is no comfort while so many suffer under the weight of religious or political or economic oppression. There is no Easter without a Good Friday.

And we, dear friends, are the harbingers of both. Sadly, humans have hurt and betrayed one another since the beginning of time. We have stepped over each other to get to the top. We have used each other for our own benefit. But that is not all of what humanity is capable of—nor is it what we are called to.

As people of the resurrection, we are also people who tend to the wounds of the forgotten. We are people who march alongside those who have no voice. We are people who seek justice and demand that there is a better way. We are people who get to shine a ray of resurrection hope into a world that longs to hear good news. Because we know that it is not good news until it is good news for all of creation. And we, family of faith, get to participate with God in bringing that good news to the world.

And sometimes we do that one person at a time. If you go to www.sendearnesthome.com, you will find the details of his arrest and conviction, as well as ways to speak on his behalf. His appeals are all used up. He has one last chance to go home—one last chance at justice. In April, he will have a parole and pardons review in April. There is a narrow chance that he could receive a pardon and commutation of his sentence. But he needs help. He needs voices to speak up—voices to share a word of challenge to the system that has taken away the last 22 years of his life—voices to share a word of hope that there is a better way—voices to help him find his way home.

Pastor Tobi White, Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church, Lincoln, NE