When I Got in a Playground Fight

And Ehud reached with his left hand, took the sword from his right thigh, and thrust it into his belly. And the hilt also went in after the blade, and the fat closed over the blade, for he did not pull the sword out of his belly; and the dung came out. Judges 3:21-22

In grade school, I once got into an altercation with another student at recess. To my dismay, we both got hauled into the principal’s office and we both got punished. I was shocked and offended. This isn’t my fault. He started it. I did nothing wrong. My objections fell on deaf ears though, and I sulked as we suffered the same fate. I was astounded by the injustice. This other kid deserved whatever he got, but I was blameless and to lump me in with that miscreant was a mockery of justice.

Looking back now, I can see that I was hopelessly biased, blind to my own fault. If that other kid had been kicked out of school and I walked free, I would have celebrated his downfall. He was a bad kid, and I was a good kid. He deserved punishment, and I deserved reward. I truly saw myself as the hero while this other kid was the villain. As an adult, I’d like to say that I’m more self-aware, but it’s always easier to see the flaw in others than it is to see it in myself. I’m afraid I’m still prone to celebrating the downfall of the wicked, while remaining blind to my own wickedness.

This was my first reaction when I read today’s passage. In the story, because of their idol worship, God allowed the Israelites to be subjugated by the Moabites. In their distress, God’s people cried out to him, and God raised up Ehud, their deliverer. Ehud met with the Moabite king under the pretense of a tribute, but instead, Ehud drew a hidden sword and buried it in the belly of the wicked king. It’s a gory story, one which I’ve always loved, because this evil, rich, godless tyrant dies a grisly death. Yeah! He got stabbed in his big fat gut!

Though it was just, it’s dangerous for me to enjoy the punishment of the wicked. I now spend a fair amount of time in jail, working with those who’ve broken the law. When I hear their stories, I don’t think they shouldn’t be incarcerated, but I do wonder where I’d be if I grew up with their childhood. I was raised in a loving home and still, I broke the law, diverting opioids for my own use. Can I really see myself as the hero and these guys as villains? I’m not saying it’s wrong to punish criminal behavior. I am saying that when I enjoy and celebrate the downfall of those who’ve done wrong, I’m acting wrong myself.