My work neighbor is constantly wanting to start projects with me that engage a part of me that’s not officially part of my work. I enjoy discussing practical theology so I oblige. One of these projects is a series of essays around the minor prophet Habakkuk. The idea is that we’d write our reflections on the text with regard to our particular stories as Asian American (he’s South Asian) Christian leaders. I don’t think it’s not supposed to be a commentary in the familiar sense of a Bible Commentary — if someone were looking for thoughts on authorship and historical-cultural context, there’s already plenty of those and they’d do a better job than either of us anyway. In the intro I wrote for the project, I described it like this: “We seek to read the scriptures, taking into account the historical context of the text, in order to give voice to what the Spirit may be saying to the church in our particular context today.”
Here’s the first essay I wrote for the project from the first few verses of Habakkuk. If I write some more I’ll add to this list.
Habakkuk 1:1-4
The oracle that the prophet Habakkuk saw.
Habakkuk 1:1-4 NRSVue
O LORD, how long shall I cry for help,
and you will not listen?
Or cry to you “Violence!”
and you will not save?
Why do you make me see wrongdoing
and look at trouble?
Destruction and violence are before me;
strife and contention arise.
So the law becomes slack,
and justice never prevails.
The wicked surround the righteous;
therefore judgment comes forth perverted.
Bold Enough to Complain
Norman Yung
February 2025
I’m struck by the accusatory tone of the prophet in these first few verses. I would never dream of bringing such a charge against an elder or superior, let alone God. No matter how comfortable and accustomed I become with the egalitarian relational structures in Western society, when it comes to God, the respect and honor structures of my early upbringing take precedence. I was taught from a young age to respect authority, and this often led to a way of living that accepted the status quo. To be successful in life, we don’t rock the boat. We take what’s there and work within the system. We’re told to keep your head down; don’t stick out. That’s how you make it through life. Your gut, your intuition, your small, opinionated, personal sense of right and wrong, they’ll just lead you to trouble; they’re not to be trusted. The authorities are in authority for a reason! Don’t make trouble! So if I sense something wrong outside my control, I assume that’s the way things are. It’s beyond me. I need to adjust myself; I’m the one that needs to change. I don’t complain; I adapt.
But here, Habakkuk is bold enough to insinuate that the LORD is not doing what he’s supposed to do! He doesn’t even attempt to cover for him or make common excuses for his apparent lack of action:
His ways are higher than our ways.
God is just; we just don’t see the whole picture.
Sometimes God says, ”Yes.” Sometimes he says, ”No.” And sometimes he says, ”Wait.”
He doesn’t say any of those things. The prophet can’t deny what he’s seeing. He doesn’t gaslight himself with theology. He names what’s wrong and calls God to account – as if he’s trying to shame the LORD into action. He trusts his gut.
I suspect that the prophet is reaching for a reality that is deeper and truer than the reality that society presents to him. He does not settle. He appeals to the LORD because he is confident in his character. The LORD isn’t supposed to condone the violence and injustice that the prophet is seeing. So he speaks up, “Are you not a god of righteousness? Where is your justice?!” Today, when dehumanizing rhetoric gives license to violence and oppression and there seems to be no response, I wonder what the call is upon the church. Will we speak up?
As I write this in February, Civil Rights leaders come to mind and I think about the letter that several clergymen wrote to Martin Luther King, Jr. after the public demonstrations protesting the violence done to the Black community. These clergymen urged for patience and restraint in the Black community’s demands for justice because it was causing “racial friction and unrest” which the clergymen considered contrary to the cause of justice. They essentially advised that “time will heal.” But King would have none of that. He responds saying, “Time is neutral… [and unfortunately,] people of ill-will have used time much more effectively than the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the vitriolic words and actions of the bad people, but for the appalling silence of the good people.”
Will our churches be silent while our migrant neighbors live in fear? Will we endorse the dehumanizing language that strips others of their dignity through our silence? Will we stand by while those in power erase identities from our laws and common language? There are times when I wonder if the church, of all places, will be the place where people who are otherwise marginalized and erased by the larger culture will find recognition – that even if those in power don’t see them, even if society does not recognize them, we will. We will stand with those on the margins or with those who have no voice? In response to clear injustice and violence, I pray the church will find the boldness to complain and join with the faithful who “looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.” I pray that we, like Habakkuk, would not compromise, and that our yearning for “a better homeland” in the future would give us boldness in the present one to seek justice and righteousness on earth as it is in heaven.