Justice is such an interesting word. We hear it everywhere — in politics, in culture, even in the church. But I’ve come to believe that we, as followers of Jesus, have always had a unique relationship with it.
Our God sees the world — sees us — and recognizes our brokenness. And the hard truth is that we all had something to do with that brokenness. If justice simply meant getting what we deserve, we’d all be in trouble.
But the justice I find in Scripture is almost a paradox. It’s judgment and grace together — God’s goodness wrapped inside His righteousness. We are utterly broken people, yet through Jesus, somehow capable of the greatest good! There’s a verse in Romans that says it’s God’s goodness that leads us to repentance — and I think about that a lot. In fact, my own story has made that truth all the more real.
God’s goodness wrote me a different story
I was born in the DR Congo, and my mother died giving birth to me. My family blamed me for her death and wanted nothing to do with me. I suppose, somehow, in their mind, that was the justice they felt I deserved. The thing is, that’s not justice. That’s not goodness. They were simply acting out a role that had been handed down to them through their cultural norms and traditions.
Yet even in the midst of that tragedy, God’s goodness had already begun writing a different story.
He stirred the hearts of a young European couple — strangers to my world — to give 27 years of their lives to a continent they had never known, to learn cultures and languages they had never spoken, and to love a people they had never met. When they heard about a baby boy who had been abandoned, they said yes. Yes, we’ll take him. Yes, we’ll love him. Yes, we’ll raise him to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.
It was God’s goodness that did that. And that’s something I’ll never get over.
God’s nearness in disappointment
Earlier this year, I worked on a grant proposal that, to me, felt like the culmination of two worlds I love deeply: creative expression and caring for vulnerable children. When I didn’t receive the grant, I was crushed. But even in my disappointment, I sensed God’s nearness. In the quiet, it’s as if I heard Him whisper, “Keep going. Keep creating. I gave you your story and your voice for this very purpose.” So I did.
That’s how The Justice Song was born — out of that whisper. It’s my prayer set to melody, a reminder that real justice is never detached from true worship. It’s not loud or performative; it’s the quiet echo of God’s goodness that causes the rivers and the oceans — the very fabric of creation — to pay attention to it.
This past month, like many of you, I was in Houston at CAFO2025. I got to join my voice with a room full of people like me — people who choose to live out this kind of goodness every single day. And fittingly, it also happened to be the anniversary of my own adoption, so I decided to release the song while I was there. I couldn’t have imagined a better moment, because when we see justice through the eyes of Jesus, we see it for what it truly is:
Not payback, but restoration.
Not punishment, but love.
Not despair, but the sound of hope.
I hope it blesses you.
-Zawadi Morrow serves as the Artist in Residence at CAFO. THE JUSTiCE SONG is now available on all streaming platforms. Learn more at nomoreorphans.co/
