of traffic tickets and theology

Thanks to my impatience while driving and the untimely appearance of a policeman several weeks ago, I had my first encounter with the legal system today. After walking through the obligatory metal detector, I made my way down a dimly lit hallway to what I thought was my destination—the cashier. After waiting 20 minutes to pay my fine, I was told I actually needed to appear before a judge first. Being poked and prodded like cattle in and out of the appearance docket room are a cross section of San Antonio’s population—defiant teenagers, working women, past offenders, families with small children, elderly men. I join the dozens of people seated on the wooden benches and wait for my name to be called. A tall man in a blue pin striped suit walks into the room, picks up a handful of forms, and calls out a list of names, mine included. Off we go into Court 2. It turns out the man in the suit is the Judge. Shuffling through papers, he calls each person up to the bench, quickly renders a judgment or passes on an administrative task to the clerk beside him. “Your case is dismissed.” “Are you able to pay anything on this today?” “Take this form outside to the prosecutor.” After being ushered in and out of Court 2 twice, I am sent to Court 1 for instructions on documenting my defensive driving course. Finally I am back where I started—the cashier—paying my debt to society for poor decision-making (intentional law breaking). As I walk out the exit, I find myself very unsettled. Not only because of the financial drain (though that does hurt), but because justice seems so cold, so indifferent, so incomplete. The thought crosses my mind: what if there were only justice, and never mercy? What if there were only the law, and no grace? All hope would surely perish from the earth.

“Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail”
(Lamentations 3:21-22)