A reader left the following comment in response to my attempt to reconcile (or, rather, to admit the irreconcilability of) my faith and my occupation.

I imagine many occupations are like what you describe as an attorney. However, I wished you had gone into more detail as how you handle contradictions between your "lawyering" and your faith.

Fair enough.

Maybe a good story will help.

For the second time in my life, I was awoken from my sleep with a deep sense that I had to write something. Over the last few days, I had learned of an incident involving a seven-year-old boy and the junior football program in which he played. He had been cut from the team, but the circumstances under which this occurred had greatly angered his and some of the other players’ parents. The circumstance were explained to me in the hopes that, as an attorney, I might be able to broker, or force, a solution. I assessed the situation as an attorney. Should we sue? Should we threaten a lawsuit? Who was responsible? What sort of remedy should be sought? Amidst of these barristerial considerations, and apart from them, I sensed that there was an aspect to the story that was being blurred within the battle that was ensuing between the parents and the administrators of the football program. Every time I would consider that aspect, my heart would be strangely warmed. Every time I would go back to the legal analysis, I felt like I was miring in sewage. I awoke from my slumber that night and began to write, and continued well into the morning. This article appeared in the local newspaper a few days later.

The article caused quite a stir in the community. Two of the program’s administrators wrote scathing rebuttals published the following week, attacking me, the boy’s parents, and even David himself. David was not let back on the team, and there were no immediate repercussions toward anyone within the program. In other words, nothing tangible was accomplished. There was no happy ending.

Some people asked me why I wrote the article. Why not just sue the city? Why not just negotiate to get the kid back on the team? Like I said, the story really didn’t accomplish anything. I wish I could say that I had a profound answer to their question, that I was able to come up with a parable to explain the significance of the whole thing. But the truth is that I, myself, didn’t have a clear answer to articulate. I think I responded with something like, “I think it’s the right thing to do,” or something meaningless like that.

Many months later, I heard that there was a great fallout within the organization regarding how these kids were being treated. Coaches were fired or resigned. The rules regarding safety and roster cuts were clarified and posted on the team’s Web site. I was pleased to hear of all that, but I don’t think that was the reason I was awoken that night to write that article. The reason I was awoken that night to write that article was because the story, told from that perspective, was a vivid symbol, metaphor, embodiment, incarnation, or whatever you want to call it, of our tasks as disciples of the Lord living in the fifth Act. It was the story of a kid relishing the abundance of his life within the backdrop of unnamed but real principalities and powers that serve, whether consciously or otherwise, to squelch such abundance. Failing to tell the story from David’s perspective would have meant that the principalities had prevailed. Telling the story served to shine a light into the world, declaring that Jesus, the embodiment of true love and true life, is Lord.

That's just one example in answer to my reader's question.

On the other hand, there are about 100 occasions where I've failed to act as a disciple on the job to every one time that I have.

But you can ask almost any lawyer for one of those stories.

Grace and Peace,
Raffi