Coming Alongside in the Face of Injustice

He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?

Micah 6:8 ESV

I remember singing the Micah 6:8 song around a campfire when I was in middle school. Sitting with my besties, holding a s’more in my hand, I echoed the words, “But to do justly, and to love mercy and to walk humbly with thy God.” I loved the call-and-response aspect of the tune, drawing me back and forth, echoing God’s command to do what is good.

I did not know then what would be required of me years later as I witnessed unimaginable injustices in far-flung corners of the globe unfold before me. 

When I watched them push down on her swollen belly.

When I watched them laugh at the poor.

When I watched them lie to climb the ladder.

When I heard they confiscated her belongings.

When I watched them refuse her care.

During my seventeen years as a nurse overseas, I saw a lot—enough to send me into depression and burnout. There are scenes and moments in time where I witnessed unspeakable harm toward women in healthcare settings that will forever be imprinted on my brain. And there are times I still get goosebumps, feel nauseous, or feel inclined to weep as I recall the sights and sounds of trauma inflicted on the innocent.

In some of those situations, I could do nothing. In others, I actively intervened or advocated on someone’s behalf. Sometimes I argued, sometimes I prayed quietly. In all of them, I cried out to God for wisdom in how to handle the situation, knowing I was required to “do good and act justly.” Even so, I remember feeling helpless, angry, afraid, even self-righteous. I had no peace or sense that “everything will turn out for God’s glory.” That, of course, was the furthest thing from my mind when one of our friends was taken from her home, detained, and made to have a forced abortion. 

I remember sitting on the stoop of her village home listening to her tell me the story, one hand on her empty womb, the other hand wiping tears from her eyes. All I could do was cry with her. And I suppose that’s what was required in that moment: just “being there.” The phrase for coming alongside in the local language evokes a picture of togetherness, being fully present with one another. I have found that being present is, in a way, a stand for justice.

When I wrote my master’s thesis entitled “What is Left Uncharted: Essays on Harm, Humility, and Healing,” a series of essays chronicling the injustices I witnessed as a nurse while living overseas, I discovered that “coming alongside,” is one of the most effective ways to face an unjust world. The voices of these women, my own included, are a chorus of witness, resilience, and fortitude. In every story, there is always a comforter—a friend, an auntie, a mother, or a nurse—who holds fast, who fights, and who does whatever they can to stand up for what is right. It doesn’t mean they will win, but at least they were there. And so, in the face of injustice, whatever it may be, we have the opportunity to come alongside and offer comfort to someone in need.

We live in a fallen, wicked world. It can feel hopeless and daunting, even maddening. But . . .

I can be that one person who offers a hug or listening ear. 

I can be that person who advocates for those who are downtrodden and without resources.

I can raise awareness and support causes that promote justice and peace in this world. 

If you are serving overseas and feeling overwhelmed by the injustices you see around you, I get you. I really do. That’s the thing about this Velvet Ashes space: all of us women, from different backgrounds and on different journeys, can relate over some pretty deep things. There are common threads that weave us together, and one of those is “bearing witness” to incredibly unjust, harmful, and oppressive situations. And yes, there are many of us who have also suffered personally from injustice, who have been harmed or felt the abuse of power. 

While the weight of my experiences may seem foreign to most, I draw strength from the shared journeys of countless women who have faced similar trials before me and will continue to do so after me, all familiar with the profound ache of injustice.

My advice? Be courageous. Hold fast to God’s command in Micah 6:8—act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly—as you come alongside others, knowing we don’t bear the burden alone.

How does Micah 6:8 encourage you today as you face injustice? When has someone come alongside you?