The Justice Department moved to dismiss a Jan. 6 class action lawsuit, arguing that the rioters had until Jan. 6, 2023, to sue the federal government under the Federal Tort Claims Act. The government's motion contends that the plaintiffs missed the filing deadline by over two years, which would resolve the case on procedural grounds without the court examining the merits of the underlying claims.
The striking thing about this motion is what it never addresses. The Justice Department is not arguing that the rioters' claims are wrong — it is saying they are late. A missed deadline, not the facts of what happened, would settle the matter. Filing deadlines exist for good reason: they keep the legal system orderly, predictable, and protected from stale evidence and endless litigation. But anyone who has watched a case dismissed on a technicality knows the particular frustration of a door closing before anyone looks inside the room.
Isaiah's vision of justice cuts in both directions. God loves justice and hates wrongdoing, but he also promises to faithfully reward those who suffer. His justice engages with substance — what actually happened, who was harmed, what was done — rather than stopping at whether the paperwork was timely. That does not mean the rioters' lawsuit has merit, or that procedural rules are inherently unjust. It means our deepest hunger for fairness runs past any statute of limitations. We were made for a justice that sees through to the heart of things.
Neither side of this tension folds into the other. Orderly process serves a real purpose in a functioning society, and discarding it would create its own form of unfairness. But when form becomes a substitute for substance — when we settle for the satisfaction of having followed the rules without asking whether something wrong was done — we are reaching for a justice too small for the longing inside us. That longing itself is evidence of something deeper than any court can fully deliver: a justice that loves what is right, hates what is wrong, and refuses to let either hide behind the other. So the question reaches us where we live. When we pursue fairness in our own workplaces, families, and communities, do we attend to what actually happened — or do we settle for the form?