Somewhere between justice and mercy: Where are we?

The story of Naboth’s vineyard (1 Kings 21:1–21a) is, at its core, a timeless lesson in injustice. Ahab wanted Naboth’s land. Naboth said no. And so, Jezebel orchestrated his death. Those with power used it to take from someone who had none—even his life. It’s a chilling narrative of greed, manipulation, and abuse of power.



But the tragedy is not limited to ancient times. It happens daily, in all forms. A drug addict might shoot someone for money to feed an addiction. High-level financial schemes leave thousands homeless. Corporate greed destroys both the environment and lives. From the streets to boardrooms, injustice persists.



And yet, something deep within us still longs for justice—for things to be set right. But what exactly is justice? Is it retribution—an eye for an eye? Does executing Ahab and Jezebel restore Naboth’s life? Or merely satisfy a human thirst for vengeance?



We see this dilemma play out in real life. In 2010, Utah executed a man convicted of murder by firing squad. The Attorney General tweeted: “A solemn day. Barring a stay by Sup Ct, and with my final nod, Utah will use most extreme power and execute a killer. Mourn his victims. Justice.” But what did this execution really achieve? It didn’t bring the victims back. And what if they had executed the wrong man?



Ray Krone from Dover was twice convicted of murder in Arizona. He spent ten years in prison—four of them on death row—before DNA evidence proved his innocence. Where was justice for him?



Justice looks different when it’s personal. Imagine you and your community are ripped from your homeland and forced into slavery. Would justice mean punishing your captors—or simply the freedom you were denied? If your home was taken by corrupt lenders, or if you were falsely accused of a crime, would justice mean retribution—or restoration?



And what if you were guilty of wrongdoing? Would justice be punishment alone—or the chance for redemption?



A fellow clergyman once told me about being stopped by police on his way to work. They let him go with a warning. He was relieved. The officers showed mercy. It stayed with him—and with me.



In Namibia, we’re grappling with our own difficult questions of justice and mercy. Take the case of Nikin Cloete, gunned down by a soldier in Lüderitz in 2021. Perhaps the soldier didn’t intend to kill. He was on duty. Yet he now faces trial. Many argue justice demands he remain behind bars. Others believe he was simply doing his job, and should be shown leniency. Where do we draw the line between accountability and compassion?



More recently, the Children’s Parliament launched a campaign for justice for Ingrid Maasdorp, an innocent life lost on 20 March. There are other names too—Spencer Nakale, who vanished in December 2020; Magdalena Stoffels, killed in 2010; and baby Simone Roy, allegedly killed by her parents. In the face of such horror, we demand justice. But is that all?



Back in Utah, the Attorney General later tweeted: “I just gave the go ahead... May God grant him the mercy he denied his victims.” That line lingers. Is mercy only God's to give? Or are we, too, called to practice it?



Mercy, after all, is not weakness. It’s not passive indifference or turning a blind eye. God’s mercy, as seen in Scripture (Luke 7:36–48), is active, personal, and redemptive. It engages. It heals. It seeks to restore what has been broken.



And perhaps that’s the key. Justice and mercy are not opposites. In fact, they may be two sides of the same coin. True justice is not vengeance—it’s restoration. It seeks to right wrongs not just through punishment, but through reconciliation, forgiveness, and the healing of relationships and communities.



Of course, some people must be held accountable—some must be restrained from causing further harm. But even they deserve a measure of mercy, as we all do.



That’s where justice truly begins: by recognising our own need for mercy—for God’s intervention, for grace to set things right within us. From that place, we can offer mercy to others. And in doing so, we help create a world where justice doesn’t just punish—it transforms.