This weekend, we called the police.
Thankfully, they responded.
This isn’t a new problem we’ve had in our neighborhood. It simply doesn’t matter how responsibly we try to live our lives–in this world there are people who are trapped in cycles, drugs, alcohol, violence, power struggles–and our front porch faces the action. We call the police because it is our duty to report abuse, to subject the rule-breaker to the law–not because we are privileged, not because we subconsciously hate our neighbors and want to destroy them–but because we’d be neglectful to ignore it. And also (a big also)–because I care about my children. I care about where they grow up and who they become. I sincerely want the best for them–just as I want the best for the baby across the street who has to suffer the consequences of his own guardians.
I don’t tolerate the notion I am fragile because I rely on my tax dollars to stop the domestic abuse across the street. I’m not weak or extremist; I shouldn’t need to defend my right to summon the help of professionally trained, gun-toting, bullet-proof vest wearing civil servants. If neighbors need the threat of being arrested to jolt them from the dead end lifestyle of violence and addiction, God help me if I remain silent.
In the two years we have been here, we’ve become familiar with the Blue who has our back. When I say Blue, I refer to their uniform. Their place of birth, dialect, and skin pigmentation varies. But they’ve been in my house, they have even seen my basement and bedroom. I’ve offered them food, apologized for my messy kids, made jokes. They’ve been at our school, interviewing, advising, consoling, and bringing stability to kids who have none at home. Their authority is unquestionable, their very presence commands respect. The Blue uniform represents the Law–a firm boundary for what is acceptable and what is not.
But Blue is hated, because Blue testifies that actions have consequences.
I’m watching the very erosion of our community, five months and counting of changing rules that contradict every law our country has ever established.
It began with a virus. Or did it begin before the virus? Does the virus even matter? Did civil unrest come from being stuck in our homes to “keep us safe”? Was it the unlawful death of a man on drugs, the immediate, visceral, knee-jerk, media driven hysteria blaming it on his skin tone? Was it the bizarre incident of a man drunk-asleep in the Wendy’s drive-thru, a father who still had no business grabbing the taser from a cop?
I’m not sure what makes your hackles raise, but the Law isn’t supposed to bend. If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it. (Gen. 4:7)
Our Blue people are just people, trying to represent Law. They are men and women using their human senses to respond to lawlessness. They are not the Law. I’m watching my Blue friends crack, I’m watching the foundation crumble. I’m seeing people I love who represent Law be mocked, scorned, hated. I want justice for them, as I want justice for people who are wrongly slain–but throwing out the baby with the bathwater never solved a problem. Hold individuals accountable, but if you destroy the Law, you sentence us all to death.
You sentence the baby across the street, whose parents were high when they started screaming and beating each other in the front yard. You sentence the grandparents next door who cannot defend themselves when the thief breaks in their front door. You sentence yourself to the drug-fed, alcohol-induced, psychotic, rageful whims of the hopeless and lawless.
When Law is abolished, it bleeds into every area of life. Teachers unions are trying to strike a deal in some cities–demanding the dissolution of police force in trade for returning to school. If Law can be dissolved, if the education of our children can be politicized and pushed to the side for some “greater good”, we have no hope for a future generation. We have no hope for a society, no common ground, no peace. No action to take when safety is threatened.
No hope that the poor neighbors across the street can ever break the cycle of drugs and abuse.
She texted me in the middle of the night after the second beating. She’d gotten away this time, unlike the time I tried to coax her to a safe house and she instead returned to the brick house across the street where he’d threatened to kill her.
“I love you guys,” she wrote at 1:18 am.
I’m going to be a better person,” she promised.
I told her none of us are any good, not without Jesus. But the Law is where we begin to realize it–the rules we keep breaking, the consequences we face eventually lead us to a desperate prayer for help.
This is why Law is essential, so we can eventually get to the prayer: God, help me. The Law is for you, me, and my neighbor to understand that becoming a better person is beyond the Law. Abundant life isn’t about edging as close to the line as possible and getting away with it, but actually overcoming our old nature and pursuing holiness.
Blue is the shadow of hope–they are exactly who I need in my neighborhood, who you and I need responding to my 911 call when we witness abuse and lawlessness. We need Law because it is a solid foundation. We need people who do their best to represent it. These servants need encouragement.
We are not fragile. We are not bullied into apologizing for doing the right thing. Please don’t think you are valiant for degrading police. Dig deeper until the shovel meets some resistance. Where in your life does the rubber hit the road–are you just promulgating some theory from your safe home onto the internet, when you actually have no physical skin in the game? Are you holding a sign on the corner when you have never welcomed Blue into your home? Have you ever held the hand or cried with someone who is completely guilty, completely broken–in need of the law to point them to Jesus?
Consider where you stand. Our society–my precious neighbors–depend on it.
