1. Our Built-In Passion for Justice
Author Gary Haugen captures something we’ve all observed:
> “If I wanted to teach math to a classroom of six-year-olds, I would begin each day by distributing a delicious snack—unevenly. Then I would simply wait. Within minutes the kids who got less would produce a perfect mathematical proof of the injustice, and the ones who got more would vigorously rebut it.”
Children don’t need a lecture to feel injustice. They come wired for it.
We saw that same instinct in a recent real-life drama.
At a Philadelphia Phillies game a few weeks ago, a home-run ball landed in the stands.
A father caught it and handed it to his little boy.
Almost instantly a woman insisted the ball was hers and tried to take it.
The dad quietly let it go to keep the peace.
The moment was caught on camera and exploded online.
Within hours millions were demanding justice—“Give the boy his ball!”—while others admired the father’s calm mercy.
In that one short scene the world saw what we’re talking about tonight: the deep, built-in cry for justice, and the surprising beauty of mercy that yields its rights.
And we adults are no different in our own settings.
Think of driving: when someone else speeds past, we secretly hope a patrol car pulls him over.
But when we are late for work and speeding?
“Well, that’s different,” we tell ourselves.
We judge others by their actions but ourselves by our intentions.
Our passion for justice is strong—until it costs us.
Why?
Because we bear God’s image.
The God of the Bible is a God of justice, and He built that sense into us.
But here’s the problem: our justice is faulty and selfish.
God’s is perfect.
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2. The Sinfulness of People
The Bible talks about sin over 700 times—and if you include words like transgressions and iniquities, well over a thousand.
Sin means missing the mark of God’s standard.
Transgression means crossing a line God drew.
Iniquity means twisting what is right.
Sin isn’t only actions; it’s thoughts, desires, and motives.
It’s measured by God’s character, not by human opinion.
Romans 3 puts it bluntly:
> “None is righteous, no, not one… all have turned aside… no one does good, not even one.” (Romans 3:10–12)
Even if we “only” sinned three times a day—a stray thought, a sharp word—that’s over 1,000 sins a year.
Multiply by the years you’ve lived and the number climbs beyond counting.
Sin is serious because of whom it offends.
An insult against a neighbor is bad; striking the president would be far worse.
Sin is an offense against the infinitely holy God.
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3. The Holiness of God
To grasp justice we must see God’s holiness.
Isaiah 6 records a vision:
> “I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up…
and the seraphim called, ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;
the whole earth is full of his glory.’” (Isaiah 6:1–3)
Holiness means absolute moral purity—not the slightest taint of sin.
It is a blazing, white-hot perfection.
Isaiah’s reaction?
> “Woe is me! I am lost; I am a man of unclean lips… for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” (Isaiah 6:5)
If the prophet of God trembled, how can we stand?
Even the best person we know is as far below God’s holiness as the longest long-jump is short of spanning the Grand Canyon.
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4. Our Good Deeds Can’t Bridge the Gap
Many think, “Sure, I sin, but I also do good things. Won’t that balance it out?”
Picture traffic court:
“Yes, Your Honor, I sped here, but look at all the times I obeyed the limit!”
The judge rightly replies, “You still broke the law.”
Even our best works are stained with pride and imperfection.
The gap between our sin and God’s holiness is infinite.
We cannot jump it.
Now add a modern picture.
Remember Jim Carrey’s movie Liar Liar?
Carrey plays Fletcher Reede, a slick attorney whose young son wishes he cannot tell a lie—and the wish comes true.
Suddenly every clever dodge collapses.
Imagine Fletcher getting pulled over and the officer asking, “Any unpaid tickets?”
Normally he’d charm his way out, but now he blurts, “Yes—there’s a whole stack of them in my glove compartment!”
That makes us laugh because it feels close to home.
Most of us have a mental glove box stuffed with spiritual “tickets” we’d rather no one see—old grudges, hidden habits, quiet compromises.
We keep driving as if the citations will expire or disappear.
But when we finally stand before God, there’s no smooth talk, no creative defense.
Every violation is on record, and the Judge already knows what’s in the glove compartment.
That is why the gospel is such good news:
Jesus doesn’t just peek inside and lecture us;
He takes the entire stack of unpaid tickets onto Himself and pays the penalty in full.
Justice is satisfied and mercy is extended—at the cross, where justice and mercy meet.
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5. God’s Dilemma—Justice and Mercy
Now we face the Bible’s central tension:
God is just: He cannot leave sin unpunished.
God is merciful: He delights to forgive.
How can both be true?
How can God show mercy to lawbreakers and still be just?
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6. Jesus, the Lamb of God
Enter Jesus Christ.
John the Baptist pointed to Him:
> “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” (John 1:29)
Jesus said:
> “The Son of Man came… to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:45)
Seven centuries earlier Isaiah foresaw it:
> “He was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
and with his wounds we are healed…
the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” (Isaiah 53:5–6)
Notice the substitution:
our sin on Him, His peace to us.
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7. The Cross: Where Justice and Mercy Meet
Luke 23 records the scene:
Pilate declared Jesus innocent three times, yet the crowd shouted, “Crucify him!”
They released a murderer and condemned the only perfectly righteous Man who ever lived.
> “When they came to the place called the Skull, there they crucified him.” (Luke 23:33)
Mockers sneered, “Save yourself!”
But Jesus refused—because He came to save us.
He could not save Himself and us.
Two criminals hung beside Him.
One joined the mockers.
The other prayed, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
And Jesus promised, “Today you will be with me in paradise.”
At that cross the holy God did the unthinkable:
He punished sin fully and forgave sinners freely—at the same time.
Justice and mercy met.
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8. The Great Exchange
What happened there?
Jesus took our sin—all of it.
He gave us His righteousness—all of it.
He bore the wrath we deserved so we could enjoy the welcome He deserved.
As Paul wrote,
> “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Cor. 5:21)
This is the heart of the gospel.
Nothing else explains how a holy God can embrace unholy people without compromising His justice.
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9. Abiding in Christ: The Life That Flows from the Cross
After coming to Jesus we are not set free merely to concentrate on our own fruit-bearing.
The Christian journey finds its summit in Christ Himself.
By keeping our eyes on Him—His cross, His resurrection, His present life—we are changed, and the fruit appears as His life works within us.
Think of what Jesus means when He says “Abide in Me.”
The Greek word is meno—to remain, dwell, endure.
Our English word abide comes from Old English abidan, meaning to stay put and stick with it.
I love how that sounds next to a wedding vow, where the couple pledges to stay and never move out.
And here’s a bonus surprise: in Arabic there’s a word that sounds a bit like abide—abadan—which means never or forever, depending on context.
The two languages aren’t historically related, but the echo is beautiful.
It whispers permanence.
When Jesus calls us to abide,
He’s not inviting a weekend visit.
He’s calling us to a forever home with Him—a union so enduring that His life steadily flows through ours.
And that is why Jesus never commands us to count fruit or measure our spiritual productivity.
In John 15 He doesn’t say, “Go bear fruit and you will abide.”
He says, “Abide in Me, and you will bear much fruit.”
The order matters.
Fruit is the inevitable overflow of a life that stays connected to the Vine.
Branches don’t strain to push out grapes; they simply remain attached and the life of the vine flows naturally through them.
Our culture prizes output and numbers—how many followers, how many sales, how many converts.
But the Christian journey doesn’t reach its peak by producing statistics.
It reaches its peak in Christ Himself.
Transformation is a by-product of intimacy.
Abiding also shifts the responsibility and timing to Jesus Himself.
The branch never wonders how fast the grapes will ripen or whether the sap is strong enough.
Its only task is to stay connected.
In the same way, we rest in the salvation Christ has already secured and trust His Spirit to bring fruit in His season.
Philippians 1:6 promises, “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”
Our confidence isn’t in our pace of growth but in the Savior who guarantees the harvest.
Remember, God isn’t ultimately looking for buildings packed with people; He is looking for people filled with His Spirit.
Numbers and crowds may impress us, but Jesus delights in disciples whose hearts are His home.
The measure of a church is not how many seats are full but how many lives are Spirit-filled—men and women abiding in Christ, walking in His love, and bearing fruit that lasts because His life is in them.
And most of these Spirit-filled disciples will never stand on a platform or draw headlines.
They are what I like to call garden-variety believers—plain Joes and Janes who quietly love Jesus, raise their families, work honest jobs, and live out the gospel in everyday faithfulness.
Their lives of quiet dedication and steady witness may never trend online, but they shine with the glory of the abiding Christ.
These quiet, humble lives declare a message of hope and purpose to a world that no longer distinguishes truth from lies.
And as Jesus promised, “Truly I say to you, whatever you did for one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it unto Me” (Matthew 25:40).
This is the fruit the Father treasures: ordinary people, filled with the Spirit, faithfully living and loving in His name.
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10. Conclusion
Justice demanded punishment.
Mercy longed to forgive.
At the cross of Jesus Christ, justice and mercy meet.
Will you trust Him?
Will you receive His righteousness and walk in new life?
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Closing Prayer
Father, thank You for Jesus, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.
Thank You that at the cross justice and mercy met.
Draw every heart here to trust Him fully and follow Him faithfully.
In His holy name we pray. Amen.
